Blair's loyal friends

Irwin Stelzer joins Berlusconi and backs Blair as EU president

For the sake of his (admittedly tenuous) relationship with the left, Tony Blair must hope that a man is not judged by his friends. After Silvio Berlusconi backed Blair to become the first president of Europe, Rupert Murdoch's intellectual guru, Irwin Stelzer, today adds his support to the campaign.

Stelzer's endorsement of Blair in the Guardian is likely to prompt cries of "Betrayal!" from Bill Cash et al. He writes:

I yield to no one in my dislike of the unaccountable, kleptocratic bureaucracy and its appropriation to itself of the prerogatives of parliament. But you lost that fight when your prime minister reneged on his promise of a referendum and signed the constitution -- er, treaty. The EU's interest, which is what the role is all about now, is clearly in appointing (elections are not the thing in the EU) a famous, dynamic leader who can give it instant credibility on the world stage.

Stelzer does not touch on the Eurosceptics' nightmare: that David Cameron will be left in office but not in power as Blair's EU acquires ever more authority. But he does offer his own take on Labour's internal strife.

In something of an overture to James Purnell and David Miliband, Stelzer remarks of Blair:

He did make voters realise that they should be in charge, achieve at least some reforms, and create a dialogue that will make others possible once the Brown regime passes into opposition and Blairites regain control of the Labour Party.

Yet there's no chance of that happening while the trade unions retain a third of the votes in Labour's electoral college. In a typical display of eloquence, Derek Simpson, the joint head of Unite, recently branded Purnell, Miliband and Peter Mandelson "thick" and "Tories".

Far more likely is that the centre-left "dream ticket" of Harriet Harman and Jon Cruddas will be elected, backed by the Compass wing of the party.

The Blairites had better hope that their man makes it to Brussels.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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I somehow feel very different this year, waving my teenager off to Pride

I thought times had changed, and was glad – then Orlando hit me like a smack in the face.

When I guest-edited Radio 4’s Today programme a couple of years ago, one of my chosen topics was young people and the internet, and specifically the way in which it can be such a positive force for gay teens who are coming to understand themselves and to find friends and allies. This item was entirely inspired by my own teenager, who came out at the age of 15, and had already found an online community of help, support and friendship.

Back when I was a teenager, I didn’t know anyone who was gay. Well, of course I did, but didn’t know it. My friend had a boyfriend with whom things never quite worked out, and when he came out years later it all made sense. We didn’t talk about it or wonder about it at the time. We sang “Glad to Be Gay” and thought we were cool and we knew nothing.

My kids, on the other hand, know everything, and they’ve taught me so much, mostly in terms of theory and terminology. I’d still thought I was cool but it turned out that in fact I was 53 and out of date, and they dragged me cheerfully into the second decade of the 21st century, blinking, dusting myself down.

The whole experience was a happy one, on both sides. A teenager who came out into a welcoming family. A brief, teary hug, because I hadn’t instinctively known (“God, Mum, your gaydar is crap”), and laughter at the clues I’d missed (“All that watching Eurovision together, Mum – did you still not guess?”). It wasn’t that I didn’t think any of my kids might be gay: just that I was still being a mum and not realising they’d stopped being kids.

Back in 2007 I wrote a song called “A-Z”, about gay teens being bullied at school, a kind of retelling of Bronski Beat’s “Smalltown Boy”, which I’d always adored. But then my own teen wasn’t bullied at school, and was happily out there, and everyone was cool, and I thought, “This is fantastic. What a time to be alive.” A crowd of them – gay, straight, bi – went off to Pride, wrapped in flags and with rainbows painted on their faces, and we took photos and celebrated, and again I thought, “What a time to be alive. Hurrah for Now.”

But then Orlando. Oh God, Orlando, which hit me smack in the face, left me shattered and weeping, feeling stupid for not remembering that there were still people out there who might want to harm my beautiful, clever, funny, science-loving, Ru Paul-loving child. Had we been living in a dream? Were we wrong to do so? We’d just been enjoying the good news, that’s all. The increasing freedom and equal rights. The taking of simple things for granted, like being able to marry and have kids. Just ordinariness – nothing anyone should have to feel grateful for.

How we can both know and not know things. How our longing for change lulls us into believing change has come. Of course I knew there was still a way to go. But there’s knowing and not knowing. There’s knowing something cerebrally, and knowing it viscerally. Love makes you strong and it makes you vulnerable. The people you love are the gap in your armour where the blade gets in, and Orlando was quite some blade.

“Four dead in Ohio,” sang Neil Young, in a plaintive lament for the students killed at Kent State University back in 1970. And the tune keeps coming into my head, with different words. Fifty dead in Orlando. Those text messages sent from the bathroom at the Pulse nightclub, what was it one of them said? “Mommy . . . Trapp in bathroom . . . I’m gonna die.” Mommy. That’s where the blade got in. And I wave my child – 18 now, an adult, but always my child – off to Pride for the third time, but in a different mood this year. Alert. Steely.

I’m reading Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts, a book about same-sex marriage, non-binary gender identity, family, motherhood and, above all, love, and I come across this line: “Sometimes one has to know something many times over. Sometimes one forgets, and then remembers. And then forgets, and then remembers. And then forgets again.” I promise not to forget again.

Tracey Thorn is a musician and writer, best known as one half of Everything but the Girl. She writes the fortnightly “Off the Record” column for the New Statesman. Her latest book is Naked at the Albert Hall.

This article first appeared in the 30 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit lies