What became of Blue Labour?

A year later, there's barely a sight of the buzzword. But its ideas live on, writes Rowenna Davis.

Whatever happened to Blue Labour? Last year I wrote a book about a term that was causing political circles to chatter . Now the name has almost dropped out of existence. Its founder, Lord Maurice Glasman, has effectively been under house arrest in the second chamber after a string of controversial outbursts, the latest on this website. But one year on, Blue Labour is still the rising philosophy of Ed Miliband’s party. The players, the relationships and the policies are having an effect. The name might not be there, but the influence is.

Ed Miliband’s conference speech is set to focus on “predistribution”. Although the term is diabolically policy-wonkish, the concept is spot on. The starting position of Blue Labour is that previous governments were too hands off with the market and too hands on with the state. Predistribution wants us to change that balance. If you force employers to pay the living wage for example, then you don’t have to worry about correcting in work poverty through tax credits. This is central to Blue Labour’s call on the party to value hard work and reduce dependency, and it’s supported by shadow minister Rachel Reeves in a new Fabian pamphlet outlining Miliband’s ideas.

Ed Miliband’s “responsible capitalism” is underpinned by this philosophy. Take the leader’s emphasis on energy companies. If we split up this oligopolistic market and force the companies to compete, we would encourage them to suck out less in profit and dedicate more revenue to improving their offer to customers. Crucially, that means there would be less demand for winter fuel allowance. Similarly, demanding workers’ representation on the boards of companies would give them the chance to challenge fat cat salaries, and call for more profits to be given in wages. Improving vocational education is another way of increasing wages without relying on state redistribution. In economic terms, it’s developing a supply side policy for the left. To your average voter, it’s a way of making a real difference to people’s lives without spending huge amounts of money.

It’s true to say that Glasman is not as close to Ed Miliband as he once was, but he remains tight with people who are. Lord Stewart Wood is a big fan of Germany’s model of worker representation and vocational education, and Marc Stears, one of Ed Miliband’s best friends from university, is working at the heart of the leader’s office. They are both longstanding friends of Glasman.

Meanwhile, Jon Cruddas MP has been chosen to lead Labour’s policy review. Cruddas has been one of the biggest fans of Blue Labour in the parliamentary party (not that this says much) and his close friend Jonathan Rutherford is very close with Glasman. Ed Miliband knew that when he made the appointment. Cruddas is already showing his Blue streak, particularly his call for a referendum on EU membership. We can also expect to see calls for a decentralisation of the state, and a focus on what kind of society we want to build together, rather than an obsession with what processes we want to get there. The conference slogan championed by Cruddas – “Rebuilding Britain” – came from Glasman before anyone else.

The third area where Blue Labour is influencing the party is less well known, but still highly important. A new man has come to work in Ed Milband’s team, focusing on party organisation. Arnie Graf has come from the United States with a long track record of community organising, which Glasman has always admired. Older and wiser than your frantic special adviser stereotype, his gentle but strong manner has won round people from surprising quarters in the party, and last year he was given permission to conduct a root and branch review of its organisation. His report was never published, but he called on the party to open up, raising the possibility of open primaries and less top down control from London. Now he’s taking leave from his work in the US to continue here, and he remains something of a trusted elder to the Labour leader. Few know that it was Glasman who first convinced Graf to come over from the US, and that he was personally responsible for introducing him to the Labour leader.

Whilst all this is happening, Lord Glasman is not sitting still or acting alone. Out of the media spotlight he’s beavering away, building alliances and making new friends. This summer a big conference was held on the “Common Good” – members of the green movement and women’s groups were there alongside MPs and faith groups to discuss how to take the agenda forward. Glasman is also forming links with unions, particularly those representing the private sector, about how they can work together. If that wasn’t enough, he’s also working with the people of Dover to stop the privatisation of their port. A perfect campaign for Blue Labour, it’s about reengaging with the South, supporting private sector workers and mutual ownership. The relationships, the policies, the players – there’s a lot going on. It might not be called Blue Labour, but a rose by another other name…

A ferry sails past the Port of Dover, site of some very Blue Labourish goings-on. Photograph: Getty Images

Rowenna Davis is Labour PPC for Southampton Itchen and a councillor for Peckham

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism