Fear and loathing on the left

Why are Labour governments, from Attlee to Blair, always so riven by personal animosities? Andrew Ma

Why is the left so nasty? Why are politicians brought up in a Labour movement that bangs on about brotherhood and sisterhood so consumed with dislike and suspicion of one another? If we believe the newspapers, most members of the cabinet and many other Labour MPs are almost perpetually at daggers drawn, or at least simmering with mutual resentment. The rejoicing at Peter Mandelson's fall, and then the whooping at Charlie Whelan's resignation, are only the latest examples. And on this subject, mirabile dictu, the newspapers are certainly to be believed.

It is a tradition. One of Labour's mid- century heroes was Ernie Bevin, the trade union leader turned foreign secretary. Bevin has many earthy, pearl-encrusted lumps of wisdom for today's party. But new Labour has taken only one Bevinism to its heart: his retort to Attlee's remark about Herbert Morrison (a fellow member of the 1945-51 government) being his own worst enemy. Bevin snarled: "Not while I'm alive, he ain't."

So it goes on; a cosy party of worst enemies ever since, like a convoluted Sicilian family whose feuds are repeated generation after generation. John Prescott, the nearest we have to an Ernie Bevin, waged a long and malicious semi-public campaign against Mandelson, Morrison's grandson, constantly mispronouncing his name as "Mendelson", and once comparing him to a crab. Class hatred? Bevin would have approved. Meanwhile, I don't suppose there's a single important minister who someone else hasn't told me is lazy, corrupt or paranoid. Then, just as we were all digesting the Mandelson affair, we got an eerie echo of today's events, courtesy of the 30-year delay on cabinet papers being released. Alongside the modern grudge matches, the press simultaneously relayed the latest news from 1968 when Ray Gunter resigned from the Wilson government because he couldn't stand the "the bloody middle classes and intellectuals within the cabinet" and, in particular, "that bitch" Barbara Castle. There's a ringing feeling in my ears.

It was also the year of the fall of George Brown and he, too, was a famous hater. There's a story about him marching up to Len Williams, an ex-general secretary of the Labour Party, and one of Brown's enemies, who had just agreed to become the governor-general of Mauritius. Did the post involve wearing a plumed hat, Brown pleasantly asked. Yes, said Williams modestly, yes it did. "Well," said Brown, "I hope your fucking feathers fall out."

Is Labour fated to relive, government after government, the poisonous personal feuding that undermines the party's moral authority? And if so, why? Before the election, Tony Blair was warned that his biggest headache in No 10 was likely to be relations between his senior ministers - Gordon Brown and Mandelson, Brown and Robin Cook, Cook and Mandelson, Prescott and Brown, and so on. He laughed the idea off.

He probably isn't laughing now. This might be less damaging if it weren't for the striking similarities with cabinet feuding in the now-reviled Wilson years. The publication of Dick Crossman's cabinet diaries in the mid-1970s was a watershed because, for the first time, it tipped the cabinet's mutual animosities and bitterness into the public arena. For people outside the closed world of Whitehall and the press lobby, it was a moment of revelation. I can vividly remember my history teacher's shock and amazement as he read out entries to us.

Harold Wilson, realising what damage was being done, tried to get the rules on publication of cabinet diaries toughened up - to little effect, since the Castle diaries and then the voluminous Benn diaries followed. Crossman himself had gone to the root of the matter years earlier, when he wrote in his back-bench diaries in 1956: "When the Tories are in trouble they bunch together and cogger up. When we get into trouble, we start blaming each other and rushing to the press to tell them all the terrible things that somebody else has done."

Tory coggering had rather fallen out of fashion by the time of the Major government - or rather, when they did cogger up, someone was usually left dead on the Westminster marble afterwards. Under post-Crossman glasnost, we know a lot about how much the Tories came to loathe one another, as their European battle raged on. The Lawson and Howe resignations, then Margaret Thatcher's own bitterness at her removal ("treachery . . . treachery with a smile on its face") had set the scene for John Major and the "bastards". And, at the height of the battle, the hatreds were deep and real. I recall walking with Norman Lamont down Whitehall after his resignation; Tristan Garel-Jones, spotting us, immediately crossed four lanes of moving traffic to seize Lamont by the arm and warn him in bloodthirstily unrepeatable terms what he would do to him if he went public against Major. There are scores of similar stories still knocking around. These are vendettas that will probably last for a generation. Purely from a journalistic point of view, I do hope so.

But this should be of little comfort to the present cabinet. For one thing, the Tory feuds were mostly about policy, very important policy, and were perhaps unavoidable given the difficult choices facing the Thatcher and Major governments over Britain's destiny. Second, those governments were destroyed by them. Third, in the political mythology, Tories are supposed to be nasty - but efficient. They don't go on about fraternity and comradeship, do they? So again, why are Labour people so nasty to one another? Is it that lefties are simply disagreeable? That they are either cold, intellectual renegades from the upper middle classes, driven by dislike of their own backgrounds; or working-class politicians who despise the middle-class people they have to mix with?

Could be: academia, trade unionism and left-wing activism are all poor training-grounds for niceness and mutual respect. Academia is famously poisonous and rivalry-ridden. The clash between factions in the unions produced a culture of leak and counter-leak that was brought into government again in 1997. And the climate of oppositionism around the left in the late 1970s and early 1980s was particularly grim.

There is a hilarious and uncomfortable account of those times, Things Can Only Get Better: eighteen miserable years in the life of a Labour supporter (Doubleday, 1998) by the comedy writer John O'Farrell, which rings bells with many of us who were there.

"The media coined phrases like 'Hard Left' or 'Militant Left' but 'Very, Very Boring Left' would have been more accurate," writes O'Farrell. "It wasn't the left-wing-ness in itself that was the problem, it was the excessively bad-tempered and humourless way in which the left argued its corner. . . We had somehow got it into our heads that a period in opposition meant that we were now opposed to everything."

Some of the things O'Farrell decided were right wing were "flowers, fish knives, ladies' hats, power steering, Wellington boots, the county of Surrey, Donald Duck, conservatories, and any girl's name that ended in the letter 'a' . . . One of the people that I lived with in Exeter decided that smiling was right wing. He pretended to be miserable as a sort of political statement throughout the early 1980s."

I remember people like that. And, let's be honest, there have been humourless, life- hating lefties since the Levellers began hawking Socialist Peasant around Middlesex; and certainly since Robespierre gave purity a bad name. It is the psychological profile described by George Orwell: "The typical socialist is a prim little man with a white-collar job, usually a secret teetotaller and often with vegetarian leanings."

There's nothing wrong with a bit of puritanism, particularly in January, but it is connected to a left moral fundamentalism that can easily turn nasty. O'Farrell again: "We all believed, or rather we knew, that socialism would solve everything and that any particular individual who happened to be to the right of us was responsible for all the world's problems and therefore we hated them. As far as I can remember, just about everyone I knew on the left was like this. Angry, negative and totally un-self-aware. And Tony Benn gave the British left its chance to vent its ugly spleen in public. At regular intervals the news would feature Benn supporters booing Denis Healey, pelting him with missiles and picketing his meetings. They seemed to hate him more than they hated Margaret Thatcher."

It wouldn't be hard to see how a party whose left-wing members had marinated themselves in self-righteous hatred (remember Nye Bevan's 1948 proclamation of his "deep and burning hatred of the Tories . . . they are lower than vermin") might carry this right to the top. But there are a couple of problems with the thesis that Labour, despite the generosity of its vision, is somehow nasty by nature. First, most of the people feuding in cabinet had nothing to do with that era of ultra-leftism. Brown, Cook, Prescott - they hated it at the time as much as O'Farrell hates it in retrospect. Second, if it were true, then the Labour right would be conspicuously nicer than the Labour left, and that also isn't so. Denis Healey had a brilliant line in invective. Think of his famous remark about David Owen: that when he was born, the good fairy had given him everything - good looks, brilliant intelligence, luck. "Unfortunately, the bad fairy made him a shit." Nor would it be entirely true to say that, for instance, dear Gerald Kaufman was a kindly old soul. Or that Mandelson himself pursued a "speak no evil" policy.

No, I think the real answer is a mixture of all this, and something else, which is simply that Labour has spent too long in opposition. Out of power, the big egos kept themselves warm by dreaming of top jobs. But these are, by definition, very limited indeed. The same was true of the early Wilson years and of the Attlee government. What has changed is that the constant competition among desperate souls, for a handful of slippery perches, now takes place in front of a media that is itself more desperately competitive, and that exaggerates the smallest differences. This produces a bitchy climate that few ministers can resist. Since Tony Blair, who doesn't seem to have a malicious bone in his body, is one of the few who can resist, perhaps he can use recent events to draw a line under the warfare. Enough people have gone. Enough others have been frightened. Perhaps this really is grow-up time.

Everyone I've been talking to tells me so. They know that, in the long term, this behaviour is deadly. On the other hand, I can't help thinking that at the back of their minds there is a piece of advice that rings louder still. It's Stalin: "There is really nothing more delightful than carefully plotting a trap into which your enemy in the party is bound to fall, and then going to bed." Ho, ho, comrade, ho, ho.

Andrew Marr writes for the "Express" and the "Observer"

Andrew Marr is a broadcaster and journalist. Formerly the BBC’s Political Editor, he presents the Andrew Marr Show on BBC1 on Sundays and Start the Week on Monday mornings on Radio 4.

This article first appeared in the 08 January 1999 issue of the New Statesman, Stuff the millennium

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Why Jeremy Corbyn is a new leader for the New Times

In an inspired election campaign, he confounded his detractors and showed that he was – more than any other leader – in tune with the times.

There have been two great political turning points in postwar Britain. The first was in 1945 with the election of the Attlee government. Driven by a popular wave of determination that peacetime Britain would look very different from the mass unemployment of the 1930s, and built on the foundations of the solidaristic spirit of the war, the Labour government ushered in full employment, the welfare state (including the NHS) and nationalisation of the basic industries, notably coal and the railways. It was a reforming government the like of which Britain had not previously experienced in the first half of the 20th century. The popular support enjoyed by the reforms was such that the ensuing social-democratic consensus was to last until the end of the 1970s, with Tory as well as Labour governments broadly operating within its framework.

During the 1970s, however, opposition to the social-democratic consensus grew steadily, led by the rise of the radical right, which culminated in 1979 in the election of Margaret Thatcher’s first government. In the process, the Thatcherites redefined the political debate, broadening it beyond the rather institutionalised and truncated forms that it had previously taken: they conducted a highly populist campaign that was for individualism and against collectivism; for the market and against the state; for liberty and against trade unionism; for law and order and against crime.

These ideas were dismissed by the left as just an extreme version of the same old Toryism, entirely failing to recognise their novelty and therefore the kind of threat they posed. The 1979 election, followed by Ronald Reagan’s US victory in 1980, began the neoliberal era, which remained hegemonic in Britain, and more widely in the West, for three decades. Tory and Labour governments alike operated within the terms and by the logic of neoliberalism. The only thing new about New Labour was its acquiescence in neoliberalism; even in this sense, it was not new but derivative of Thatcherism.

The financial crisis of 2007-2008 marked the beginning of the end of neoliberalism. Unlike the social-democratic consensus, which was undermined by the ideological challenge posed by Thatcherism, neoliberalism was brought to its knees not by any ideological alternative – such was the hegemonic sway of neoliberalism – but by the biggest financial crisis since 1931. This was the consequence of the fragility of a financial sector left to its own devices as a result of sweeping deregulation, and the corrupt and extreme practices that this encouraged.

The origin of the crisis lay not in the Labour government – complicit though it was in the neoliberal indulgence of the financial sector – but in the deregulation of the banking sector on both sides of the Atlantic in the 1980s. Neoliberalism limped on in the period after 2007-2008 but as real wages stagnated, recovery proved a mirage, and, with the behaviour of the bankers exposed, a deep disillusionment spread across society. During 2015-16, a populist wave of opposition to the establishment engulfed much of Europe and the United States.

Except at the extremes – Greece perhaps being the most notable example – the left was not a beneficiary: on the contrary it, too, was punished by the people in the same manner as the parties of the mainstream right were. The reason was straightforward enough. The left was tarnished with the same brush as the right: almost everywhere social-democratic parties, albeit to varying degrees, had pursued neoliberal policies. Bill Clinton and Tony Blair became – and presented themselves as – leaders of neoliberalism and as enthusiastic advocates of a strategy of hyper-globalisation, which resulted in growing inequality. In this fundamental respect these parties were more or less ­indistinguishable from the right.

***

The first signs of open revolt against New Labour – the representatives and evangelists of neoliberal ideas in the Labour Party – came in the aftermath of the 2015 ­election and the entirely unpredicted and overwhelming victory of Jeremy Corbyn in the leadership election. Something was happening. Yet much of the left, along with the media, summarily dismissed it as a revival of far-left entryism; that these were for the most part no more than a bunch of Trots. There is a powerful, often overwhelming, tendency to see new phenomena in terms of the past. The new and unfamiliar is much more difficult to understand than the old and familiar: it requires serious intellectual effort and an open and inquiring mind. The left is not alone in this syndrome. The right condemned the 2017 Labour Party manifesto as a replica of Labour’s 1983 manifesto. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

That Corbyn had been a veteran of the far left for so long lent credence to the idea that he was merely a retread of a failed past: there was nothing new about him. In a brilliant election campaign, Corbyn not only gave the lie to this but also demonstrated that he, far more than any of the other party leaders, was in tune with the times, the candidate of modernity.

Crises, great turning points, new conjunctures, new forms of consciousness are by definition incubators of the new. That is one of the great sources of their fascination. We can now see the line of linkage between the thousands of young people who gave Corbyn his overwhelming victory in the leadership election in 2015 and the millions of young people who were enthused by his general election campaign in 2017. It is no accident that it was the young rather than the middle-aged or the seniors who were in the vanguard: the young are the bearers and products of the new, they are the lightning conductors of change. Their elders, by contrast, are steeped in old ways of thinking and doing, having lived through and internalised the values and norms of neoliberalism for more than 30 years.

Yet there is another, rather more important aspect to how we identify the new, namely the way we see politics and how politics is conceived. Electoral politics is a highly institutionalised and tribal activity. There have been, as I argued earlier, two great turning points in postwar politics: the social-democratic era ushered in by the 1945 Labour government and the neoliberal era launched by the Tory government in 1979.

The average Tory MP or activist, no doubt, would interpret history primarily in terms of Tory and Labour governments; Labour MPs and activists would do similarly. But this is a superficial reading of politics based on party labels which ignores the deeper forces that shape different eras, generate crises and result in new paradigms.

Alas, most political journalists and columnists are afflicted with the same inability to distinguish the wood (an understanding of the deeper historical forces at work) from the trees (the day-to-day manoeuvring of parties and politicians). In normal times, this may not be so important, because life continues for the most part as before, but at moments of great paradigmatic change it is absolutely critical.

If the political journalists, and indeed the PLP, had understood the deeper forces and profound changes now at work, they would never have failed en masse to rise above the banal and predictable in their assessment of Corbyn. Something deep, indeed, is happening. A historical era – namely, that of neoliberalism – is in its death throes. All the old assumptions can no longer be assumed. We are in new territory: we haven’t been here before. The smart suits long preferred by New Labour wannabes are no longer a symbol of success and ambition but of alienation from, and rejection of, those who have been left behind; who, from being ignored and dismissed, are in the process of moving to the centre of the political stage.

Corbyn, you may recall, was instantly rejected and ridiculed for his sartorial style, and yet we can now see that, with a little smartening, it conveys an authenticity and affinity with the times that made his style of dress more or less immune from criticism during the general election campaign. Yet fashion is only a way to illustrate a much deeper point.

The end of neoliberalism, once so hegemonic, so commanding, is turning Britain on its head. That is why – extraordinary when you think about it – all the attempts by the right to dismiss Corbyn as a far-left extremist failed miserably, even proved counterproductive, because that was not how people saw him, not how they heard him. He was speaking a language and voicing concerns that a broad cross-section of the public could understand and identify with.

***

The reason a large majority of the PLP was opposed to Corbyn, desperate to be rid of him, was because they were still living in the neoliberal era, still slaves to its ideology, still in thrall to its logic. They knew no other way of thinking or political being. They accused Corbyn of being out of time when in fact it was most of the PLP – not to mention the likes of Mandelson and Blair – who were still imprisoned in an earlier historical era. The end of neoliberalism marks the death of New Labour. In contrast, Corbyn is aligned with the world as it is rather than as it was. What a wonderful irony.

Corbyn’s success in the general election requires us to revisit some of the assumptions that have underpinned much political commentary over the past several years. The turmoil in Labour ranks and the ridiculing of Corbyn persuaded many, including on the left, that Labour stood on the edge of the abyss and that the Tories would continue to dominate for long into the future. With Corbyn having seized the political initiative, the Tories are now cast in a new light. With Labour in the process of burying its New Labour legacy and addressing a very new conjuncture, then the end of neoliberalism poses a much more serious challenge to the Tories than it does the Labour Party.

The Cameron/Osborne leadership was still very much of a neoliberal frame of mind, not least in their emphasis on austerity. It would appear that, in the light of the new popular mood, the government will now be forced to abandon austerity. Theresa May, on taking office, talked about a return to One Nation Toryism and the need to help the worst-off, but that has never moved beyond rhetoric: now she is dead in the water.

Meanwhile, the Tories are in fast retreat over Brexit. They held a referendum over the EU for narrowly party reasons which, from a national point of view, was entirely unnecessary. As a result of the Brexit vote, the Cameron leadership was forced to resign and the Brexiteers took de facto command. But now, after the election, the Tories are in headlong retreat from anything like a “hard Brexit”. In short, they have utterly lost control of the political agenda and are being driven by events. Above all, they are frightened of another election from which Corbyn is likely to emerge as leader with a political agenda that will owe nothing to neoliberalism.

Apart from Corbyn’s extraordinary emergence as a leader who understands – and is entirely comfortable with – the imperatives of the new conjuncture and the need for a new political paradigm, the key to Labour’s transformed position in the eyes of the public was its 2017 manifesto, arguably its best and most important since 1945. You may recall that for three decades the dominant themes were marketisation, privatisation, trickle-down economics, the wastefulness and inefficiencies of the state, the incontrovertible case for hyper-globalisation, and bankers and financiers as the New Gods.

Labour’s manifesto offered a very different vision: a fairer society, bearing down on inequality, a more redistributive tax system, the centrality of the social, proper funding of public services, nationalisation of the railways and water industry, and people as the priority rather than business and the City. The title captured the spirit – For the Many Not the Few. Or, to put in another way, After Neoliberalism. The vision is not yet the answer to the latter question, but it represents the beginnings of an answer.

Ever since the late 1970s, Labour has been on the defensive, struggling to deal with a world where the right has been hegemonic. We can now begin to glimpse a different possibility, one in which the left can begin to take ownership – at least in some degree – of a new, post-neoliberal political settlement. But we should not underestimate the enormous problems that lie in wait. The relative economic prospects for the country are far worse than they have been at any time since 1945. As we saw in the Brexit vote, the forces of conservatism, nativism, racism and imperial nostalgia remain hugely powerful. Not only has the country rejected continued membership of the European Union, but, along with the rest of the West, it is far from reconciled with the new world that is in the process of being created before our very eyes, in which the developing world will be paramount and in which China will be the global leader.

Nonetheless, to be able to entertain a sense of optimism about our own country is a novel experience after 30 years of being out in the cold. No wonder so many are feeling energised again.

This article first appeared in the 15 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn: revenge of the rebel

Martin Jacques is the former editor of Marxism Today. 

This article first appeared in the 15 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn: revenge of the rebel

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