What would Red Ted make of Red Ed?

The Labour leader has nothing on his infamous namesake

The right-wing prints have been hysterical in their reaction to the fact that Ed Miliband may be mildly to the left of Tony Blair. "The new Labour leader, dubbed 'red Ed'," as the Mail on Sunday put it - yes, dubbed by papers like the MoS, not by anyone with the slightest sense of proportion.

It then went on to claim that the result was "hailed as a 'disaster'" by supporters of the former prime minister, although curiously none of them appeared to be willing to be named in the report. (Wasn't New Labour best when it was boldest? Anyway, I digress.)

I'm not sure whether the label "Red Ed" is just a handy stick with which to beat Miliband, or whether one particular historical allusion is intended (probably not, as I haven't seen it mentioned anywhere). I refer, of course, to "Red Ted" Knight, the former leader of Lambeth Council in the early 1980s, and a man who really did deserve the adjective.

He's still around - a local community website reported his vocal criticisms of the leader of Southwark council over cuts only two months ago ("Some may argue that being harangued by Ted Knight is a sign of political arrival," was the response of the councillor in question) - but his excesses seem to have been forgotten.

This is a shame, for although they may not have been terribly amusing for the people of Lambeth at the time, in retrospect the gestures of this "tightly knit group of politically motivated men and women", to paraphrase Harold Wilson, were frequently beyond satire. No cause was too extreme for Knight and his allies to espouse - naturally, they supported all the obvious ones - and their ideology remained as pure as the council's finances were chaotic.

Knight's successor as leader of Lambeth, Linda Bellos, was black, Jewish, working class, lesbian and Marxist, a remarkable - some might even say praiseworthy - combination, but one that Tory commentators had much fun with. However, after Labour's disastrous showing at the 1983 general election, Knight had handed those who wished to characterise the party as being overrun by loony lefties with an even greater gift. Many felt the result was cause for reflection and revaluation. Not Red Ted. "There can be no compromise with the electorate," he declared.

As the Independent reported after the Labour regime (a word I use advisedly) in Lambeth finally fell in 1994: "Knight once flew to Nicaragua, then ruled by the Sandinistas, at the ratepayers' expense to tell the bemused Latin Americans: 'I bring you greetings from the people of Lambeth and solidarity with your revolution.'" Well, I'm sure they were grateful.

According to the Guardian's Michael White, Miliband used to be known as Ted while at university. "Red Ted? That sounds cuddlier already," he concludes.

Given that moniker's past history, I'd say that was one for Miliband to avoid at all costs.

 

Sholto Byrnes is a Contributing Editor to the New Statesman
Getty
Show Hide image

Inside a shaken city: "I just want to be anywhere that’s not Manchester”

The morning after the bombing of the Manchester Arena has left the city's residents jumpy.

On Tuesday morning, the streets in Manchester city centre were eerily silent.

The commuter hub of Victoria Station - which backs onto the arena - was closed as police combed the area for clues, and despite Mayor Andy Burnham’s line of "business as usual", it looked like people were staying away.

Manchester Arena is the second largest indoor concert venue in Europe. With a capacity crowd of 18,000, on Monday night the venue was packed with young people from around the country - at least 22 of whom will never come home. At around 10.33pm, a suicide bomber detonated his device near the exit. Among the dead was an eight-year-old girl. Many more victims remain in hospital. 

Those Mancunians who were not alerted by the sirens woke to the news of their city's worst terrorist attack. Still, as the day went on, the city’s hubbub soon returned and, by lunchtime, there were shoppers and workers milling around Exchange Square and the town hall.

Tourists snapped images of the Albert Square building in the sunshine, and some even asked police for photographs like any other day.

But throughout the morning there were rumours and speculation about further incidents - the Arndale Centre was closed for a period after 11.40am while swathes of police descended, shutting off the main city centre thoroughfare of Market Street.

Corporation Street - closed off at Exchange Square - was at the centre of the city’s IRA blast. A postbox which survived the 1996 bombing stood in the foreground while officers stood guard, police tape fluttering around cordoned-off spaces.

It’s true that the streets of Manchester have known horror before, but not like this.

I spoke to students Beth and Melissa who were in the bustling centre when they saw people running from two different directions.

They vanished and ducked into River Island, when an alert came over the tannoy, and a staff member herded them through the back door onto the street.

“There were so many police stood outside the Arndale, it was so frightening,” Melissa told me.

“We thought it will be fine, it’ll be safe after last night. There were police everywhere walking in, and we felt like it would be fine.”

Beth said that they had planned a day of shopping, and weren’t put off by the attack.

“We heard about the arena this morning but we decided to come into the city, we were watching it all these morning, but you can’t let this stop you.”

They remembered the 1996 Arndale bombing, but added: “we were too young to really understand”.

And even now they’re older, they still did not really understand what had happened to the city.

“Theres nowhere to go, where’s safe? I just want to go home,” Melissa said. “I just want to be anywhere that’s not Manchester.”

Manchester has seen this sort of thing before - but so long ago that the stunned city dwellers are at a loss. In a city which feels under siege, no one is quite sure how anyone can keep us safe from an unknown threat

“We saw armed police on the streets - there were loads just then," Melissa said. "I trust them to keep us safe.”

But other observers were less comforted by the sign of firearms.

Ben, who I encountered standing outside an office block on Corporation Street watching the police, was not too forthcoming, except to say “They don’t know what they’re looking for, do they?” as I passed.

The spirit of the city is often invoked, and ahead of a vigil tonight in Albert Square, there will be solidarity and strength from the capital of the North.

But the community values which Mancunians hold dear are shaken to the core by what has happened here.

0800 7318496