The campaign against Progress spells pure danger for Labour

The very fact that unions discuss the purging of "Blairites" should be cause for alarm.

It is neither a secret nor a surprise that certain people on the left of the Labour party and in the trade union movement do not like Tony Blair. They disapprove of a wide range of policies that might, exploiting the elasticity of the term, be described as Blairite. Candidates in elections on whom that same label might be pinned are likewise shunned by some.

That is a normal feature of politics. It is normal too, on the fringes of any movement, for people to believe that their leaders or former leaders have in some sense betrayed the ideals of the party and ought to be repudiated as traitors. Certain hard line Eurosceptic Tories currently feel that way about David Cameron. I don’t think it is a very healthy or attractive feature of politics, but it is probably unavoidable.

It is this tendency that is feeding the campaign against Progress, a self-described “New Labour” pressure group. It has its own independent funding but draws its membership (including many senior shadow cabinet figures) from the Labour party. In February this year, an anonymous dossier was sent to constituency Labour party secretaries purporting to be “an investigation into the constitution, structure, activities and funding of Progress. (A copy is here; Progress’s rebuttal is here.)

Michael Meacher MP wrote a piece for The Staggers endorsing the attack here. Robert Philpot, Progress director, responded, also on The Staggers, here.

Broadly speaking, the charge is that Progress is a shadowy organisation, a secretive phalanx of right-wingers with corporate backing who have infiltrated the party with a view to steering it away from the path of left virtue. The alternative view is that it is an organisation that lobbies within the party for views and policy ideas – some of which might be great, some of which might be bonkers, much of which contributed to Labour’s most successful time in British politics. If, that is, being in power is considered a success.

But the key question isn’t whether Progress is right about some things or indeed anything. It is whether or not it has the right to exist within the Labour party.

At this week’s annual congress of the GMB union there were a couple on interventions attacking Progress. The idea was mooted of bringing changes to Labour party rules effectively killing the organisation. People in Progress itself believe there is similar agitation in other large unions. The resources and data required to compile and send out the February dossier suggest union involvement.

So what is it all about? Obviously there is ideology. People don’t like Blairites and want them to go away. I have heard it said by a few people on the Labour left that the Blairites should be expelled from the party, drawing an equivalence with Militant in the 1980s. I find the comparison pretty wild, but then extreme metaphors are not unusual in politics (or journalism).

But there is another factor involved, which is the internal pressure within the union movement to explain why the backing of Ed Miliband for the leadership has not yielded changes to the party that were implicitly promised. It is a kind of compliment really: Ed has not been as red as advertised, by erstwhile friends and enemies alike. He and Ed Balls have accepted the need to make some public sector cuts. They are committed to reducing the deficit and – most offensive from the union point of view – they recognise the necessity of the public sector pay freeze.

This was never in the union plan. The convenient explanation for the left is that Miliband has somehow been captured by Blairites – that the zombie tendency of the old regime is preventing him from carrying the sacred flame as bestowed by the bloc vote. The natural solution: smash the zombies.

The reality is that self-declared “Blairites” are marginalised in the shadow cabinet, do not have the leader’s ear and generally wander around looking like some of the most forlorn and lonely people in Westminster. (So yes, there is a haunted/zombie contingent, but not a very powerful one.)

But even that is a distraction. It hardly matters whether or not Blairite ideas are influencing Miliband or whether those ideas are good or bad. What matters is whether the Labour party and the wider labour movement – the unions in other words – can tolerate dissenting voices. It is all about control: who runs the machine, who has the resources to print leaflets and fund local campaigns, who decides which candidates get selected in safe seats. Progress is a player in that game, but a minnow compared to the GMB or Unite.

Ultimately, even people who hate Blair, his works and his political descendents should see that their battle is better won by argument and conviction than institutional machination. It ought to be obvious that a campaign to close down Progress hands a stupendous opportunity to enemies of the Labour party. As a rule for Labour, a move that has Tories punching the air in delight should give pause for thought.

What does mobilising against Progress say – or, at the very least, how is it certain to be interpreted? It looks as if Labour is belatedly warming up for one of those vicious internecine wars for which it is famed, the ones that kept it out of power for a generation and the avoidance of which has been one of Ed Miliband’s biggest achievements to date. It looks as if some people on the left are so consumed by the pursuit of ideological purity that they despise the very notion of compromise, including compromise with the electorate. It looks as if the game that matters most of all is securing mastery of the internal machine not seeking a mandate to run the country. At worst, it plays to every negative stereotype of the unreconstructed left: wedded to monolithic control (achieved by subterfuge and bullying), suspicious of dissent, smelling treason everywhere and believing in the restorative effects of the purge.

As I said, maybe that is just a normal aspect of politics. But it is not a very appealing one. A dispassionate observer might think energies on the left would be better spent finding new supporters instead of whittling down the ranks of existing ones.

Paul Kenny (R), the general secretary of the GMB union, which voted in favour of a critical motion against Progress this week.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

Qusai Al Shidi/Flickr
Show Hide image

I can’t follow Marie Kondo's advice – even an empty Wotsits packet “sparks joy” in me

I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

I have been brooding lately on the Japanese tidying freak Marie Kondo. (I forgot her name so I typed “Japanese tidying freak” into Google, and it was a great help.) The “Japanese” bit is excusable in this context, and explains a bit, as I gather Japan is more on the case with the whole “being tidy” thing than Britain, but still.

Apart from telling us that we need to take an enormous amount of care, to the point where we perform origami when we fold our underpants, which is pretty much where she lost me, she advises us to throw away anything that does not, when you hold it, “spark joy”. Perhaps I have too much joy in my life. I thought I’d give her loopy, OCD theories a go, but when I held up an empty Wotsits bag I was suffused with so many happy memories of the time we’d spent together that I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

After a while I gave up on this because I was getting a bit too happy with all the memories, so then I thought to myself, about her: “This is someone who isn’t getting laid enough,” and then I decided that was a crude and ungallant thought, and besides, who am I to wag the finger? At least if she invites someone to her bedroom no one is going to run screaming from it, as they would if I invited anyone to my boudoir. (Etym: from the French “bouder”, to sulk. How very apt in my case.) Marie Kondo – should bizarre circumstance ever conspire to bring her to the threshold – would run screaming from the Hovel before she’d even alighted the stairs from the front door.

I contemplate my bedroom. As I write, the cleaning lady is in it. To say that I have to spend half an hour cleaning out empty Wotsits packets, and indeed wotnot, before I let her in there should give you some idea of how shameful it has got. And even then I have to pay her to do so.

A girlfriend who used to be referred to often in these pages, though I think the term should be a rather less flippant one than “girlfriend”, managed to get round my natural messiness problem by inventing a game called “keep or chuck”.

She even made up a theme song for it, to the tune from the old Spiderman TV show. She would show me some object, which was not really rubbish, but usually a book (it may not surprise you to learn that it is the piles of books that cause most of the clutter here), and say, “Keep or chuck?” in the manner of a high-speed game show host. At one point I vacillated and so she then pointed at herself and said, “Keep or chuck?” I got the message.

These days the chances of a woman getting into the bedroom are remote. For one thing, you can’t just walk down the street and whistle for one much as one would hail a cab, although my daughter is often baffled by my ability to attract females, and suspects I have some kind of “mind ray”. Well, if I ever did it’s on the blink now, and not only that – right now, I’m not even particularly bothered that it’s on the blink. Because, for another thing, I would frankly not care to inflict myself upon anyone else at the moment.

It was all a bit of a giggle eight years ago, when I was wheeled out of the family home and left to my own devices. Of course, when I say “a bit of a giggle”, I mean “terrifying and miserable”, but I had rather fewer miles on the clock than I do now, and a man can, I think, get away with a little bit more scampish behaviour, and entertain a few more illusions about the future and his own plausibility as a character, when he is squarely in his mid-forties than when he is approaching, at speed, his middle fifties.

Death has rather a lot to do with it, I suppose. I had not actually seen, or touched, a dead body until I saw, and touched, my own father’s a few weeks ago. That’s what turns an abstract into a concrete reality. You finally put that to one side and gird up your loins – and then bloody David Bowie snuffs it, and you find yourself watching the videos for “Blackstar” and “Lazarus” over and over again, and reach the inescapable conclusion that death is not only incredibly unpleasant, it is also remorseless and very much nearer than you think.

And would you, dear reader, want to be involved with anyone who kept thinking along those lines? I mean, even if he learned how to fold his undercrackers into an upright cylinder, like a napkin at a fancy restaurant, before putting them in his drawer? When he doesn’t even have a drawer?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war