Hay despatch #1

Our festival correspondent listens to Nadine Gordimer, Ed Miliband and Grayson Perry.

Stunning sculpture, stories, sun and strawberries were all to be found at the first weekend of this year's Hay literary festival. A lady made from bronze resin lies on the grass reading, and around the elegant sculpture by Carol Peace festival-goers are milling, enlivened by provocative Q&A sessions.

"If you're interested in the world and in people, in love and death, in what is the best thing to do and how to be happy, then Hay is a great place to be," said the festival's founder and director, Peter Florence.

"Forget about creative writing schools, please," advised the South African author Nadine Gordimer in her enthralling talk. "My only advice is read, read, read, read. That's why libraries are so important. You learn to become critical."

As for Gordimer's own vocations, she revealed an unexpected one: "I intended to be a belly dancer," she said, joking that she was glad that she discovered writing, otherwise she'd be washed up by now.

Gordimer mused on the various disciplines of poetry, prose and short stories: "Poetry is the most disciplined of the non-fiction writing. I discovered I'm not up to that," whereas a short story (like "a firefly illumination") comes to her complete. As for the impulse to write fiction at all, she quoted Graham Greene's point that you "don't know anyone completely. You look at them and invent an alternative life."

All writers will face criticism at some point in their career, but "if you have any integrity at all, you find that your books get banned. What do you want to do? Pretend everything is fine? Tell fairy tales?"

* * *

The weekend offered not only literature, but also comedy, music, politics and art. Grayson Perry was to be seen wandering around the Hay Festival site, clad in a bright dress.

"I used to be a bitter artist but now I try to be happy," he said during a discussion of his career, complete with intriguing slideshow. Perry also revealed that he suffered for a long time from "imposter syndrome" and lacked feelings of entitlement.

* * *

At an evening event, the Labour leadership candidate Ed Miliband commented on the first scandal of the new government, David Laws's resignation. He expressed sympathy for the short-lived chief secretary to the Treasury. As for his own career, Miliband said: "I don't miss the trappings of ministerial power at all . . . Government can have a stifling effect."

As an "expert rider of multiple horses", asked his interviewer, "what is your irreducible core?". To which Miliband replied that it is his sense that Britain is an unjust society and that we should do something about that.

His "prescription" for the problem includes decent wages, controlling the markets and "politically promoting love and compassion" by making more time for family, as he believes that inequality places tensions and strains on people.

Miliband refused to criticise his brother, David, or to characterise the differences between them, though he did concede that it was incredibly hard to run against him. "I'm not a factional person," he insisted. Miliband disputed his "nicey-nicey" image and believes he showed his "flintiness" over the Copenhagen summit. "I've been tested and responded," he said.

Gordon Brown, his political mentor, showed him how to "stand up for what he believed", and taught him "toughness", "persistence" and "doggedness". Miliband defended the record of the Labour government, stating that British society is now fairer and more tolerant.

He was taken to task by the audience, which grilled him about the financial crisis, politicians' fears for their own ambitions, and their hope that the Labour Party can win back disaffected voters.

Elsewhere on the festival site, Beth Orton's acoustic set echoed into the night, and later in the evening, at St Mary's Church, the Norwegian pianist Ketil Bjørnstad closed the day's entertainment.

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism