The Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.


"Sweet Tooth" by Ian McEwan, 21 August

McEwan’s recent works, such as Saturday and Solar, have had a radically polarising effect on audiences, but whether his name fills you with adoration or loathing, as one of our most eminent contemporary authors, the release of his 12th novel can’t pass without remark. Sweet Tooth is the story of Serena Frome, a beautiful British agent sent on a "secret mission", which brings her into contact with a promising young writer. As romance blossoms between the two can she maintain her cover story? And who is inventing whom?  Set in 1972, a year beset by economic disaster, industrial unrest and terrorism, we can expect some present day echoes, as well as a story of betrayal, intrigue, love, and the invented self.


Appleton Tower, Edinburgh - CERN: Big questions, Big Science, Big Technology, 23 August 9.00pm

This summer's newspaper columns might have been crammed with likes of Bolt, Farah and Ennis, but, following the observation of the elusive Higgs Boson particle this July, CERN are the undisputed scientific heroes. This event brings together experts from different areas of CERN and the LHC to discuss the impact of their work. The talk takes place as part of the Turing Festival, which aims to celebrate the creativity of digital technology and explore the ways in which technology is affecting culture and society. Other notable talks include an address by Apple’s co-founder, Steve Wozniak, and discussions on the future of gaming, medicine and media.


Bloc Party, "Four", 20 August

Four is the magic number. Four years since their last album, British indie rock band Bloc Party (comprised of four muscians, Kele Okereke, Russell Lissack, Gordon Moakes, and Matt Tong) are to release their fourth and much anticipated album Four. Reviews so far are mixed, but if Kele has captured even an ember of his former spark Four will have been worth the wait.


Independent Cinemas across the UK - The Imposter, 24 August

In 1994 Nicholas Barclay, a 13-year-old Texan boy, vanished. Three years later "Nicholas" was discovered by police in Spain. Though initially eagerly welcomed home by the grieving Barclays, as inconsistencies started to add up doubts about his true identity could no longer be surpressed. The Imposter is director Bart Layton's masterful documentary, which mixes real-life interviews and home-video footage with neo-noir reconstructions in his retelling of this true story of deception.


BBC 4 - BBC Proms National Youth Orchestra, 23 August, 7.30pm

Thursday’s Prom celebrates young talent with the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain. Conducted by Vasily Petrenko, they will perform Varèse’s playful Tuning Up,  Nico Muhly’s Gait, Messiaen’s Turangalîla Symphony, and young composer Anna Meredith’s HandsFree, which was written to be played with anything other than instruments.

Author Ian McEwan's novel Sweet Tooth is to be released on Tuesday
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Shami Chakrabarti’s fall from grace: how a liberal hero lost her reputation

Once, it was trendy to say you liked the former director of Liberty. No longer.

It might be hard to remember now, but there was a time when it was trendy to like Shami Chakrabarti. In the mid-2000s, amid the Iraq War backlash and the furore over identity cards, speaking well of the barrister and head of the human rights campaign group Liberty was a handy way of displaying liberal credentials. She was everywhere: Question Time, Desert Island Discs, Have I Got News For You. A young indie band from Worcester called the Dastards was so keen on her that it even wrote a song about her. It included the lyric: “I turn on my TV/The only one I want to see/Is Shami Chakrabarti.”

The daughter of Bengali immigrants, Chakrabarti was born and brought up in the outer-London borough of Harrow, where she attended a comprehensive school before studying law at the London School of Economics. Her background was a great strength of her campaigning, and during the most authoritarian years of New Labour government she burnished her reputation.

Fast-forward to 13 September 2016, when Chakrabarti made her House of Lords debut as a Labour peer. Baroness Chakrabarti of Kennington wore a sombre expression and a rope of pearls looped round her throat beneath her ermine robe. It was hard to recognise the civil liberties campaigner who was once called “an anarchist in a barrister’s wig” by Loaded magazine.

Yet Chakrabarti has also been cast in another role that is far less desirable than a seat in the Lords: that of a hypocrite. On 29 April this year, Jeremy Corbyn announced that Chakrabarti would chair an independent inquiry into anti-Semitism and other forms of racism in the Labour Party. The inquiry was prompted by the suspensions of Naz Shah, the MP for Bradford West, and Ken Livingstone, for making offensive remarks that were condemned as anti-Semitic. On 16 May Chakrabarti announced that she was joining Labour to gain members’ “trust and confidence”. She said that she would still run the inquiry “without fear or favour”.

The Chakrabarti inquiry delivered its findings on 30 June at a press conference in Westminster. The atmosphere was febrile – there were verbal clashes between the activists and journalists present, and the Jewish Labour MP Ruth Smeeth was reduced to tears. The report stated that Labour “is not overrun by anti-Semitism, Islamophobia or other forms of racism” but that there was an “occasionally toxic atmosphere”. It listed examples of “hateful language” and called on party members to “resist the use of Hitler, Nazi and Holocaust metaphors, distortions and comparisons”. Many Labour supporters were surprised that the report’s 20 recommendations did not include lifetime bans for members found to have shown anti-Semitic behaviour.

Then, on 4 August, it was revealed that Chakrabarti was the sole Labour appointment to the House of Lords in David Cameron’s resignation honours. Both Chakrabarti and Corbyn have denied that the peerage was discussed during the anti-Semitism inquiry. But critics suggested that her acceptance undermined the report and its independence.

In particular, it attracted criticism from members of the UK’s Jewish community. Marie van der Zyl, vice-president of the Board of Deputies of British Jews, said: “This ‘whitewash for peerages’ is a scandal that surely raises serious questions about the integrity of Ms Chakrabarti, her inquiry and the Labour leadership.” A home affairs select committee report into anti-Semitism in the UK has since found that there were grave failings in the report for Labour.

Two further incidents contributed to the decline in Chakrabarti’s reputation: her arrival on Corbyn’s front bench as shadow attorney general and the revelation that her son attends the selective Dulwich College, which costs almost £19,000 a year in fees for day pupils (£39,000 for full boarders). She said that she “absolutely” supports Labour’s opposition to grammar schools but defended her choice to pay for selective education.

Chakrabarti told ITV’s Peston on Sunday: “I live in a nice big house and eat nice food, and my neighbours are homeless and go to food banks. Does that make me a hypocrite, or does it make me someone who is trying to do best, not just for my own family, but for other people’s families, too?”

This was the end for many of those who had respected Chakrabarti – the whisper of hypocrisy became a roar. As the Times columnist Carol Midgley wrote: “You can’t with a straight face champion equality while choosing privilege for yourself.”

Hypocrisy is a charge that has dogged the left for decades (both Diane Abbott and Harriet Harman have fallen foul of the selective school problem). The trouble with having principles, it is said, is that you have to live up to them. Unlike the right, the left prizes purity in its politicians, as Jeremy Corbyn’s squeaky-clean political image shows. Shami Chakrabarti started the year with a campaigning reputation to rival that of the Labour leader, but her poor decisions have all but destroyed her. It’s difficult to recall a time when a liberal icon has fallen so far, so fast. 

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood