Kelvin MacKenzie and me

I'm amused to see myself feature in the former Sun editor's latest rant.

I've met Kelvin MacKenzie now on two or three occasions. I've chatted to him on the phone about Andy Coulson. I spent an hour in the green room with him last Sunday, chatting about the Lib Dems, Rupert Murdoch phone-tapping, etc. So I'm surprised he couldn't remember my name; or, if he did, chose not to share it with his readers. I appear in his column only as "the chap from the New Statesman" and "the bloke from the New Statesman". Can the Sun subs not spell "M-e-h-d-i" or "H-a-s-a-n"? I'm also amused that the only other journalist I've ever debated with or spoken to who couldn't remember my name, despite being told twice on air what it was by the presenter, was the Sun's Trevor Kavanagh.

But let's look at the substance of Kelvin's column (and I use the word "substance" rather loosely):

The class war has taken a surprising turn. Here I was in a television studio debating obesity's link to poverty when the chap from the New Statesman turned on me and said: "It's all right for you, shopping at Waitrose." Guilty as charged. I do shop at Waitrose and am now in the strange position of having to defend myself. It's my nearest supermarket and any food retailer will tell you -- thanks to their extensive research -- that no customer wants to travel more than one-and-a-quarter miles to shop. It's why supermarkets build more and more stores. But it's the first time a shop has defined my politics. He may as well have accused me of wearing shoes. Looking at the bloke from the New Statesman, my sense is that on the same basis Lidl may be his regular haunt.

I'm a Tesco man myself, to be honest. I've never shopped in Lidl or, for that matter, Waitrose. But MacKenzie manages to write about Sunday's The Big Questions, on BBC1, without mentioning the context in which I made my remarks about Waitrose. I know that most Sun columnists shy away from facts and figures -- and MacKenzie is no exception -- so let me try to offer some balance. There is a concept known as a "food desert"; in 1996, a British Low Income Project Team defined food deserts as "areas of relative exclusion where people experience physical and economic barriers to accessing healthy foods". In 2008, the Telegraph reported:

The increasing number of suburban supermarkets is creating health problems for those living in inner-city "urban food deserts", according to research.

The proliferation of supermarkets on city outskirts has led to a decline of decent food outlets in the centre, a study published today discloses.

These "food deserts" are said to be affecting the health of the poorer sections of society as well as those without cars, who cannot easily travel to supermarkets.

As for the overall debate about the links between obesity and poverty in this country and abroad, please see this rather insightful CIF piece from last year.

Kelvin continues:

Not since the Eighties have I seen class war so prominent in public life. Bashing bankers, suggesting mansion taxes. Squeezing the rich until the pips squeak is at the centre of the debate.

He's right -- class war is "prominent in public life" and it is indeed like the "Eighties" all over again. Why? Because, as in the 1980s, a Tory-led government of multimillionaires, which is squeezing the poor and the middle classes while appeasing its greedy friends in the City, has declared class war on the rest of us.

Still, nice to appear in the Sun today, as well as the Guardian, and as for being on the end of Kelvin's notorious rants, as a colleague pointed out me a moment ago, being accused of shopping at Lidl is hardly the worst insult he's ever thrown at someone. At least he didn't accuse me of urinating on the dead.

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 Brexit outlook for Theresa May isn't good

Getting from today's headlines to a successful deal will require an impressive feat of statecraft.

Good morning. Give me what I want or I shoot myself: that's the gambit that worked for the sheriff in Blazing Saddles, but it may not fly in the Brexit negotiations.

Theresa May has invoked Article 50 and Britain is heading out of the European Union. She attempted to strike a more conciliatory tone yesterday than she has hitherto, but the message that has drawn the headlines is the government's "threat" on security: that no Brexit deal means no British co-operation in Europol and in EU-wide counter-terror measures.

Gianni Pittella, the leader of the Socialist bloc in the European Parliament says it was "not a smart move" and "feels like blackmail", and Guy Verhofstadt, parliament's representative in the negotiations, is also using the B word, after a fashion: "I tried to be a gentleman towards a lady, so I didn't even use or think about the use of the word blackmail."

"Trading Blows" is the Mirror's splash, while "May threat to EU terror pact" is the Times' does-what-it-says-on-the-tin frontpage. "EU warns: don't blackmail us" is the Guardian's. The Sun has turned the jingometer all the way up to 11 this morning: "Your money or your lives" is their splash.

David Davis hit the airwaves this morning to reassure people that the government's intention was not to invoke security as a threat in the Brexit talks. My understanding is that the intention was to show co-operation and highlight the importance of Britain's continuing relationship with the EU. In Brussels, not everyone read the letter as a threat. The European Parliament is more "highly strung" as one Brussels official puts it, but don't forget: they get a vote on the deal too.

That the mood music from Downing Street and much of the British press has been so relentlessly anti-Europe means that feelings are running high. While most of the British political class doesn't have German or French, most of the political class does have English. The frontpages of the Sun, the Express and the Mail travel a lot further than their equivalents elsewhere in Europe, which will increase the pressure domestically on May's opposite numbers to sign a bad deal.

All of which can be navigated by an astute diplomat. As to the question of whether that diplomat is May, however, it's worth taking a look at that "100 per cent commitment to Nato" that she secured from Donald Trump, which even a generous marker would struggle to get to 60 per cent. Trump has yet to appoint a Nato ambassador and his Secretary of State is still sounding equivocal about standing by Nato members who don't pay up.

Getting from today's papers to a good Brexit deal is going to require an impressive feat of statecraft. Past performance isn't necessarily an indicator of future returns. But the outlook for May so far isn't good.

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to British politics.