Immigration is back

Underneath the tactical manoeuvring, the differences in this area between Labour and the Tories are

Despite voter concern about immigration falling to its lowest level in nine years, immigration is back as both political box office and political football.

The escalating problem of irregular migration from the Arab spring is reopening old arguments over "burden-sharing" in Europe, which Nick Clegg was dragged into on Tuesday. Back home David Cameron, having gone quiet on immigration over the winter, returned to the issue aggressively during the local elections.

Conservatives have often banged the immigration drum during a campaign, only to put it away once its job is done. But this time Cameron is likely to keep up the focus, taking a risk on a bit more Lib Dem unhappiness, in order to enjoy an ongoing political dividend.

The manner in which sensitive proposals on restricting family and marriage visas were trailed on Monday looks like an early sign of the tactics urged on Cameron by Tim Montgomerie (following Tony Blair and Margaret Thatcher) of picking "big, defining fights on popular projects" such as immigration as the best way of avoiding his agenda being defined entirely by the spending cuts.

It also offers an ideal sop to the Conservative right, along with continuing to yoke the immigration cap to welfare reform – two of the Tory right's favourite coalition policies.

Labour, meanwhile, knows it can't avoid immigration for ever, and a bolder approach now could begin to detoxify the issue for it, tackling continued resentment among southern voters over Labour's record. Ed Miliband's wider strategy on the "squeezed middle" and the Blue Labour agenda provide him with new ways of talking about immigration that are more constructive than just saying, "Sorry, we let too many in."

Underneath the tactical manoeuvring, there is actually less polarisation in the two main parties' broad strategy on immigration than in previous years. In the four decades to the 2005 election, Labour was seen as basically pro-immigration, Conservatives basically anti. Since then, both have tried to shed those old images, and are competing to be identified with the centre ground: roughly, pro-immigration-but-less-of-it, a more balanced approach that is now routinely applied to the social and cultural as well as the economic aspects of immigration. Ed Miliband is continuing on these lines, and it must remain Cameron's preferred strategy, too – as well as his best chance of preserving coalition unity.

There are three main battlegrounds in the campaign to win the centre: overall numbers, the economy and culture. On the numbers, both parties have flagship policies with the same basic objective: more quality, less quantity. Labour's version, the points-based system, is more realistic about the nature of migration flows, the workings of the immigration system and the needs of the economy. In contrast, the Tories' cap is crude but easy to explain, and on an issue where trust has disappeared, this has so far proved decisive.

On the economy, Labour needs to win the argument again about immigration's contribution to overall growth and extend that argument to reducing the deficit. The pro-immigration line on the economy had a damaging air of complacency in recent years, but the evidence remains basically sound. The more radical debate is over the role of immigration in the complex dynamic at the lower end of the labour market.

Cameron's argument here is that if we reduce immigration while at the same time making it harder to live on benefits, this will shift large numbers of people from welfare to work. Miliband's argument, though less clearly put, seems to be that if wages and conditions improve, the result will be simultaneously to reduce the demand for low-paid migrants (at present the only ones willing to do some of these jobs) and to shift people from welfare to work, but by making work more attractive, rather than making living on benefits harder. Both arguments present low-skill immigration as a symptom of our real problems – welfare for the Tories, wage stagnation for Labour – rather than the cause.

On the final battleground of culture, the target is the voters identified in the recent Fear and Hope report as neither relaxed about immigration nor implacably opposed to it. For Miliband, the emergence of Blue Labour will help him keep his party's debate focused on this centre ground.

The Conservatives have a headstart here, but this could be undermined by two factors pushing them towards a more polarised position: the neocon approach of Michael Gove and others – evident in the more confrontational passages of Cameron's Munich speech – and the desire to perpetuate anger against Labour by talking up the problems of integration, rather than doing anything to solve them.

On all three battlegrounds – numbers, the economy and culture – narrative will be more important than policy or statistics. The Tories start with a clear advantage, but their narrative may become increasingly frayed by coalition dynamics, the realities of government, and an inability to control their instincts tugging them off to the right. Labour meanwhile has the makings of an alternative story, but it is a long way from being fully fleshed out.

All in all, the debate might be more interesting over the coming year than the cynics think.

Matt Cavanagh is associate director at IPPR.

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue