Our leaders must abandon the cult of speed

Meaningful change takes time to get right. We need a strategy of slow politics.

It is, of course, reshuffle week. To be honest, I don’t care much about who is up and who is down. Not only is this government heading in the wrong direction on almost every count, it's even stopped being interesting. Compassionate conservatism, as a strain of one nation conservatism, could at best have been something to engage with, at worse something vaguely watchable.  But that moment has gone. What is interesting is the spectacle of the reshuffle and what it says about the culture of modern politics.

The point of a reshuffle is to publicly demonstrate the quickening pace of government, to promote the new and the fast and punish to the old and the slow. Yes, the government now dresses slightly further to the right, but the reshuffle says more about the aura of delivery than it does about ideology. In fairness, David Cameron has held out longer than his predecessors – fending off demands to change the pack right through to mid-term. The impatient ultra-modernisers of New Labour could never manage to sit still for so long. For them, it was the fast and furious politics of an endless, restless, twitching fidget.  

The average tenure of a New Labour minister was 1.3 years. It's one of those remarkable facts that reminds me of the 1980s Paul Hardcastle hit "19", which highlighted the average age at which US troops died in Vietnam. How can anyone possibly achieve anything in the complex world of politics in 1.3 years? Remember, that’s an average.  Many posts were held for less and having Gordon Brown in the Chancellor's job for 10 years must have skewed the figures. There have been eight transport secretaries in 10 years, a turnover now mirrored in the civil service as three departments have had three different permanent secretaries in the last two years. Surely only football managers are scalped faster?

Of course, everything in politics is speeding up as everything in life speeds up. Short-termism defines the economy. In 1966, institutions held shares in FTSE 100 firms for an average of eight years, today the average is less than one. Our culture is dominated by fast food, always on communications, omnipresent media and the ever-quickening pace of the consumer treadmill as obsoleteness becomes not just technically built in but psychologically embedded. Besides, China never sleeps and never slows down. We either run faster or we lose.   

Politics has found it impossible to avoid the same fast fate. As politicians give up managing the economy in the interests of society, or saving the planet – they have to justify their existence by meddling in ever more areas of our life, at a faster and faster pace. A dangerous bout of displacement activity sees political leaders justify their existence any way they can – other than dealing with the causes of the problems we face. So within the tight time cycles of our first-past-the-post electoral system they go for the quick fix; the big IT project, another piece of legislation or another round of re-organization to fill the 24/7 media channels, look busy and impress the people. Speed begets speed, as the knowledge of your almost certain shift in one to two years means acting fast now or facing the chop. And worry not, as you’ll be in another post long before anyone notices how many novice mistakes you made.

Today, the abiding philosophy is that change can only be imposed quickly from above. It’s a mish mash of Soviet-style centralisation and target imposition alongside the heroic CEO of the free market as the drivers of change. What neither model can do is trust the people to change things for themselves by themselves. It is raw elitism over pluralism, the politics of the blueprint over politics as a shared journey, it refuses to allow people to learn best by learning from their mistakes as power is used over rather than with the people. It’s the short-term over the long.

What we need instead of the cult of speed is a slow politics, which seeks fundamental and deeply embedded change. Such a slow politics is based on the recognition that meaningful, sustainable and popular change takes time to get right, that a consensus needs to be negotiated to build popular agreement on the way forward and that decisions need to be shared if people are to feel ownership of change, work for it and pay for it. It is the politics of the tortoise, not the hare.

Raymond Williams, the brilliant Welsh cultural theorist and socialist, understood all this better than most. His book The Long Revolution was written because Williams saw the sheer complexity of any kind of socialistic change towards self-government, rather than the easy paternalistic forms of nationalisation.  Which all reinforces one of the golden rules of the left, namely that democracy may take more time than the target or the market – but it comes up with better solutions.  And more than anything else it is the planet that needs us and our politicians to slow down.

The lesson of history, whether Bolshevik or Blairite, is that you cannot short cut history. If you try, then disaster looms. It's not just reforms that take time but truly hegemonic transformational change is a slow process too. It took ten years for the welfare state to emerge from the 1930s crash. The new right gestated for three decades before it took power.  My favourite example is the Swedish social democrats, who took power in the 1930s and steadily, surely, and slowly built a rather good society that didn’t reach its peak until over half a century later. 

We need a different theory of change, one that matches principle with patience, the purpose of which is to head in the right direction and find as many fellow travellers as possible to share the journey with. A switch to proportional representation would help, then a long-term progressive consensus could be secured. Ironically, the perpetual failure of one-party-fast-politics is delivering just such hung parliaments. Meanwhile, this week's reshuffle will change almost nothing. 

More film references to end with. Politics is not akin to Keanu Reeves on a bus that will explode if it slows down, it is more akin to Walkabout and a process of self-discovery through tough terrain with others.  And then there is the brilliant line in the otherwise rather average film The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel: "It will all be okay in the end, and if it's not okay it's not the end". With that I leave you for this week – sorry, I’ve got to rush.

Neal Lawson's column appears every Thursday on The Staggers.

Short-termism defines the economy and politics. Photograph: Getty Images.

Neal Lawson is chair of the pressure group Compass, which brings together progressives from all parties and none. His views on internal Labour matters are personal ones. 

Felipe Araujo
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Hull revisited: What happens when a Brexit stronghold becomes City of Culture?

We report from Hull, to find out if you can replace the kind of nostalgia that led to a Leave vote with cultural investment.

At 75 metres long, the offshore wind turbine blade erected across Queen Victoria Square, in the heart of Hull, is a sculpture intended to mark a new chapter in the city’s history. For the next 12 months, Hull, a city of more than a quarter of a million people in the northeast of England, will be the UK’s City of Culture.

The 28-tonne blade hails from the local Siemens plant. The German technology company employs around 1,000 people in the area, making it Hull’s biggest single employer.

Seen up close in this context – laid dormant in the middle of a town square instead of spinning up in the air generating energy – the structure is meant to remind passersby of a giant sea creature. It is also, I’m told, an allusion to Hull’s rich maritime history.


All photos: Felipe Araujo

Nostalgia is a big thing in this part of the country. At one point, Hull was the UK’s third largest port but technology and privatisation drastically changed that. The battle over cod fishing with Iceland in the waters of the North Sea 40 years ago has also dealt a major blow to a region with a long and proud trawling tradition.

People here still talk about a bygone era when the fishing industry provided jobs for everyone and there was enough money to go around.

Fast forward to 2017, and the country’s new capital of culture is the same city that voted 67 per cent in favour of leaving the EU last June. Its new-found prestige, it seems, is not enough to erase years of neglect by a political class “too busy for commoners like us”, as one resident puts it.

“More than a message to Brussels, it [the Brexit vote] was a message to Westminster,” Paul Leeson-Taylor, a filmmaker born and bred in Hull, tells me. “For the first time in a long time people in Hull felt like they had the chance to change something, and they took it.”

But while speaking to people on the high street and hanging out with locals at the Community Boxing Club in Orchard Park, one of the city’s most deprived areas, there is one word that consistently popped up in conversation – more than any specific policy from Westminster or the much-hated rules “dictated” by Brussels. Foreigners.

According to official figures, Hull’s population is 89.1 per cent white British. Still, immigration is big on people’s minds here.

During my two-day stay in the city, I find myself being the only black person in most places I visit – I’m certainly the only black guy at the boxing club. So when someone begins a sentence with “I’m not racist but…”, I know a tirade on immigrants is about to ensue.

“There are just too many of them,” Nick Beach, an estate agent whose Polish clientele is a big part of his business, tells me as he is about to teach a boxing class to local children. Beach was born in Shepherd’s Bush, in West London, but has been living in Hull for the last 20 years.

“When I go down there these days and go into Westfield shopping centre, it is very rare you get an English person serving you now,” he says. “I just find it disappointing that you go into your capital city and you are a minority there.”

These are the much-discussed “left behind”, a white working-class community that has gained particular prominence in a time of Brexit and Donald Trump. Under economic pressure and facing social change, they want to have their say in running a country they claim to no longer recognise.

For Professor Simon Lee, a senior politics lecturer at the University of Hull, immigration is only a superficial layer when it comes to explaining the resentment I witness here. For him, the loss of the empire 70 years ago is still something that as a country Britain hasn’t come to terms with.

“The reason for us to be together as a United Kingdom has gone, so what is the project?”

As destiny would have it, a foreign company will now play a major role on Hull’s economic future, at least in the short term. In the wake of the Brexit vote, there were widespread fears Siemens would pull out of the region and take its factory elsewhere. With the massive blade looming large in the background, Jason Speedy, director of the blade factory in Hull, assures me that isn’t the case.

“The Brexit decision has made no difference. We have made our investment decision, so Siemens, together with the Association of British Ports, has put in £310m. It’s all full steam ahead.”

As Hull becomes the country’s cultural hub for the next few months, the hope is that its residents stop looking back and start looking forward.

For Professor Lee, though, until there is a complete change in the power structures that run the country, the north-south divide will remain – with or without the EU. “The way you kill nostalgia is to have something new,” he said. “The reason why people here are nostalgic is because there is nothing to replace it with.”

Felipe Araujo is a freelance journalist based in London. He writes about race, culture and sports. He covered the Rio Olympics and Paralympics on the ground for the New Statesman. He tweets @felipethejourno.