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Libya — Battle of the Arab Spring

If Gaddafi is defeated, it will be through the kind of fighting now raging on the streets of Misurat

It is 2 May, my twelfth full day in Misurata, and I'll start with a man I met at a private clinic that had been turned into the city's main trauma hos­pital. The uprising against Muammar Gaddafi was two months old. Loyalist forces surrounded Misurata and controlled parts of the city centre, but the thowar - or revolutionaries - were putting up fierce resistance despite being outgunned. The battle crackled and boomed day and night.

Dr Tahar Alkesa, a surgeon, was sitting on the curb outside one of the white tents erected in front of the clinic to serve as a makeshift emergency ward. He is 31 years old and undoubtedly handsome, but the hours and stress had marked and changed him. He was sallow and unshaven, with dark rings under his puffy eyes. The evening light was soft and fading fast as we chatted. He rubbed his arms for warmth.

I had seen Alkesa at work earlier in the day, when fresh casualties were arriving at the hospital every few minutes. An ambulance or pick-up truck would screech to a halt outside the tent, amid cries of "Allahu akbar". If the victim was a thowar, he usually had a bullet wound, having been picked off by a sniper. Civilian casualties generally had shrapnel injuries caused by shells or missiles, the most vicious of which was a Grad, a long, tubular projectile fired out of a 40-barrelled launcher known as "Stalin's organ". When they were fired into Misurata, you heard a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, and then bang, bang, bang.

One Grad victim arrived in the back of a blue sedan. Both his legs had been blown off at the knee. A crimson stream of blood trailed on to the tarmac as he was carried into the tent. Within a few minutes he was wheeled out, covered by a blanket. People gathered outside and launched into an anguished but beautiful refrain: La ilaha illa Allah,/La ilaha illa Allah,/ al-shaheed habib Allah. ("There is no God but Allah, there is no God but Allah, the martyr is dear to Allah.")

Alkesa worked without interruption, stitching, cleaning, talking softly to the patients, offering words of reassurance. His expression changed little, even when a grimacing man in his mid-twenties was rushed in. The man's face was blackened by smoke and his eyes were white and wide with pain and terror. His filthy khaki pants were bloodstained and torn. His forearms were shredded. He was a tank driver. The thowar did not have tanks.

His first request was for a lethal injection, because he was convinced that he would be tortured or beaten for fighting for Gaddafi. Alkesa politely said no, assuring him that he would be looked after. He cleaned the man's leg and groin wounds and sewed up the strips of flesh on his arms. The tank driver said he was from Tripoli, and that his commanders had told him that Misurata was under the control of foreign-ers and terrorists who had been destroying mosques. He said he felt he had been cheated, and was sorry.

Now, sitting on the curb, Alkesa told me: "Inside me, I really did not want to look after that man. I did not enjoy treating him. But it was my duty to look after a human being."

It pained him even more that the tank driver was a Libyan, unlike those of Gaddafi's forces, a minority, who are mercenaries from elsewhere in Africa, usually Mauritania, Chad or Sudan. "I just ask myself, what has Gaddafi done with their brains to make them fight us like this? He is not a human being. He is evil. Satan."

Until a few days earlier, he had not seen his wife, his four-year-old daughter and one-year-old son for a month. So intense was the workload at the hospital that he had been sleeping there; his family had become trapped after government troops overran his neighbourhood. Because the mobile-phone networks in the city had been cut, he had no way of reaching his family. "For two or three days I was completely dissociated from this world," the doctor said. "Even though I was working, I was asking myself: 'Is this real? Am I even real?' Then I came round and started feeling myself again."

Still, he said, every night when his shift ended, he would walk to his car, open the door and sit in the driver's seat. He had nowhere to go. He just needed a private place to weep.

Misurata is Libya's third-largest city, about 200 kilometres east of the capital, Tripoli, where the Mediterranean coastline dips south in the Gulf of Sirte. In better times, if Gaddafi's rule in peacetime could be described that way, you would drive there from the capital with a government-approved guide by your side. But since the beginning of the revolution, the only way in to Misurata has been by boat. First, you fly to Cairo and drive west for 14 hours, crossing the Libyan border roughly halfway. That gets you to Benghazi, the eastern city where Libya's revolution began in mid-February.

From there, you travel on a local fishing boat, carrying emergency supplies and most likely weapons for the rebels. The voyage takes over 40 hours.
Another way in is on the Ionian Spirit, a Greek ferry chartered by the International Organisation for Migration to pick up foreign workers stranded in Misurata. That journey takes just under a day, assuming loyalist forces are not bombing the port - as they often were.

Misurata has a proud history. An important trading post since ancient times, it provided determined resistance to Italian occupation a century ago, prompting one commander to declare that Libya was a snake and Misurata its head - something local people love to tell you. In modern times it became Libya's industrial hub, with its port and one of Africa's largest steel factories. Low-slung and sprinkled with palm trees, the city is well laid out and mildly prosperous. Most of the 300,000-plus residents had enough food to eat and many had cars and decent houses, too. Yet, given the country's vast oil reserves and small population, Libya should be much wealthier, more akin to Dubai or Abu Dhabi, in the view of many people you meet.

Since seizing power in a coup d'état in 1969, Gaddafi has squandered tens of billions of dollars on vanity projects and misadventures, such as sponsoring international terrorism. Meanwhile, countless public works projects, such as the renovation of Misurata's main hospital, were allowed to drag on for years. Yet that was not the main reason Gaddafi was so despised here, Alkesa told me. He explained that by the time he was born, in 1979, Gaddafi had come up with his "Third Universal Theory" of government, which he claimed was superior to democracy and communism and would lead to "a state of the masses". Its principles were laid out in his Green Book, which became required reading in schools and universities.

Most Libyans thought it was quackery, but very few dared question it openly. Those who did so were hanged. As a public service, Gaddafi ensured that the executions were shown on state television. "I remember watching them as a child," Alkesa said. "Some loyalists would run up to the bodies as they hung and jerk them downwards, to make it more violent. My father would have tears in his eyes when he saw that. That is why we have always hated Gaddafi. Not because we lacked money or food, but because we had no freedom . . . We also believed that nobody could destroy him. We were resigned to waiting for God to take his life."

Then, in January this year, there was a revolution in Tunisia, which borders Libya to the west. And then the turmoil in Egypt, to the east. The despotic leaders of both countries were toppled by people power. Libyans were inspired, especially the youth, but still they had no idea how they could emulate their Arab neighbours, Alkesa said. Compared to Libya, Egypt and Tunisia had seemed like liberal democracies even before their revolutions. “Despite our dreams, nobody could imagine that this could happen in Libya," he said. "No one. Really, no one."

On 15 February, there was a small protest in Benghazi over the arrest of a lawyer representing victims of a prison massacre. Two days later, a protest had become a city-wide uprising. The ripples reached Misurata. Nothing had happened yet, but people sensed it might. Alkesa's two brothers, who sell gold jewellery, removed all the stock from their shops and brought it home. Something was about to happen.

On my arrival at the port in Misurata on 20 April, I was taken to a girls' school that had been turned into a media centre for local journalists, some of whom accompany the thowar to the front line each day. They post video footage on YouTube, or send it to al-Jazeera, to which every television set in the city appears to be tuned.

At the media centre, I met a 23-year-old man whom I'll call Ahmed Ali. He worked in the graphic arts and he spoke good English. He was one of Misurata's first revolutionaries. He told me that, on 17 February, he and a few dozen other young men, most of them in their early twenties, held a demonstration in support of the people of Benghazi.

They were arrested by the security forces, who beat them before hauling them away. "During interrogation they showed us our Facebook pages, where we had been talking about plans for a protest. They had been watching us even before," Ali told me.

Some of those arrested, including Ali, were held overnight, others for two days. It was the spark that Misurata needed. The editor of a newspaper where Ali sometimes worked announced he would not publish again until all the men were released. On 19 February, some of their families and friends went on to the streets to demand the same. “We were 30 people, and then in a few minutes we were 100. Soon we were 5,000," Ali said. "It was incredible."

The security forces opened fire. The first martyr of the revolution, Khalid Boshahma, was shot dead. For his funeral the next day, tens of thousands of people turned out in the city centre. Tear gas was used. Snipers who had been positioned in nearby buildings began firing in the air. People in the crowd started hugging each other, believing the army had taken their side by refusing to shoot at them. But then the snipers started picking people off. Dozens were shot in the head or chest. None of the protesters had guns - keeping a weapon was prohibited in Libya under Gaddafi - but their rage was enough to shake the army. As demonstrators began setting fire to buildings associated with the regime, state security hastily left Misurata, perhaps having been ordered to, or maybe out of fear. Tension was mounting in Tripoli, and so the government was unable to spare troops to mount a counterattack for two weeks. For many people in Misurata, it was the best fortnight of their lives, Ali told me. But they knew Gaddafi would be back.

Under the guidance of a hastily assembled judicial council, the people of Misurata prepared to defend their city. By looting the local armoury, they had acquired some AK-47s and grenade launchers but most of their weapons were home-made. Young men were instructed to prepare thousands of Molotov cocktails as well as fist-sized bombs known as gelatina, made from TNT.

When Gaddafi's forces finally attacked on 6 March, they met no resistance and were allowed to drive into Tripoli Street, the main boulevard, a few miles long, with its smart shops, coffee houses, banks and office blocks. Then, when the order came, hundreds of young men positioned on the rooftops along the street started hurling their bombs. The thowar joined in with their light weapons. Taken by surprise, the loyalist forces battled
for four hours to fight their way forward, but could not. Many of Gaddafi's soldiers were killed, and the survivors were driven back to the edge of the city.

The next attack, on 19 March, was on a different scale. Troops entered the city from several sides, Russian-made tanks leading the way. This time they forced their way into Tripoli Street. Out of armoured personnel carriers poured many hundreds of snipers, who raced up into Misurata's office buildings and residential apartment blocks.

Other units took over the city's vegetable market, the college of medical technology and the unfinished hospital. The urban conflict had begun: terrifying, old-fashioned war where men fired at each other at close quarters. The daily casualty count rose remorselessly. Ali's maternal uncle was shot in the leg by a sniper. One paternal uncle was killed. Another was kidnapped from his home and has not been seen since.

Like thousands of other men, many of them students or workers in their early twenties, Ali volunteered to join the fight. His father gave him an old hunting rifle that he had kept hidden in the house for years. Others in Ali's unit joked that while Gaddafi's forces were pounding the city with anti-aircraft guns, Ali was fighting back with an anti-duck gun. "We were at the front line, but I never wanted to be right at the front. It was really scary, as we did not have a leader yet and the situation was very confused," Ali told me as we drove around the city one day. "I don't have a strong heart like some of the guys."

Nor was he sustained by faith. "You probably think that I am a Muslim, because of this," he said, pointing to a Quran on his dashboard.

“I did shout Allahu akbar when we fought, but I don't believe in God and that virgins for the martyrs stuff, and neither do many of my friends. We like to listen to music, get drunk on the beach on home-made alcohol. I just can't tell my family how I feel, because my uncle is the head of a mosque."
After a few days at the front, Ali's colleagues suggested he might be more useful working in the media centre. He agreed, and gave his hunting rifle to another member of his unit. Two days later, that man was shot in the stomach. “I never found out where my father's gun went," Ali said.

By the time I arrived in Misurata, the street battle had been raging for weeks. Most of Tripoli Street was controlled by snipers, but Ali agreed to drive me and two other journalists to the side roads that intersected it, where units of thowar were in combat with the snipers.

The car belonged to his brother and was a mess, cigarette boxes, shoes, biscuit wrappers and a few tins of sardines littering the floor. The boot was filled with tins of canned food. Ali slipped a CD titled Alternative Ballads into the car stereo: soft rock for a hard war.

We passed bakeries where men and boys were queuing for rations of bread. Despite the scarcity of goods, supermarkets had kept most of their prices stable. A shop manager told me: "This is a war, not a time to make money."

Cigarettes were the one exception. Rothmans, Ali's brand of choice, had quadrupled in price to ten dinars (about £4). There were thowar checkpoints every few hundred metres, reinforced with huge berms of sand brought from the beach, or large pieces of concrete pipe. At one roadblock, twisted remnants of missiles and shells fired by Gaddafi's soldiers into Misurata had been placed on top of one pipe. Next to it, with an arrow pointing towards the display, was a sign that read, "These are his weapons." Poking out of the pipe was a rake and spade: "These are our weapons."

Closer to the city centre, the tactics used by the thowar in the guerrilla war became evident. Giant shipping containers filled with wet sand and metal filings had been used to block off streets to prevent armoured columns getting through. Petrol-soaked blankets lay on the road, thrown there in the hope they would get caught in the tanks' tracks, allowing a Molotov cocktail or rocket-propelled grenade to set one of them on fire.

Leaving the car, we walked carefully down a side road to the main street, where several destroyed tanks hinted that the strategy had been successful. There had been an almighty battle; all the buildings were pockmarked by bullets. In places whole walls had been blown away. Splinters of glass and chunks of metal littered the street. A mosque had sustained heavy damage. There were burnt-out cars everywhere.

Closer to Tripoli Street, the damage had extended to residential homes, long abandoned by their occupants. Some of the side streets were within sight of the snipers, so Ali drove along new roads that been created by the thowar by punching holes in garden walls.

We were now very close to the vegetable market, where Gaddafi's troops had a base, protected by seven tanks. A group of about 20 fighters was having a breakfast of tuna and bread. They had been slowly clearing Gaddafi soldiers out of the neighbourhood, fighting house-to-house battles.
The leader of the unit was the only one wearing a uniform, which he'd taken from a captured Gaddafi soldier. He was a cartoonist's image of a rebel fighter - muscular, with a trim beard, a knife tucked into his belt at the back. Most thowar commanders had nicknames, but he was a replacement and new to the job; the previous leader had been killed by a sniper the day before. Ali suggested that we call him Mr Smile. He liked it.

He had been working in construction in Malta before the revolution, but had quit his job and taken a boat to Benghazi, where he received three weeks' basic training in light weapons. Now, as the leader of his group in Misurata, Mr Smile had control of a battle wagon that looked like something out of the Mad Max movies. A heavy machine-gun had been fixed on the back of a pick-up. Two giant rectangles of 12-millimetre-thick steel had been welded on to the front and rear of the vehicle. Mr Smile walked quickly towards Tripoli Street, waving his arm for us to join him. Coming to a crossing, he lowered his head and charged across.

“Snipers," he said. With gunfire zipping nearby, we bid Mr Smile goodbye. "Please come back and visit tomorrow," he said.

In this city, the abnormal quickly became normal. After a few nights sleeping on the AstroTurf floor of a basement gymnasium where journalists were put up, I no longer jumped at the rat-a-tat of gunfire, or the explosions or the ambulance sirens that pierced the night. Ordinary people in Misurata, who in January could barely tell the difference between a gunshot and a car backfiring, were - in their own minds at least - aural experts on heavy weapons.

Boom. "That's a Grad." Bang. "That's a mortar." Boom. "A tank shell."

Bang. "Katyusha rocket." Boom. "Nato must be bombing again."

War became normal for children, too. The schools were all closed, and for a while parents kept their children inside, but after a few weeks they were let out again to play. Ali's ten-year-old cousin started a game with his friends where they tried to find a full set of bullet shells, from a 7.62mm AK-47 round to a 50-calibre heavy-machine-gun round. Inevitably, there were accidents. One afternoon, on a visit to a clinic on the western outskirts of Misurata, I saw a 14-year-old boy, Abdishakur. He was sitting in a wheelchair because of his osteoporosis. It looked like he had measles, but in fact his face had been blasted with tiny fragments of shrapnel. His 11-year-old brother, Ibrahim, had even more severe injuries, sustaining damage to both eyes. His father, a local imam, explained what had happened.

“The boys were looking after my sheep when Ibrahim found a bullet still in its shell," he said. "They did not realise it was dangerous. They took it home. Ibrahim was hitting it when it exploded."

Family life had acquired a strange new reality. Neighbourhoods close to Tripoli Street or in other areas controlled by Gaddafi forces quickly emptied out. Families moved in with relatives or friends. If they had nowhere to go,

a stranger might offer up his house, and move his own family in with somebody else. One evening, I visited the home of Mohamed Tag­ouri, a 50-year-old who owned two water tankers. It was a large, well-maintained house with four bedrooms, ideal for Tagouri, his wife and their five children. Now, there were 11 families living in the house, 62 people in all. Tagouri's sister and her three children, all under five, were among them. Her house, near Tripoli Street, was now "junk", Tagouri said. Her husband was dead, killed on the front line a few days earlier. "Every family in Misurata has lost a relative," Tagouri told me as he sat on the floor, drinking coffee. "But we cannot stop resisting. We have to finish the situation. We have no regrets."

Most days, the shelling was not too heavy and he would drive one of his tankers to the desalination plant near the port, which had become the city's main supply after Gaddafi had cut the water mains. He would then sell the water in town, or give it away if someone was low on cash. Many were, as no salaries were being paid and no banks were open, although neighbourhood committees were handing out small sums of money to all families. They were handing out food parcels, too, but Tagouri said they lacked a crucial item. “There is no macaroni in Misurata."

Despite the best efforts of Mr Smile's team and other bands of thowar, the snipers of Tripoli Street were still causing havoc. No target was off limits: not the mosques, which broadcast "Allahu akbar" over and over to give the thowar strength, and not ambulances. Children, too, were seen as fair game.

At the hospital, I saw a ten-year-old boy who had been shot in the head while stepping outside to play with his friends. Such was the fear of snipers that some people had been too terrified to risk fleeing the city centre when the snipers came in. These included 101 orphans housed close to Tripoli Street. After huddling together in the basement of their orphanage for weeks, they had nearly run out of food. The power and water had been cut.

Selima al-Teer was one of two social workers trapped with the children. "My colleague and I were so afraid of snipers, but we decided we had to run to try and find food," she told me. "We took a hammer, ran about 500 metres to a supply store, and broke the door down. We put food in a wheelbarrow and ran back to the orphanage."

They made the journey three times. “Each time we just said to each other: 'May God help us,' and then ran," she said. Eventually, with the help of the thowar, all the children escaped and found refuge in a Quranic school in a safer suburb of the city.

As the days passed, it was clear that the thowar were gaining the upper hand on the snipers. By blocking the streets, they had managed to cut Gaddafi's resupply lines and began clearing buildings along Tripoli Street one by one. To identify the snipers' hideouts, the revolutionaries crept along side roads and then held out small pieces of mirror to look up the street, examining the reflection for the tell-tale puff of smoke whenever a shot was fired. Then they attacked the buildings with their Kalashni­kovs, heavy machine-guns and RPGs. Finally, they sent fighters into the buildings. They worked through the floors, sometimes tossing burning tyres into rooms to smoke out the last of the snipers.

One night, at the media centre, Ali told me that the eight-storey insurance building, the tallest in Misurata, which stood at the very centre of the city at the top of Tripoli Street, had been declared clear. We drove there early the next morning. For the first time the extent of the war here became obvious. Many of the buildings near the insurance tower resembled those of Mogadishu, in Somalia, where bullets have flown freely for 20 years. There were four destroyed tanks. A handful of local people wandered around in a near daze, struggling to grasp what had happened.
With Ali leading the way, we entered the darkened reception area of the insurance building, picking our way up the rubble-strewn stairs. We soon came upon some mattresses where a few snipers had been sleeping, and empty tuna and tomato paste tins. Spent shells lay in heaps on the floor. There was graffiti on the wall, which Ali translated. “If we survive, we are warning you gays and dogs. We will not forgive anybody from Misurata. We will fuck your daughters and your wives."

On the roof of the building, snipers had been sleeping in the elevator maintenance room, mattresses packed tightly together. Outside, there were thousands of spent shells on the terrace, along with several cases that had held anti-tank missile launchers. The roof had a panoramic view of the city and of the epic destruction below. To be up here with a gun was to be a master of downtown Misurata. However, after weeks of starving the snipers of food and ammunition, and hitting the buildings with gunfire, the thowar had cleared all the snipers from Tripoli Street.

And yet the death toll mounted. One day, I saw Mr Smile at the hospital, looking harried. He had lost a few men, he told me. The war had entered a new phase as the revolutionaries tried to push Gaddafi's soldiers out of their bases in the vegetable market and other locations. On the back foot - Gaddafi's minions called it a strategic retreat - the loyalist forces had increased their long-distance shelling of the city.

“Do you think this is over?" asked Hassan Mohamed, a 51-year-old man who was showing me around a destroyed house where 16 of Gaddafi's troops had been killed. He had already lost several family members in the conflict. He expected to lose more. Then he answered his own question: "This is not over. Gaddafi will send more soldiers. He is much bigger than the devil himself."

As the thowar pushed forward, there were terrible battles on the southern and western outskirts of the city. The scale of the missile and mortar attacks by the pro-Gaddafi troops increased, loyalist shells often falling on civilian neighbourhoods, whether intentionally or not. On one night of particularly heavy bombardment, Ali frantically searched the internet for information on the best place to take shelter in a house when bombs were falling. He then took the microphone at Radio Free Libya, which had become the voice of Misurata's revolution, and told people what he had learned.

As the first uncensored medium in the city in 42 years, the station offered an insight into some of the challenges that Libya might face once Gaddafi was gone. People of Ali's father's generation had pushed for Radio Free Libya to adhere to conservative values, with a strong focus on religion. But Ali and his friends, of the generation that had started the revolution and was dying on the front lines, wanted something more progressive. "Look, us young guys don't just know about camels or how to fix a car," he told me. "We have the internet. We know about the world."

I saw Tahar Alkesa in the emergency tent two nights before I left Misurata on 3 May. His stubble had turned into a beard, with patches of grey. He looked even more fatigued than when we had first met. The casualties had not slowed - ten to 20 killed most days and dozens of others injured. We could hear the boom, boom, boom of Grad missiles being launched by Gaddafi's troops in the distance. As they were slowly being pushed back outside the city, government forces had trained much of their attention on the port, determined to cut off Misurata's lifeline. A few days earlier, a small naval team sent by Gaddafi had been intercepted as it laid floating sea-mines outside the harbour.

Inside the hospital, while trying to ascertain the day's casualty figures, I bumped into Suleiman Ibrahim, a prominent businessman in Misurata who had been helping out around the hospital for weeks with Haythem, his younger brother. Haythem had left for Malta that morning on a boat - one of the very few able to enter the harbour in days - to sort out business in China. The men's two younger brothers, twins in their early twenties, were both working for the hospital, one as an ambulance paramedic, the other as a doctor. "This war is disastrous. Misurata has paid a big, big price," Suleiman said.

He was desperate to get his parents out of the country, but his mother had refused to leave unless all her sons did, too. They would not.

I had heard the reason many times from different people: we win, or we die.

Xan Rice is a contributing writer of the New Statesman.

Xan Rice is Features Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 09 May 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Beyond the cult of Bin Laden

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New Statesman readers on Jeremy Corbyn, one year on

We asked you what you thought of Corbyn, and found that New Statesman readers are apparently as divided as the Labour membership.

Earlier in the summer, we asked readers for their views on Jeremy Corbyn as he prepared for another leadership contest. Below is a selection of responses. To avoid accusations of bias, I divided the submissions into broadly pro- and anti-Corbyn positions (usually based on whether the writer thought Corbyn should continue as leader) and the proportion of each that the NS received is reflected here. It seems our readers are as divided as the membership over a leader who has turned Labour into a mass-membership social movement.

 

Labour had been drifting

I voted for Jeremy Corbyn because he held distinctly socialist ideas and because he had a long record of standing up for these. I felt the Labour Party had been drifting and it was no longer clear where it stood on some of the big issues. Under Jeremy, Labour has shifted – and clearly Owen Smith, like him, is also on the left of the party. Jeremy has conducted himself with dignity under enormous duress. Locally, we have seen many new members join the party, attracted by Jeremy’s focus on serious political issues and by his clear views.

John Boaler, Calne, Wiltshire

 

The party might split

I remember Jeremy Corbyn from the 1980s onwards, so I wasn’t surprised that he refused to “play the game”. I saw this as unhelpful but not necessarily harmful. He inspired many to get involved in politics, especially younger people, which was and is good. However, I thought he would realise sooner or later that he wasn’t up to the job. My views changed when he didn’t stand aside after the MPs’ vote of no confidence. My impression of him then was as someone obstructive – destructive, even – not charmingly rebellious. If he wins decisively, I think the party may have to think about splitting.

James Chater, London

 

A divided party cannot rule

While most Labour MPs oppose Corbyn because they see him as unelectable, they fail to see that a divided party is causing much more damage to Labour’s prospects than his leadership. Perhaps Labour MPs would serve their party better by presenting to the public a united front, even if it isn’t one they fully support.

Oliver Callaghan, Lancashire

 

We need a snap election

I cried when Corbyn won the leadership election last year, as I felt that it would be the end of the Labour Party. There was nothing about his campaign which inspired me and I found his lack of ability to think on his feet very worrying. Recently, I have been perplexed at how even the unfairness displayed in the nepotistic employment of his son Seb [who works for the shadow chancellor, John McDonnell] has failed to puncture the aura of sanctity. The only solution seems to be a snap election to prove that he is absolutely unelectable, so that Labour can rebuild.

Caroline Dorber, Lichfield, West Midlands

 

I’ll be voting for Smith

I voted for Corbyn as a refreshing change from politicians repeating patronising soundbites. However, the turning point for me was during the Paris attacks [in November 2015]. He was asked to confirm that he would use lethal force against terrorists if a similar incident happened here and he hesitated, as if considering an interesting philosophical point. I will be voting for Owen Smith (but wish I could vote for Owen Jones).

Philippa Barton, London

 

We are poised for change

I resigned from the Lib Dems to join Labour because of Jeremy Corbyn. His task is to re-create the Labour Party as a socialist, not a Blairite centre-left, party. He is right to persevere. “Labour” MPs should support him or resign. My view is that he has the right principles and is very courageous, but is still receiving unfair and corrupted coverage by the British media. This country is poised for great change.

George Macpherson, Dulverton, Somerset

 

We need a Labour government

I voted for Jeremy Corbyn first time round, believing a new standard of politics could be achieved, and to some extent it has. He is undoubtedly a decent, principled man whose politics I share and actively advocate. His staunch defence of the NHS, his solidarity with striking teachers and junior doctors and his sustained attack on austerity are admirable. Yet it is clear that to overturn six years (and counting) of austerity, we need a Labour government. With Corbyn as our leader, we won’t achieve that aim any time soon.

Josh Wilmer, Leeds

 

Corbyn has been underestimated

Undeniably the biggest surprise for many about Corbyn’s term of leadership has been the way they underestimated the man himself. Those who sought to remove him simply didn’t understand the nature of their prey. His resilience, courage and respectful loyalty to his supporters are qualities that perhaps should not define a person as being unfit to lead or incapable of winning an election. With his experience and involvement with the needs of the disabled, to take just one example, he has a social and political CV more relevant to the needs of many in Britain today than a business or public relations background.

Ian Flintoff, Oxford

 

Labour has become a cult

I used to think of myself as on the left of the Labour Party. No longer. The way Corbyn and his supporters have behaved over the past year – the immaturity and ineptitude – has contaminated my view of the whole socialist project. They are not interested in winning. Fine if you’re well fed and middle class (like most Labour members): you’ll be OK whoever is in power. Not so good if you’re poor or working class (like most Labour voters) and you’re relying on a Labour government to improve your life chances. That’s Corbyn’s unforgivable crime, turning a practical, pragmatic party into an irrelevant cult.

Another year of this will finish Labour off – possibly for good.

Adam Patrick, via email

 

Lone voice in wilderness

Three people have struck me with their steadfast principles and quiet resolution in the past year: Ken Loach, Michelle Obama and Jeremy Corbyn. Though consistently demonised by the MSM [mainstream media], JC has maintained the principled stance he has always had. What mighty hypocrisy he would be accused of if he now abandoned it for short-term gain. His is a lone voice in UK politics speaking out for the ordinary citizen.

The New Labour rump should reflect on the fact that it was their policies that lost the last two general elections, largely because they were indistinguishable from the Tories. It is my hope that among the newer Labour intake of MPs there will be those who are not tainted by connection with global business interests or petty personal ambition. Most politicians say they entered politics to “make a difference”. JC and a principled team could do that.

Vivien Jones, Powfoot, Dumfriesshire

 

Metropolitan figure

Jeremy Corbyn’s “overwhelming” mandate was 60 per cent of the votes of a group comprising 0.05 per cent of the UK electorate. What about the other  99.95 per cent? What does Corbyn have to say to the bloke in Sunderland who reads the Daily Mail, used to vote Labour but is now Ukip, wants immigrants to go home, thinks Corbyn is as remote a metropolitan figure as David Cameron, and doesn’t think much of a bloke who won’t sing the national anthem? One year on, Corbyn and his cohorts do not seem to have recognised that or, worse, don’t care.

Iain Macniven, Highlands, Scotland

 

No to a Tory clone

New Labour won elections because it behaved like the Conservatives, turning a blind eye to tax avoidance/evasion, big bonuses and big-business bribery and corruption. David Cameron was pleased to call himself the “heir to Blair” but one who would do better because he had the willing support of his party. We don’t need a clone of the Conservative Party; we want an effective opposition that can shame the Conservatives into doing the right thing. Corbyn has done rather well in that respect.

Alice Edwards, Wokingham, Berkshire

 

The Micawbers dithered

I expected nothing from Corbyn and he hasn’t surprised me. He is not and never will be competent. Currently, the party is unelectable, but not indestructible. Scotland is the ominous warning. However, Corbyn and the people who manipulate him (John McDonnell, Seumas Milne, Momentum/Militant) are not wholly to blame for our dire state. I wrote in the NS in January what the PLP needed to do. But the Micawbers dithered and delayed. The Parliamentary Labour Party should at last go its own way, or face electoral oblivion.

Joe Haines, Tunbridge Wells, Kent

 

A purge of neoliberals could be his legacy

Any assessment of the Corbyn leadership has to be considered on two levels: how has he performed as a “traditional” leader of the opposition, and how has his leadership impacted on the political debate in the broader community? On the first question, certainly by the usual measures (unifying the parliamentary party, point-scoring against the government, etc) he has not been what the majority in the PLP want or expect. However, purging the Labour Party of the neoliberalist ideology that has compromised its capacity to confront the challenges of globalisation could well be his lasting achievement.

Paul Pearce, New South Wales, Australia

 

Greens against Corbyn

You may assume that, as a Green Party supporter, I am thrilled to have a lefty like Corbyn as Labour leader. Last year I was thankful for him having put such issues as Trident and austerity properly on the agenda. However, a year later, I’m calling for him to stand down. As long as we have first-past-the-post, Labour must be centre-left, and must be a broad church. Corbyn will not win a general election, and shouldn’t punish those who need help most by proving this in 2020, and extending Tory rule by another five years.

Freya Pigott, via email

 

Remarkable courage

I cannot tell if Corbyn has been a good leader of the Labour Party. From the moment he was elected 11 months ago a senior group of Labour MPs has plotted unceasingly to remove him when they should have been attacking a socially divisive Conservative government.

Corbyn wants to create a Nordic-style social-democratic party that recognises the important role of the public sector. They remain wedded to austerity and New Labour’s policy of privatisation.

How successful would I have been as leader if I had been surrounded by people whose sole aim was to remove me? I think that Corbyn has shown remarkable courage in fighting for what he believes in.

Barry Bennett, Kingston-upon-Thames

 

The experiment flopped

You can’t sit at the back in a grump with your arms folded then expect loyalty when you become leader. It needed an astute approach by someone who cared enough about Labour to work out how to unite everyone, and go on to become a radical, reforming, electable party.

It could have been magnificent, a spectacular achievement – but it flopped. I know this is a rant, and I am ashamed it’s personal, but I am furious.

Audrey Laughlin, Sandwich, Kent

 

An end to Blairism

Blairism doesn’t work; it is based on false premises, especially that the private sector is always superior to the public sector. Corbyn is not perfect, but he remains the only leader who consistently rejects these false premises. Until this changes, he’ll get my vote.

Peter Nicklin, Newcastle-upon-Tyne

 

Man of great integrity

Corbyn stepped up as Labour leader promising straight talking and honest, kinder politics; in his first year, he has delivered just that. He has conducted himself with great integrity at Prime Minister’s Questions. He has, however, taken a while to hone his style, and his determination to keep things civil has, on occasion, proved costly. This was demonstrated most clearly with his failure to capitalise on Iain Duncan Smith’s acrimonious departure from the cabinet. If Corbyn wins again, he should maintain the energy of his leadership campaign by making frequent public appearances and stating his case in the communities with which Labour must reconnect to ensure victory in 2020.

Samuel Peers, via email

 

It’s all over

I didn’t vote for Corbyn. A leadership candidate needs to be electable, not just selectable by members. I liked the way he contrasted with Cameron at the despatch box. But despite airing the emailed concerns of everyday Britons, he failed to speak clearly to Labour voters on the EU; a third opted for “Leave”. Moreover, he has failed to present a compelling policy offer to support his “new kind of politics”. With only feeble support from his parliamentary colleagues, the question is: if Corbyn wins again, will the last Labour MP to leave the party turn out the lights?

James Young, London

 

Should he play the game?

Corbyn has not been a complete disaster for Labour. He has navigated electoral tests – performing adequately in some, such as the local elections, and exceptionally in others, as in recent mayoral votes and by-elections. His finest achievement has been his influence on politics as a whole, gradually pulling the political and economic consensus over to the left and hugely expanding the party’s grass-roots potential by inflating the membership. As a supporter, I by no means wish him to become a professional politician, but he may now have to start playing the game to recover.

Tim Bliss, Kent

 

Don’t blame the media

Expected little, got even less. Intellectually feeble, organisationally incompetent, ideologically Neanderthal and copes poorly in adversarial situations, Corbyn lives in a neo-Marxist bubble surrounded by unpleasantly hard-nosed ideologues. He is incapable of convincing anyone beyond the faithful, who are as depressingly unrealistic as he is. His continuation as leader will make me review over 50 years’ support for the party. The attempt to blame his negative image on a hostile media is disingenuous and patronising. I and other critics are perfectly capable of making a judgement on what we see and hear.

Mike Penny, Northampton

 

Stop the selfies!

He appears well mannered, principled, different, refreshing, tough, genuine – and you have to admire the man for sticking with it. He shares initials with another great rabble-rouser and you can feel this is starting to become a cult – especially when he requests cuddles with his admirers. Some of us are starting to shudder. He appears to be unable to lead a team with credibility. Or is he just being blocked by the press, the cynics, the Blairites? How on Earth are we supposed to know the answers to such questions when the mainly right-wing press vilifies him and his party have never all rallied behind him?

If there is a credible alternative, bring it on. I don’t see one.

Lyn Poole, Tameside, Greater Manchester

 

I’ve lost my excitement

As a long-standing active Labour member, I was excited, if tentative, about the idea of Corbyn as leader. Sadly, his election has caused division from the bottom to the top of Labour and created an atmosphere of disrespect. A good leader should not let that happen.

Veronica Ward, south-east London

 

Who’s the alternative?

Due to his preference for angrily ranting at rallies to sensible debate with his colleagues, and allowing his praetorian guard to cut off contact from MPs and members alike, I have, regrettably, come to support replacing Jeremy as leader. My problem now is that those whom I trust to lead Labour to electoral success are not stepping forward, leaving us first with Angela Eagle, who is as wet as a bank holiday Monday, and now Owen Smith, who looks like a poor impression of John Oliver. However, I haven’t given up hope that one day, sooner or later, our talents (Dan Jarvis, Tristram Hunt, Chuka Umunna) will step forward from the back benches to lead our party.

Neal Rubow, via email

 

Smith is a weasel

When I heard that Jeremy Corbyn had been selected as leader, my heart soared. Here was a leader who was truly socialist in his values. If the party would stand behind him, ignore the little weasel that is Owen Smith, and save the energy that it uses trying to destroy him to rally round him and the causes he champions, we would have a leader par excellence and a party that can win the next election.

Kate Colgrave, Milton Keynes

 

Labour must reach out

The point of the Labour Party is to seek representation at all levels of government and through such representation to implement the policies agreed by its members. The most important role of the leader is to be a face of the party who can inspire. It is not sufficient to enthuse party members. Our message has to reach out to the majority, to people who in the past may have voted for other parties. Corbyn has signally failed to achieve this.

Michael Jefferys (former PPC, West Suffolk)

 

Politics should not be a business

The events and commentary surrounding Jeremy Corbyn’s tenure as Labour leader have brought some disturbing truths about our political system and society to the surface. Arguing whether he is electable is essentially turning politics into a business, with a politician’s agenda transformed into a service, to be bartered and shaped to best fit the market. A more pertinent question than “whether Corbyn is electable” would be: “Should Corbyn be electable?” If the answer to that is yes, we should fall behind him.

Erik Edman, Brussels, Belgium

 

Talk to the north

Labour voters in the north of England and elsewhere who look like abandoning us do want to hear about jobs, good pay, a better social life for them and their families. But Corbyn just seems to feel this is secondary to the central message of socialism. If he can’t put the economic well-being of the people and the country at the centre of the party’s message, then he will have failed the British people. Sadly, I believe he has.

Guthrie McKie (Labour councillor, Harrow)

 

“Yes” to the EU . . . with caveats

One thing Jeremy didn’t get wrong was his contribution to the referendum debate: a critical “yes” was far more in tune with most Labour voters than the last-minute pandering to racist attitudes, which did nothing but muddy the waters.

Jon Bounds, Abingdon, Oxfordshire

 

Support, not sniping

Corbyn has the right party but the wrong MPs. He should lose many at the next election; he should enter an electoral pact with the Liberal Democrats and the Greens on proportional representation and he should control better who gets on candidate shortlists. He deserves support, not sniping.

Roger Steer, via email

 

Missed open goals

I did not vote for Jeremy but I tried to support him as I have done every other leader. Yet I soon became disillusioned by his continual missing of open goals and the lack of any clear policy definition. Worse, on the doorstep, it was clear he did not resonate with voters.

We invited him to speak at a fundraising dinner but, despite many reminders, we could not get a reply. Ian Murray MP stepped in at short notice and we raised over £500. Many new members joined after Jeremy became leader but not one has supported any of our campaigning activities. This is not the new party of activists we were promised.

Peter Young, Strachan, Scotland

 

We need a realignment

I voted for Corbyn. I’m a Labour-voting union member – not the Daily Mail’s Trotskyite version, but a hard worker who could be made redundant at any moment. For me and my family, Corbyn talks sense: about social justice, about Trident, about the kind of society that Britain could be. But one thing has dismayed me – his failure to engage with the Remain campaign. And without election wins, nothing is possible.

I’ll be voting Corbyn again. But I suspect the best hope for change now is the implosion of both main parties, with a broad, socially minded, Europe-aspiring coalition taking on the ruling hard-right orthodoxy in a brutal, post-Brexit,
post-Scotland “rump UK”. Ken Clarke for leader, anyone?

Simon Procter, Ilford, Essex

 

From nice to stubborn

I thought he was a “nice” and principled man (though I didn’t vote for him as leader). Now I think he’s stubborn, rigid and more interested in his own principles than changing the UK for the better.

Georgina Webster, Keighley, West Yorkshire

This article first appeared in the 18 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn’s revenge