Addicted to Base

Guest blogger Hamer reflects on the "national gnashing of teeth" that took place last week over a fo

The national gnashing of teeth that took place last week over a fourteen stone eight year old was as predictable as it was entertaining. Not that I find the boy’s circumstances funny; merely the reactions to them.

Amid the thinly veiled snobbery that’s always given an airing on occasions like this – well, those working class people are a bit think aren’t they?

Lord knows that healthy eating isn’t exactly rocket science – was a fascinating dichotomy. When debates about “responsibility” are under way in the national media there are certain groups within society that think that such terms apply to the likes of the eight year old kid and his mother, but not to them. We’re middle class, you know; our penne is ethically sourced and we keep our front porches clean. We don’t have responsibilities.

Well, actually, you do. As I approach my nine hundredth year of working as a bag-carrier to a Member of Parliament it never ceases to amaze me the casually contemptuous attitude that many people hold - not only politicians but representative democracy as a whole.

You only need to look at the letters page of the Daily Mail or the trendy lefty frothings on Comment is Free to read a depressingly familiar mirror-image of what a large number of MPs receive in their post bags everyday. “We never see you around here,” they write to say to their unfortunate Member, who probably hasn’t seen his or her family all weekend because they've been holding surgery after surgery. “I’ve voted for the [insert] Party all my life, but you have betrayed us over [insert issue]. Either you sort it out or you lose my vote”.

This, often, is the sole contribution that many people have with the political system: the exercising of their “rights”. The constant demands become rather wearing at times, especially when the only recommendation MPs read of themselves is the lazy-politicians-snouts-in-the-trough-what-have-they-done-for-me-lately analysis so beloved of people who see the state as a kind of sweet shop to which they are entitled to unlimited credit.

There’s rarely any sense that democracy is a reciprocal relationship where they have a duty to act as citizens rather than consumers, to hold their elected representatives to account. Not in the lazy way of the Question Time audience (and occasionally celebrity panel members) that dismisses all politicians as “liars” or, more recently “numpties”. It gets an approving round of applause, but it’s a hollow, meaningless response to a supposed deeper hunger amongst the electorate: the desire to be engaged.

As various middle-class nutritionists and self-appointed experts were so keen to tell us last week, healthy satisfaction is consequent upon a little work and preparation. A healthy democracy is just the same; it requires getting involved with your local community, taking an active part in the local school through the PTA, trying to understand the issues and conflicting views and pressures on the various actors, be they politicians, parents, residents, or teachers. Occasionally it means recognising that your individual good might not be the same as the common good, and that when politicians don’t do precisely as you want – which is pretty impossible when each constituency contains up to 72,000 voters all with a different idea as to what the best solution is – it’s democracy, not betrayal.

That’s not to say that politicians get it right all the time but when that happens, screaming at them harpy-like and then disengaging completely in a sulk is not the answer. The free market theory of democracy holds that we get the politicians we deserve and, as many loftily informed the unfortunate eight-year old’s parents, the battle to ensure that our system works well is what we grown ups like to call “personal responsibility”.

The popular model of society shouldn’t be “them” and “us”, and in an era when politicians are more desperate than ever before to actually get involved in communities and affect social change, to accuse them of perpetrating this perceived separateness speaks of the kind of laziness that blames McDonalds for our bulging waistlines. Yes, it is easy, damned tasty, and ultimately empty calories but you have a choice to eat it or not. And if you do, screaming at the manager of your local fast food chain that it’s not your fault you’re a lardy git is only going to generate limited sympathy.

So we should all stop cramming our faces with burgers and quick-fixes, whilst blaming somebody else for our obesity, whether that obesity is physical or metaphorical. Viewing the service politicians provide as a “right” whilst failing to engage in the “responsibility” of being an active citizen and participant in the state does not make for good democracy and blaming your lazy so-called disillusionment on somebody else smacks of the kind of lack of responsibility we were all so keen to mock in the mother of the unfortunate eight year old boy. Lord knows, it’s not exactly rocket science.

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser