Miliband doesn’t need freeing from the clutches of the Blairites – he has chosen this path himself

The Labour leader wants to keep his party united but he also wants to win an election. The two ambitions inevitably collide.

‘‘Anger is to make you effective,” wrote the American novelist Philip Roth. “That’s its survival function . . . If it makes you ineffective, drop it like a hot potato.” The line is spoken by a character in I Married a Communist, a book about idealism, betrayal and the bourgeois fear of socialism – all ingredients in the current conjugal tiff between the Labour Party and the trade unions.

Since going into opposition, Labour has prized anger over effectiveness. There is fury at the Lib Dems for propping up a Tory government. There is rage against public-sector cuts. Increasingly, there is frustration with Ed Miliband for failing to mobilise a national uprising against the coalition’s wickedness.

On the left, a common explanation for Labour disappointments is the enduring influence of “Blairism”. For example, in the aftermath of the Falkirk selection scandal, agents of the turbo-capitalist cult of New Labour are accused of sabotaging the party’s relationship with trade unions. Reasonable observers of events around Falkirk see the exposure of a strategy by Unite – the party’s largest union backer, led by Len McCluskey – to colonise parliament by controlling Labour candidate selections. McCluskey loyalists see a conspiracy to finish the job of anti-proletarian vandalism begun by Tony Blair.

Miliband has soothed jangled Labour nerves with a shrewd speech that offered reforms that were couched as a renewal of vows with ordinary working people, all bundled up with a call for more open politics. That is one of those ideas that is vaguely noble enough that no one can demand the opposite. Whether he can deliver the changes he promises – most controversially, ending the system that makes automatic Labour donors of some union members – is an open question. Meanwhile, the ferocity of Tory attacks has triggered a tribal impulse that is shared by all Labour factions and passes for a truce.

A semblance of party unity has been one of Miliband’s more conspicuous achievements since 2010 and the source of some of his biggest problems. His victory in the leadership contest, delivered with union support, was precarious. He lacked a believer base in the wider party. That weakness increased his reliance on the machinery of party control inherited from Gordon Brown – an apparatus programmed to undermine the supposed Blairites.

That animus was transferred to supporters of David Miliband’s failed bid for the Labour leadership. In particular, Douglas Alexander and Jim Murphy, the shadow cabinet ministers who ran the elder brother’s campaign, have been caricatured as a diabolic duo thwarting efforts to restore the party to the path of left-wing righteousness. While Blairish ideas certainly get a forceful airing in the shadow cabinet and the media, they have been neutered in much of the party.

On his election, Miliband ostentatiously “turned the page” on New Labour. The line was meant to signal renewal – a necessary phase of opposition – but it was received by some as permission to avoid thinking about how to reach beyond the core vote. It also gave implicit permission for McCluskey’s manoeuvres to increase Unite’s influence, expressed as a working-class makeover.

The myth of a Blairite stranglehold endures because, in policy terms, Miliband keeps making moves urged on him by the right of the party – on spending restraint, on immigration, on welfare. But that isn’t because shadow ministers are duffing up their leader behind the parliamentary bike sheds. It is because Miliband pays attention to voters and modifies his position accordingly. He wants to keep his party united but he also wants to win an election. The two ambitions inevitably collide.

That tension would have put more strain on the leader’s office in recent years had grassroots anger not helpfully been directed elsewhere. That is no longer possible, given that the spotlight has fallen on the dark recesses of machine politics. (Shady stitch-ups, it must be added, are not the exclusive preserve of unions or Labour.) Miliband has had to take personal ownership of an agenda that Blair declares is bold and necessary. If it works, his leadership will be transformed; if it fails, there will be no shadowy conspiracy to blame.

This is not a left-right calculation or a Blairite-Brownite one. The aspect of the saga that most fired Miliband’s will, say friends, was neither ideological nor factional. It wasn’t even the need to rebut Tory charges of weakness. It was a realisation that the smell of shabby politics was contaminating his ambition to be a candidate of national renewal. Ignoring corruption would undermine the part of Miliband’s image that Labour strategists see as his greatest asset – the feeling that he is fundamentally a decent guy.

Those who work closely with Miliband say that he rarely loses his temper but his “Zen” calm can be snapped by accusations of hypocrisy. On the eve of his speech, Miliband explained his union reforms to a meeting of Labour MPs that I have heard variously described as “charged” and “edgy” with “sharp questions”. Yet habitual doubters also tell me their leader was more passionate and more convincing than they have seen him for a while. There is some way yet to go. The sceptics, not all of them Blairites, note that Miliband has a habit of making speeches full of brave intent, then failing to follow them up. A continual source of frustration has been that the Labour leader seems neither angry nor effective enough. Maybe that is about to change.

Tony Blair talks with Ed Miliband during a Loyal Address service to mark the Queen's Diamond Jubilee at Westminster Hall. Photograph: Getty Images.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 15 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The New Machiavelli

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Despite his “strong female leads”, Joss Whedon's feminism was never about real women

Many men in TV and film praised for their powerful women are still writing with the male gaze.

Kai Cole, the ex-wife of Joss Whedon, has written an essay alleging that the director isn’t quite the feminist he appears to be. Colour me unsurprised. There’s only so much good-guy posturing a feminist can take before she starts to become a little suspicious.

It’s not that I’ve any particular beef with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, nor that I think men shouldn’t speak out against sexism wherever possible. But I’ve long harboured a mistrust of male directors – Whedon, Woody Allen, Pedro Almodóvar – who gain a reputation of being “good at doing women”. Who are they, these magic woman-whisperers, who see through woman’s childlike, primitive exterior and coax out the inner complexity? How do they manage to present women, these blank, mysterious objects, as actual human beings?

True, these men are working against a backdrop of extreme sexism, in which film dialogue is dominated by males, while females become increasingly silent as they age. Perhaps one should be grateful to anyone who allows a female character to have some glimmer of an inner life, let alone exist beyond the age of 30.

All the same, I can’t help feeling this isn’t enough. We all know the joke about the male feminist who walks into a bar because it’s set so low. It’s all too easy to be “good at doing women” when all it takes is granting female characters the same desires and contradictions we’d grant to any other human being.

Women are not a specific type of puzzle for mankind to solve. The idea that it should take some noble, generous leap of imagination to empathise with us is an excuse men have been using to mistreat us for millennia. When responding to us as though we’re actual human beings – or at least, as though an interesting Real Woman subset of us are – becomes a USP, we should all be worried.

Whedon did go a little way to addressing this in his 2006 acceptance speech for an Equality Now award, in which he mocked the way in which he was constantly asked: “Why do you always write these strong women characters?”:

“Why aren't you asking a hundred other guys why they don't write strong women characters? I believe that what I'm doing should not be remarked upon, let alone honoured.”

If this sounds a little like a humblebrag, it can probably be excused. What’s harder to excuse is this idea that a man who boasts of surrounding himself with women like his mother – “an extraordinary, inspirational, tough, cool, sexy, funny woman” – is doing womankind a favour.

I’m glad you appreciate your mum, Joss, and that you apparently don’t feel threatened by other women like her. There’s a fine line, though, between valuing women and presenting them with a whole new list of impossible standards to live up to. This is why I could never quite buy into the liberatory potential of Buffy. There’s nothing impressive about a man failing to be intimidated by his own strong girl fantasy.

In E T A Hoffmann’s 1816 short story The Sandman, the hero Nathanael falls in love with Olimpia, a doll whom he believes to be a real woman. Once the truth is exposed, the men around him become concerned that they, too, may have unwittingly fallen for automata:

“Many lovers, to be quite convinced that they were not enamoured of wooden dolls, would request their mistresses to sing and dance a little out of time, to embroider and knit, and play with their lapdogs, while listening to reading, etc., and, above all, not merely to listen, but also sometimes to talk, in such a manner as presupposed actual thought and feeling.”

There’s something about the director who’s “good at doing women” that reminds me of this. There’s a recipe for dropping in just the right number of quirks, inconsistencies and imperfections to create a Real Woman Character, without making her so unsexy as to be instantly distinguishable from your Hollywood doll. It’s not that her actual thoughts and feelings matter; it’s all about where she’s positioned in relation to you.

As Sophia McDougall noted in her excellent essay on Strong Female Characters, male characters have complex personalities as a matter of course; female characters, meanwhile, are occasionally permitted to be strong, hence anomalous. The more nuance we see, the better. Even so, I’m tired of the veneration of men who fetishise Real Womanhood just as much as others fetishise the plastic variety.

According to Whedon’s ex-wife, the director’s declared feminist ideals never filtered through into real life. Whether this is true or not, this would be understandable. Real Women are not the same as real women. Equality isn’t a matter of men feeling “engaged and even attracted” to a more diverse range of females. It isn’t about the male gaze at all.

Whedon’s final response to the “why do you always write these strong women characters?” question – “because you’re still asking me that question” – has been seen by many as an explicitly feminist statement. But perhaps all it really meant was “because there’s still a gap in the market”. Because men will always find ways to benefit from other men’s sexism. If Real Women didn’t exist, some man out there would have to invent them. 

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.