“I absolutely believe in a secular society” – Lutfur Rahman speaks to the NS

My interview with the controversial mayor of Tower Hamlets is in this week’s magazine.

The Q&A-style NS Interview in this week's magazine, which hits the news-stands tomorrow, is with the first directly elected mayor of east London's Tower Hamlets, Lutfur Rahman. He, of course, is the local politician who came to national prominence when he was removed as Labour's candidate for mayor by the party's National Executive Committee, over concerns about his "conduct" and alleged links to Islamic extremists. He then went on to win the mayoral election in October as an independent.

For background on the story, and the various allegations and controversies, check out Rahman's own website, the Telegraph blog of the Islamist-obsessed Andrew Gilligan and Dave Hill's London blog on the Guardian website. You can also read an insider's account of the NEC meeting at which Rahman was deselected here.

The full interview will be published on the NS website but here are some of the key quotes:

– Rahman claims he would not have been removed as Labour's candidate for mayor had Ed Miliband not been in the middle of his leadership campaign: "I believe it would have been different had he been leader at the time." But he says he has not had "any conversations with Ed Miliband" about rejoining the Labour Party, nor has he appointed anyone, including Ken Livingstone, "to enter into any such conversations on my behalf".

– The Tower Hamlets mayor condemns a "small clique in the NEC" for removing him as the Labour candidate and says he is not concerned that two Labour mayors of neighbouring London boroughs, Robin Wales and Jules Pipe, have said they will not work with him: "Tower Hamlets is one of the five Olympics boroughs, but my borough is not run at the behest of any of the leaders of the four other boroughs . . . Whatever other mayors say, that's their prerogative. I'm not interested in that."

– Rahman says he believes in a "social-democratic society" and not an Islamic "caliphate". When I asked him whether he supports secularism and secular politics, he replied: "I absolutely believe in a secular society." And, on sharia law, Rahman says: "I was invited to the London Muslim Centre [in July 2008] when the then chief justice, Lord Phillips, came to speak and said that there are merits in learning from certain aspects of sharia law, to help our legal system. Not the penal elements; the family and civil elements. If the chief justice can make those comments, who am I to disagree?"

– On his Islamic faith and the allegations of extremism and links to extremist groups, Rahman says he is "a proud Muslim" but denies membership of the controversial Islamic Forum of Europe (IFE), saying: "I don't believe we have extremist groups in Tower Hamlets. If so, I am sure the government and the police would have intervened long ago." He says the IFE is "one group among many", adding: "I believe that previous leaders have worked with the IFE and other such organisations, and some previous leaders are on record as having funded such faith groups. If there was nothing wrong with working with such groups then, why now?"

– I also asked him whether the gay population of Tower Hamlets should be worried by his victory, and he replied: "I made it quite clear that I want to serve each and every member of my community, including the gay and lesbian community. It is not for me to make value judgements. I want to work with every member of the community, whatever their sexual orientation. I grew up with people in the East End from all backgrounds, black, white, gay, and many of them are still my mates."

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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