Nick Clegg, kingmaker?

The Lib Dems' options in a hung parliament must not be looked at in isolation

The fight for the general election has begun, and talk of a possible hung parliament continues to rumble in the background. Amid the rhetoric about fighting "every inch of the way" (as Gordon Brown said yesterday), Jackie Ashley says in the Guardian this morning that behind the scenes, politicians from both camps are discussing the options for compromise.

A kingmaker may be emerging: Nick Clegg.

Clegg has already said that, in the event of a hung parliament, he would back whichever party had won. But in our archaic voting system, this might not be clear-cut -- the Conservatives could win more votes than Labour but not quite enough to secure more parliamentary seats.

In this eventuality, Clegg must decide whom to back. This poses yet another set of questions for Brown's beleagured leadership. As Ashley writes:

Clegg [would not] find it easy to agree a power-sharing deal with Brown himself: the gap in style and age is just too great.

So Labour ministers are talking of a scenario in which, if no party won the election, Brown might stand down quickly. He would then be replaced by a more Lib-friendly leader, prepared to go further on constitutional reform; and a deal would be agreed, leading to that "realignment of the left" that has long been a staple of Guardian columns.

The New Statesman has consistently argued for a progressive realignment. As our leader argues this week, Labour will always be the more natural ally of the Lib Dems.

It's an interesting debate whether, in the event of a hung parliament, Brown's departure would be a requirement for a Lib-Lab pact.

Quite apart from the personal contrasts between Clegg and Brown, there is the problem of image. Some might argue that the public's frustration with Labour has come from disillusionment with the political system as a whole. But Brown has, in many ways, come to be emblematic of a tired government. Could the Lib Dems really be seen to be propping him up?

As my colleague George Eaton pointed out last week, Brown's tribalism may preclude a harmonious pact in any event, despite his apparent attempt to court the Lib Dems on the Andrew Marr show yesterday.

At PoliticalBetting, Mike Smithson suggests that James Purnell could be the man for the job, being "of the same generation as Clegg . . . [and] set to retain his Stalybridge seat". Certainly, Purnell's resignation last summer separated him from the current leadership of Labour -- as opposed to Harriet Harman or David Miliband, other names that have been touted.

But these arguments, by focusing on the Lib Dems and the decision to be made by Clegg, risk overlooking Labour and Brown's own psychology.

While a hung parliament would not present a victory in the usual sense of the word, it's entirely possible that Brown -- who has already described Labour as the underdog in this campaign ("When you are behind in the polls you have got to regard yourself as the fighter") -- could view the fight back from crushing defeat as an endorsement of his ability to lead the country in a power-sharing agreement.

The latest YouGov poll for the Telegraph showed the Conservatives with a lead over Labour of 35 points to 26. It remains to be seen whether the lead narrows further and a hung parliament becomes a reality. In any event, the multifaceted discussion of Brown's leadership looks set to run and run.

 

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Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

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The Liverpool protest was about finding a place for local support in a global game

Fans of other clubs should learn from Anfield's collective action.

One of the oldest songs associated with Liverpool Football Club is Poor Scouser Tommy, a characteristically emotional tale about a Liverpool fan whose last words as he lies dying on a WWII battlefield are an exhalation of pride in his football team.

In November 2014, at the start of a game against Stoke City, Liverpool fans unfurled a banner across the front of the Kop stand, daubed with the first line of that song: “Let me tell you a story of a poor boy”. But the poor boy wasn’t Tommy this time; it was any one of the fans holding the banner – a reference to escalating ticket prices at Anfield. The average matchday ticket in 1990 cost £4. Now a general admission ticket can cost as much as £59.

Last Saturday’s protest was more forthright. Liverpool had announced a new pricing structure from next season, which was to raise the price of the most expensive ticket to £77. Furious Liverpool fans said this represented a tipping point. So, in the 77th minute of Saturday’s match with Sunderland, an estimated 15,000 of the 44,000 fans present walked out. As they walked out, they chanted at the club’s owners: “You greedy bastards, enough is enough”.

The protest was triggered by the proposed price increase for next season, but the context stretches back over 20 years. In 1992, the top 22 clubs from the 92-club Football League broke away, establishing commercial independence. This enabled English football’s elite clubs to sign their own lucrative deal licensing television rights to Rupert Murdoch’s struggling satellite broadcaster, Sky.

The original TV deal gave the Premier League £191 million over five years. Last year, Sky and BT agreed to pay a combined total of £5.14 billion for just three more years of domestic coverage. The league is also televised in 212 territories worldwide, with a total audience of 4.7 billion. English football, not so long ago a pariah sport in polite society, is now a globalised mega-industry. Fanbases are enormous: Liverpool may only crowd 45,000 fans into its stadium on matchday, but it boasts nearly 600 million fans across the globe.

The matchgoing football fan has benefited from much of this boom. Higher revenues have meant that English teams have played host to many of the best players from all over the world. But the transformation of local institutions with geographic support into global commercial powerhouses with dizzying arrays of sponsorship partners (Manchester United has an ‘Official Global Noodle Partner’) has encouraged clubs to hike up prices for stadium admission as revenues have increased.

Many hoped that the scale of the most recent television deal would offer propitious circumstances for clubs to reduce prices for general admission to the stadium while only sacrificing a negligible portion of their overall revenues. Over a 13-month consultation period on the new ticket prices, supporter representatives put this case to Liverpool’s executives. They were ignored.

Ignored until Saturday, that is. Liverpool’s owners, a Boston-based consortium who have generally been popular on Merseyside after they won a legal battle to prize the club from its previous American owners, backed down last night in supplicatory language: they apologised for the “distress” caused by the new pricing plan, and extolled the “unique and sacred relationship between Liverpool Football Club and its supporters”.

The conflict in Liverpool between fans and club administrators has ended, at least for now, but the wail of discontent at Anfield last week was not just about prices. It was another symptom of the broader struggle to find a place for the local fan base in a globalised mega-industry.The lazy canard that football has become a business is only half-true. For the oligarchs and financiers who buy and sell top clubs, football is clearly business. But an ordinary business has free and rational consumers. Football fans are anything but rational. Once the romantic bond between fan and team has been forged, it does not vanish. If the prices rise too high, a Liverpool fan does not decide to support Everton instead.

Yet the success of the protest shows that fans retain some power. Football’s metamorphosis from a game to be played into a product to be sold is irreversible, but the fans are part of that product. When English football enthusiasts wake in the small hours in Melbourne to watch a match, part of the package on their screen is a stadium full of raucous supporters. And anyone who has ever met someone on another continent who has never travelled to the UK but is a diehard supporter of their team knows that fans in other countries see themselves as an extension of the local support, not its replacement.

English football fans should harness what power they have remaining and unite to secure a better deal for match goers. When Liverpool fans walked out on Saturday, too many supporters of other teams took it as an opportunity for partisan mockery. In football, collective action works not just on the pitch but off it too. Liverpool fans have realised that. Football fandom as a whole should take a leaf out of their book.