Labour and Tories are both led by career politicians – but the label can hurt Ed more than Dave

Miliband is running out of time to inspire people with more than just a feeling that he has noticed how expensive life has become.

The differences between David Cameron and Ed Miliband are vast enough to obscure the one thing they have in common. They both went into politics because it seemed like a natural thing to do – a feature that also distinguishes them from most of the population.

Both men are products of rarefied social spheres that made a career in Westminster obvious and available. Cameron, Eton-educated and aristocratically connected, became a Conservative. Miliband’s upbringing at the top table of north London’s Marxist intelligentsia propelled him in the opposite direction. Talent explains their subsequent progress but neither man set off on a path marked by resistance.

For Labour, the comparison is abhorrent. Viewed from the left, there can be no moral equivalence between Cameron exercising the ruling prerogative of his class and Miliband answering the vocation of his secular creed. This righteous indignation has been amplified by Nelson Mandela’s death. For a Labour generation that grew up in the 1980s campaigning against apartheid, today’s veneration of the late ANC leader lends a retrospective moral victory to a decade of political defeat for the left. Margaret Thatcher won all the domestic battles but she was wrong about South Africa. While the Tories were making excuses for white supremacists, Miliband was meeting heroes of the Struggle at his parents’ dinner table.

Cameron was sensitive enough to this blot on the Conservative record to apologise for it in 2006, which confirms that the “modernising” instincts of his early years as leader were sounder than many in his party now suppose. Few voters choose a party for its historic stance on African liberation movements but Cameron understood that support for Mandela had entered British culture as a badge of transcendent values at a time when the Tories were disliked for understanding only material costs.

Now, in abandoning modernisation, he has chosen to concentrate on what seems like good short-term politics – winning the game at Westminster – at the expense of explaining how he thinks politics itself can be good.

That case badly needs making. This week MPs’ tributes to a man who embodied politics as self-sacrifice ran concurrent to a less edifying debate about their own status as salaried professionals. The Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority (Ipsa) thinks an 11 per cent pay rise is in order. Plenty of backbenchers silently agree but their leaders cannot acquiesce at a time when politicians are reviled and everyone else on the public payroll has seen their wages cut or frozen. Cameron has a neat formula for making it clear that MPs are not immune to austerity – “the cost of politics should go down”.

No one wants to be governed by people who are only in it for the money but very few British politicians are. The greater problem is how many of them get into it without experience of doing anything else. In that respect, the differences between Cameron’s and Miliband’s backgrounds are smaller than the career politician label that unites them. Voters might be more receptive to the case for well-paid politics if they thought they were getting a more representative set of recruits for their money. Labour does better than the Tories or Lib Dems on that front but the advantage is slight. Conservatives suffer from their image as a club for the moneyed elite but Miliband’s party is judged to be exclusive in a different way – more a talking shop for do-gooders than a mass movement for working people. The polling agency Britain Thinks recently asked swing voters to imagine a “Mr Labour” figure at a party. They described a shy vegetarian, sorting through the CDs without choosing the music. “Mr Conservative” was brash and arrogant, in an expensive suit, drinking champagne.

Downing Street thinks Mr Conservative has the edge over Mr Labour in one vital aspect – people don’t elect a prime minister to be their friend. The Tories think voters can be swayed by the view that their hard-headed policies rescued the economy and that all gains would be squandered by their weak-willed opponents.

Miliband has scored points with his campaign on the cost of living, playing to Labour’s strength as the party that voters rate higher when asked who better “understands ordinary people”. He still faces doubt, including in his own party, that this empathy is the basis for credible government. The Labour leader’s inner circle has a clear sense of his “One Nation” project as a vision for weaving social justice into the fabric of economic policy. Most Labour MPs are much hazier about what it means in practice. One Milibandite frontbencher estimates that only 10 to 20 per cent of his parliamentary colleagues could easily articulate their leader’s philosophy.

That is a higher proportion than the number of Conservatives who could tell you what Cameron believes. The difference is that the Tory leader seems content to lack vision as long as people think he has a grip. He calculates that voters who despise all politicians will choose a party that shrinks government to fit meagre resources over one that has noble intentions and no way to pay for them.

The Labour leader’s friends say he aims to do much more than tinker at the margins of a dysfunctional economy. He wants to be a great moral reformer but he is running out of time to inspire people with more than just a feeling that he has noticed how expensive life has become.

In an election fought on making numbers add up, Mr Conservative has the advantage of looking like an accountant. Mr Labour’s big heart may not help him much more than his vintage “Free Nelson Mandela” T-shirt. Cameron is comfortable arguing that the cost of politics must come down. Miliband has the harder task of arguing that the value of politics needs to go up.

David Cameron, Nick Clegg and Ed Miliband stand together as Prince Charles, Prince of Wales launches a new youth campaign at Buckingham Palace on November 21, 2013. 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 12 December 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Power Games

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With the BBC Food’s collection under threat, here's how to make the most of online recipes

Do a bit of digging, trust your instincts – and always read the comments.

I don’t think John Humphrys is much of a chef. Recently, as his Today co-presenter Mishal Husain was discussing the implications of the BBC’s decision to axe its Food website (since commuted to transportation to the Good Food platform, run by its commercial arm), sharp-eared listeners heard the Humph claim that fewer recipes on the web could only be a good thing. “It would make it easier!” he bellowed in the background. “We wouldn’t have to choose between so many!”

Husain also seemed puzzled as to why anyone would need more than one recipe for spaghetti bolognese – but, as any keen cook knows, you can never have too many different takes on a dish. Just as you wouldn’t want to get all your news from a single source, it would be a sad thing to eat the same bolognese for the rest of your life. Sometimes only a molto autentico version, as laid down by a fierce Italian donna, rich with tradition and chopped liver, will do – and sometimes, though you would never admit it in a national magazine, you crave the comfort of your mum’s spag bol with grated cheddar.

The world wouldn’t starve without BBC Food’s collection but, given that an online search for “spaghetti bolognese recipe” turns up about a million results, it would have been sad to have lost one of the internet’s more trustworthy sources of information. As someone who spends a large part of each week researching and testing recipes, I can assure you that genuinely reliable ones are rarer than decent chips after closing time. But although it is certainly the only place you’ll find the Most Haunted host Yvette Fielding’s kedgeree alongside Heston Blumenthal’s snail porridge, the BBC website is not the only one that is worth your time.

The good thing about newspaper, magazine and other commercial platforms is that most still have just enough budget to ensure that their recipes will have been made at least twice – once by the writer and once for the accompanying photographs – though sadly the days when everyone employed an independent recipe tester are long gone. Such sites also often have sufficient traffic to generate a useful volume of comments. I never make a recipe without scrolling down to see what other people have said about it. Get past the “Can’t wait to make this!” brigade; ignore the annoying people who swap baked beans for lentils and then complain, “This is nothing like dhal”; and there’s usually some sensible advice in there, too.

But what about when you leave the safety of the big boys and venture into the no man’s land of the personal blog? How do you separate the wheat from the chaff and find a recipe that actually works? You can often tell how much work a writer has put in by the level of detail they go into: if they have indicated how many people it serves, or where to find unusual ingredients, suggested possible tweaks and credited their original sources, they have probably made the dish more than once. The photography is another handy clue. You don’t have to be Annie Leibovitz to provide a good idea of what the finished dish ought to look like.

Do a bit of digging as part of your prep. If you like the look of the rest of the site, the author’s tastes will probably chime with your own. And always, always, wherever the recipe is from, read it all the way through, even before you order the shopping. There is nothing more annoying than getting halfway through and then realising that you need a hand blender to finish the dish, just as the first guest arrives.

Above all, trust your instincts. If the cooking time seems far too short, or the salt content ridiculously high, it probably is, so keep an eye on that oven, check that casserole, keep tasting that sauce. As someone who once published a magic mince pie recipe without any sugar, I’m living proof that, occasionally, even the very best of us make mistakes. 

Felicity Cloake is the New Statesman’s food columnist. Her latest book is The A-Z of Eating: a Flavour Map for Adventurous Cooks.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad