Meet the Tories the left should be frightened of

Luckily for Ed Miliband, the Conservative Party is unlikely to listen to the Tories with One Nation vision.

I’ve just woken up after a trip to the Conservative Party conference in Birmingham. As a Labour councillor, I was something of an intruder. I went a little red at the hotel reception, mumbling apologetically that I wasn’t “actually a Tory” and feeling shell shocked at the huge numbers of powerful looking men in corporate suits. But as it turned out, one group of Conservatives were far frightening than any other. These are the "nice guys", and they pose a serious electoral threat to Labour.

This group is not a formal alliance, but they are all critical of economic liberalism. They are prepared to challenge the market when it isn’t working for people, and they have a genuine concern for the poor. They are socially conservative, and believe in family, community and tradition. They admit that 1979 brought problems as well as benefits. They are sceptical of big business wielding too much power and stick up for strivers, whether they work in the public or private sector. They believe there is such thing as society. They are, in essence, One Nation Tories.

One man I had barely heard of before the conference actually took my breath away. Guy Opperman, Conservative MP for Hexham, stood up and made a passionate call for apprenticeships, action on low wages, protection for the poor and local banking. He gave up his summer to walk from Sheffield to Scotland, talking to people about why his party was failing in the north, and his speech was clearly rooted in their concerns.  I thought woah, if that’s where the Tories are heading, Ed Miliband is going to be left without any clothes.

Jesse Norman MP, a gentle giant who is respected from all sides of the party, is better known for this position. I listened to him explain that growth – even if it does return – is not enough if it only benefits the top. He might not sign up to a living wage, but he does want to challenge corporate governance structures to make a difference. Shaun Bailey, former candidate for Hammersmith, agreed with him. In separate sessions MPs Gavin Barwell and Kris Hopkins warned about “kicking public sector workers” and expressed serious concerns that their party was not perceived to be on side with fireman and doctors. Outside parliament, ConservativeHome founder Tim Montgomerie and funder Lord Ashcroft are fighting to build a party that speaks to blue collar workers as well as white collar corporates.

The good news for Labour is that this half of the party isn’t likely to get anywhere any time soon. Economic liberals like George Osborne and John Redwood are detatched from the concerns of the country. They are to the right of the Daily Mail because they still favour the rich guy over the small guy. They believe they will be able to win over working class and inner city areas because they are in line with the polls on welfare, crime and immigration. But they need a positive vision for the country as well as a negative one. They need to speak about what they love as well as hate, what they will give as well as take. When they refuse to challenge the market or use the state, that’s very hard to do. The polling from working class, northern and inner city areas shows that they simply aren’t cutting through. 


“Losing the centre ground is our biggest threat,” says one young Conservative sitting with a group of friends in Carluccio's just outside the conference centre. “The right wingers just think we need to carry on the same way, offer a referendum on Europe and add in some stuff on strugglers and strivers and we’ll be fine.”

“People think we didn’t win (a majority) because we weren’t right wing enough,” his friend chips in, “It’s genuine. Honestly. Do they have no brain?”

If the Tories want to win in 2015, they’ll have to listen to these voices. Returning to growth is not enough if the benefits are only felt by a small number at the top. They will need to steal back the One Nation vision, and that means promoting their nicer half. Such a move would unsettle the left. Luckily for Ed Miliband, that's very unlikely. Economic liberalism still rules the Conservative party, Osborne continues unchallenged, and the centre ground is slowly slipping away.

Balloons featuring images of Chancellor of the exchequer George Osborne hang near the conference centre. 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