An extraordinary and mind-boggling NUS conference

[By Kyle Christie - First published in ForgePress 21 November]

For the past two years the National Union of Students, that distant organisation we associate with little more than discount cards, has been faced with the issue of ‘reform’.

Say this word to one of the hundreds of political hacks that attend the conferences, and you’ll get a reaction of either unadulterated joy or utter revulsion.

To provide some background to those of you lucky enough to have ignored this debacle: the NUS is a highly political organisation. Different groups and factions vie for positions and policies at every conference and meeting.

The various groups include Labour Students, Student Respect and a host of left-wing groups with the words ‘socialist’, ‘revolutionary’ and ‘people’s’ in various orders.

Two years ago, proposals were put together calling for reform to the NUS. This included modifying how the conferences work, changing the elected positions in the organisation, and adding a non-student board of trustees to help with legal and financial matters.

The result has been a divisive debate during which many of those on the political left have fallen on the side of opposing the reform, and everyone else has generally supported it.

In order to be passed the reform needs to be voted for twice, at two different conferences. Last year, it was voted for at a conference in December, but failed at a conference during Easter. So another conference was called for November this year, in an attempt to start the process again.
I didn’t say it would be easy to understand. Having attended three conferences before during my previous incarnation as a Union hack (I’m now in recovery), I tagged along with the Sheffield delegation to the NUS Extraordinary conference in the delightful city of Wolverhampton.

I can’t emphasise enough the absurd nature of an NUS conference.

You’re thrust flyers declaring not only the evil nature of this or that proposal but the end of capitalism itself. The political conviction of delegates is electric.

It’s as if you’re in 1968 preparing to protest against some dictatorial government. Indeed, many of those attending the conference would give everything to be transported back 40 years into the heyday of student radicalism.

Most students, for better or worse, are not members of political groups. Yet to attend an NUS conference, you could be convinced that students from Exeter to Edinburgh are placard-waving hacks who talk of little but tuition fees, neo-liberalism and just what support they should offer various South American governments.

If you think the Union elections are irritating, I’d imagine you’d run out of Wolverhampton Civic Hall quicker than you can say the words "Save NUS democracy!"

I was greeted by the news that I would be unable to take any photographs or videos of the conference.

No explanation was given for this strange and counter-productive policy, but I had accepted it by the end of the day. This was only after a failed attempt to take a sneaky photo of the conference was foiled by NUS staff.

NUS President Wes Streeting (he’s the one always quoted in The Guardian) greeted us with his passionate case for reforming the NUS.

"Tell me this is not a union crying out for change!" he shouted. Judging from the response, few seemed to disagree, though the delegate who commented that "he talks shit, but in such a good way he can make you like it" remained unconvinced by the rhetoric.

Streeting remains a divisive figure: when responding that he would "go home and shoot myself in the face" if the reform failed to pass, he conceded from the conference reaction that some might consider this an extra reason to vote against the changes. He will be up for re-election next year, having decided not to shoot himself in the face.

An NUS conference is as rife with sound-bites as it is with inflammatory leaflets. From the often-repeated mantra that "the status quo is not good enough for us" to the declaration that we "cannot restrict ourselves with the tools of oppressors", Wolverhampton was awash with linguistic gems that Wednesday afternoon.

More delegates - the proud, the nervous, the veterans - all arrived on the podium to make their case for or against ‘reform’, or one of the 15 possible amendments to the motion.
They range from the tweed-jacket wearing sabbatical, the well-built jock with his position emblazoned across his hoodie, and the Mohican-sporting radical. Stereotypes are hard to avoid.
Some, you can imagine in Parliament within 20 years. But you could just as easily see them remaining here, pontificating to the same people on the same inane issues; such is their enthusiasm for this confrontational sparring ground.

The delegates were asked to vote on such proposals as ensuring all delegations are split equally along gender lines, and whether or not to lift their ban on the BNP. Both failed to pass.

It is worth noting that an NUS conference is the very height of political correctness.
I expect it would be easier to get offended at the offices of Amnesty International.
Amid the many jokes directed at investment bankers, we hear from Rob Owen, who is on the NEC (National Executive Committee) and has emerged, no doubt through no fault of his own, as the figurehead of the anti-reform movement.

He tells us that the conference is a joke. I agree with him on this point. From the position of an observer, you realise just how detached the organisation represented by the 1,000 people in the hall has become from the daily reality faced by students.

It’s little wonder that the Government and the media, let alone students, ignore a navel-gazing NUS which for so long as been obsessed with its own structures and petty issues.

Finally, the vote that delegates from Aberdeen drove 10 hours to participate in takes place. Each card is raised, high in the air, from the back row to the executive on the platform.
It’s so tempting to shout a number – about 130 would do – and disrupt the count, but the thought of hundreds of tense political hacks glaring towards the balcony at me, and my journalistic integrity, stops me from doing so.

One delegate does shout "bollocks" and storms out at this point, but my disruption would have garnered more attention.

They’ve been told the NUS will die if it doesn’t change. They’ve also been told that these reforms will destroy the last remnants of democracy in the NUS.

Which of us would want to be faced with such a weighty decision on our shoulders?
In the end, they choose the destruction of democracy over the death of their organisation, by 614 votes to 142. At the announcement of the result, 614 of the delegates roar with triumph over their political opponents who trumped them at the last conference.

However, 142 delegates, including our President, Dave Hurst, Education Officer Rebecca Watson and Women’s Officer Fiona Edwards, remain stony faced in the face of what they will see as only a temporary defeat.

During the dark and tired bus journey back, I trip over an unfortunate realisation. The NUS does matter.

Not so much because of what it does now, which is at best ill-judged and at worst irrelevant, but because of its potential.

Next year will likely see the start of the tuition fee review, and the calls to scrap the cap on top-up fees will be echoing down the corridors of power.

A student movement united around this threat rather than bickering amongst them will have a real chance of success.

Considering the chaotic nature of the organisation though, its own internal and unnecessary infighting may dominate at a time when students need a national representative body more than ever.

However, if the NUS fails to sort itself out, then we need to seriously consider whether staying in such a costly, dysfunctional organisation is really worth it.