Labour's pluralist challenge

Labour is necessary, but no longer sufficient, for progressive advance.

I was 16 when Margaret Thatcher fell from power. One of the ways in which she changed the left was to half-convert the Labour Party to pluralism. Labour asked itself seriously for the first time whether there was anything much wrong with the British state that wouldn't be solved by Labour being in charge of it.

Anthony Barnett's Charter 88 created important civic pressure on Labour and Liberal Democrat politicians to create an extensive reform agenda. New Labour's first term did more to reform the British state than any government since 1911. In power, older instincts re-emerged, yet the effects of devolution and Freedom of Information will endure.

Yet Barnett's latest anti-Labour New Statesman polemic barks up the wrong tree. It would make a hung parliament less, not more likely. Voting against the big two is not the same thing as promoting a hung parliament. Voters who want to stop any party getting 326 seats should back the strongest anti-Tory candidate in any seat the Conservatives could win (until they think a Labour majority more likely than a Tory one).

Write Labour off as a lost cause and there will be no plausible, pluralist governing project for Britain any time in the next decade, either. The Greens seek a parliamentary foothold, the Lib Dems to hold 120 seats after two elections. Then what?

Any new settlement will require alliances, which are overwhelmingly more likely on the centre left. (By all means, try to make David Cameron's centrist rhetoric at least constrain his party's Thatcherite ambitions; the realistic goal may be the conservative one, to protect past advances from repeal.)

The great progressive advances in British politics all arose from various forms of Lab-Lib co-operation. That was true of Labour's 1906 entry to parliament; breaking the Lords veto in the hung parliament of 1911; Attlee enshrining the Keynes-Beveridge settlement; the social legislation of the 1960s; and early New Labour's constitutional legacy.

 

A fair share of freedom

Outside these sporadic pluralist flurries, the right has mostly dominated. David Marquand's central thesis in The Progressive Dilemma was that Labour was necessary, but no longer sufficient, for progressive advance. If the 1997 and 2001 landslides seemed to disprove this as a matter of electoral arithmetic, the theory looks stronger than ever if we seek a transformative politics.

Pluralism should recognise differences. Different parties on the left of centre have different traditions, identities and instincts. They have much to argue over -- yet these arguments sharpen central challenges.

How can markets be sustainable and fair? We need to restore Labour's instinct for civil liberties, without lapsing into an allergy to state action in breaking down class-based disadvantage. The central political challenge is how to sustain majority public coalitions to be able to narrow inequalities, address climate change and sustain Britain's place in Europe.

Perhaps the defining argument between left and right is whether equality and liberty can be allied, or are always in fundamental tension. The quest that has animated thinkers from Tawney to Amartya Sen -- how to secure the fairest possible distribution of substantive freedom -- should provide a foundation stone for a plural left.

None of this can be achieved by one party alone, nor could any party easily wish the others away. But we must create a more pluralist Labour Party, able to play a leading part, for it to have much chance of happening at all.

Sunder Katwala is general secretary of the Fabian Society

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Sunder Katwala is director of British Future and former general secretary of the Fabian Society.

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We argue over Charlie Gard, but forget those spending whole lives caring for a disabled child

The everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over life and death.

“Sometimes,” says the mother, “I wish we’d let him go. Or that he’d just been allowed to slip away.” The father agrees, sometimes. So too does the child, who is not a child any more.

On good days, nobody thinks this way, but not all days are good. There have been bright spots during the course of the past four decades, occasional moments of real hope, but now everyone is tired, everyone is old and the mundane work of loving takes a ferocious toll.

When we talk about caring for sick children, we usually mean minors. It’s easiest that way. That for some parents, the exhaustion and intensity of those first days with a newborn never, ever ends – that you can be in your fifties, sixties, seventies, caring for a child in their twenties, thirties, forties – is not something the rest of us want to think about.

It’s hard to romanticise devotion strung out over that many hopeless, sleepless nights. Better to imagine the tragic mother holding on to the infant who still fits in her loving arms, not the son who’s now twice her size, himself edging towards middle-age and the cliff edge that comes when mummy’s no longer around.

Writing on the tragic case of Charlie Gard, the Guardian’s Giles Fraser claims that he would “rain fire on the whole world to hold my child for a day longer”. The Gard case, he argues, has “set the cool rational compassion of judicial judgement and clinical expertise against the passion of parental love”: “Which is why those who have never smelled the specific perfume of Charlie’s neck, those who have never held him tight or wept and prayed over his welfare, are deemed better placed to determine how he is to live and die.”

This may be true. It may also be true that right now, countless parents who have smelled their own child’s specific perfume, held them tightly, wept for them, loved them beyond all measure, are wishing only for that child’s suffering to end. What of their love? What of their reluctance to set the world aflame for one day more? And what of their need for a life of their own, away from the fantasies of those who’ll passionately defend a parent’s right to keep their child alive but won’t be there at 5am, night after night, cleaning out feeding tubes and mopping up shit?

Parental – in particular, maternal – devotion is seen as an endlessly renewable resource. A real parent never gets tired of loving. A real parent never wonders whether actually, all things considered, it might have caused less suffering for a child never to have been born at all. Such thoughts are impermissible, not least because they’re dangerous. Everyone’s life matters. Nonetheless, there are parents who have these thoughts, not because they don’t love their children, but because they do.

Reporting on the Gard case reminds me of the sanitised image we have of what constitutes the life of a parent of a sick child. It’s impossible not to feel enormous compassion for Charlie’s parents. As the mother of a toddler, I know that in a similar situation I’d have been torn apart. It’s not difficult to look at photos of Charlie and imagine one’s own child in his place. All babies are small and helpless; all babies cry out to be held.

But attitudes change as children get older. In the case of my own family, I noticed a real dropping away of support for my parents and disabled brother as the latter moved into adulthood. There were people who briefly picked him up as a kind of project and then, upon realising that there would be no schmaltzy ending to the story, dropped him again. Love and compassion don’t conquer all, patience runs out and dignity is clearly best respected from a distance.

All too often, the everyday misery of care work is hidden behind abstract arguments over who gets the right to decide whether an individual lives or dies. I don’t know any parents who truly want that right. Not only would it be morally untenable, it’s also a misrepresentation of what their struggles really are and mean.

What many parents who remain lifelong carers need is adequate respite support, a space in which to talk honestly, and the recognition that actually, sometimes loving is a grim and hopeless pursuit. Those who romanticise parental love – who, like Fraser, wallow in heroic portrayals of “battling, devoted parents” – do nothing to alleviate the suffering of those whose love mingles with resentment, exhaustion and sheer loneliness.

There are parents out there who, just occasionally, would be willing to set the world on fire to have a day’s respite from loving. But regardless of whether your child lives or dies, love never ends. 

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.