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John Pilger on the Dagan Plan and Gaza under fire

Every war Israel has waged since 1948 has had the same objective: expulsion of the native people. 

"When the truth is replaced by silence," the Soviet dissident Yevgeny Yevtushenko said, "the silence is a lie." It may appear that the silence on Gaza is broken. The small cocoons of murdered children, wrapped in green, together with boxes containing their dismembered parents, and the cries of grief and rage of everyone in that death camp by the sea can be witnessed on al-Jazeera and YouTube, even glimpsed on the BBC. But Russia's incorrigible poet was not referring to the ephemera we call news; he was asking why those who knew the why never spoke it, and so denied it. Among the Anglo-American intelligentsia, this is especially striking. It is they who hold the keys to the great storehouses of knowledge: the historiographies and archives that lead us to the why.

They know that the horror now raining on Gaza has little to do with Hamas or, absurdly, "Israel's right to exist". They know the opposite to be true: that Palestine's right to exist was cancelled 61 years ago and that the expulsion and, if necessary, extinction of the indigenous people was planned and executed by the founders of Israel. They know, for example, that the infamous "Plan D" of 1947-48 resulted in the murderous depopulation of 369 Palestinian towns and villages by the Haganah (Israeli army) and that massacre upon massacre of Palestinian civilians in such places as Deir Yassin, al-Dawayima, Eilaboun, Jish, Ramle and Lydda are referred to in official records as "ethnic cleansing". Arriving at a scene of this carnage, David Ben-Gurion, Israel's first prime minister, was asked by a general, Yigal Allon: "What shall we do with the Arabs?" Ben-Gurion, reported the Israeli historian Benny Morris, "made a dismissive, energetic gesture with his hand and said, 'Expel them'".

The order to expel an entire population "without attention to age" was signed by Yitzhak Rabin, a future prime minister promoted by the world's most efficient propaganda as a peacemaker. The terrible irony of this was addressed only in passing, such as when the Mapam party co-leader Meir Ya'ari noted "how easily" Israel's leaders spoke of how it was "possible and permissible to take women, children and old men and to fill the road with them because such is the imperative of strategy. And this we say . . . who remember who used this means against our people during the [Second World] War . . . I am appalled."

Every subsequent "war" Israel has waged has had the same objective: the expulsion of the native people and the theft of more and more land. The lie of David and Goliath, of perennial victim, reached its apogee in 1967 when the propaganda became a righteous fury that claimed the Arab states had struck first against Israel. Since then, mostly Jewish truth-tellers such as Avi Shlaim, Noam Chomsky, Tanya Reinhart, Neve Gordon, Tom Segev, Uri Avnery, Ilan Pappé and Norman Finkelstein have undermined this and other myths and revealed a state shorn of the humane traditions of Judaism, whose unrelenting militarism is the sum of an expansionist, lawless and racist ideology called Zionism. "It seems," wrote the Israeli historian Pappé on 2 January, "that even the most horrendous crimes, such as the genocide in Gaza, are treated as discrete events, unconnected to anything that happened in the past and not associated with any ideology or system . . . Very much as the apartheid ideology explained the oppressive policies of the South African government, this ideology - in its most consensual and simplistic variety - allowed all the Israeli governments in the past and the present to dehumanise the Palestinians wherever they are and strive to destroy them. The means altered from period to period, from location to location, as did the narrative covering up these atrocities. But there is a clear pattern [of genocide]."

In Gaza, the enforced starvation and denial of humanitarian aid, the piracy of life-giving resources such as fuel and water, the denial of medicines, the systematic destruction of infrastructure and killing and maiming of the civilian population, 50 per cent of whom are children, fall within the international standard of the Genocide Convention. "Is it an irresponsible overstatement," asked Richard Falk, UN special rapporteur for human rights in the occupied Palestinian territories and international law authority at Princeton University, "to associate the treatment of Palestinians with this criminalised Nazi record of collective atrocity? I think not."

In describing a “holocaust-in-the making”, Falk was alluding to the Nazis’ establishment of Jewish ghettos in Poland. For one month in 1943, the captive Polish Jews, led by Mordechaj Anielewicz, fought off the German army and the SS, but their resistance was finally crushed and the Nazis exacted their final revenge. Falk is also a Jew. Today’s holocaust-in-the-making, which began with Ben-Gurion’s Plan D, is in its final stages. The difference today is that it is a joint US-Israeli project. The F-16 jet fighters, the 250lb “smart” GBU-39 bombs supplied on the eve of the attack on Gaza, having been approved by a Congress dominated by the Democratic Party, plus the annual $2.4bn in warmaking “aid”, give Washington de facto control. It beggars belief that President-elect Obama was not informed. Outspoken about Russia’s war in Georgia and the terrorism in Mumbai, Obama has maintained a silence on Palestine that marks his approval, which is to be expected, given his obsequiousness to the Tel Aviv regime and its lobbyists during the presidential campaign and his appointment of Zionists as his secretary of state and principal Middle East advisers. When Aretha Franklin sings “Think”, her wonderful 1960s anthem to freedom, at Obama’s inauguration on 20 January, I trust someone with the brave heart of Muntader al-Zaidi, the shoe-thrower, will shout: “Gaza!”

The asymmetry of conquest and terror is clear. Plan D is now "Operation Cast Lead", which is the unfinished "Operation Justified Vengeance". This was launched by Prime Minister Ariel Sharon in 2001 when, with George W Bush's approval, he used F-16s against Palestinian towns and villages for the first time.

 

Why are the academics and teachers silent? Are British universities now no more than “intellectual Tescos”?

 

In that same year, the authoritative Jane's Foreign Report disclosed that the Blair government had given Israel the "green light" to attack the West Bank after it was shown Israel's secret designs for a bloodbath. It was typical of new Labour's enduring complicity in Palestine's agony. However, the Israeli plan, reported Jane's, needed the "trigger" of a suicide bombing which would cause "numerous deaths and injuries [because] the 'revenge' factor is crucial". This would "motivate Israeli soldiers to demolish the Palestinians". What alarmed Sharon and the author of the plan, General Shaul Mofaz, then Israeli chief of staff, was a secret agreement between Yasser Arafat and Hamas to ban suicide attacks. On 23 November 2001 Israeli agents assassinated the Hamas leader Mahmoud Abu Hanoud and got their "trigger": the suicide attacks resumed in response to his killing.

Something uncannily similar happened on 4 November last year when Israeli special forces attacked Gaza, killing six people. Once again, they got their propaganda "trigger": a ceasefire sustained by the Hamas government - which had imprisoned its violators - was shattered as a result of the Israeli attacks, and home-made rockets were fired into what used to be called Palestine before its Arab occupants were "cleansed". On 23 December, Hamas offered to renew the ceasefire, but Israel's charade was such that its all-out assault on Gaza had been planned six months earlier, according to the Israeli daily Haaretz.

Behind this sordid game is the "Dagan Plan", named after General Meir Dagan, who served with Sharon during his bloody invasion of Leba non in 1982. Now head of Mossad, the Israeli intelligence organisation, Dagan is the author of a "solution" that has brought about the imprisonment of Palestinians behind a ghetto wall snaking across the West Bank and in Gaza, now effectively a concentration camp. The establishment of a quisling government in Ramallah, under Mahmoud Abbas, is Dagan's achievement, together with a hasbara (propaganda) campaign, relayed through mostly supine, if intimidated western media, notably in the US, which say Hamas is a terrorist organisation devoted to Israel's destruction and is to "blame" for the massacres and siege of its own people over two generations, since long before its creation. "We have never had it so good," said the Israeli foreign ministry spokesman Gideon Meir in 2006. "The hasbara effort is a well-oiled machine."

In fact, Hamas's real threat is its example as the Arab world's only democratically elected government, drawing its popularity from its resistance to the Palestinians' oppressor and tormentor. This was demonstrated when Hamas foiled a CIA coup in 2007, an event ordained in the western media as "Hamas's seizure of power". Likewise, Hamas is never described as a government, let alone democratic. Neither is its proposal of a ten-year truce reported as a historic recognition of the "reality" of Israel and support for a two-state solution with just one condition: that the Israelis obey international law and end their illegal occupation beyond the 1967 borders. As every annual vote in the UN General Assembly demonstrates, most states agree. On 4 January, the president of the General Assembly, Miguel d'Escoto, described the Israeli attack on Gaza as a "monstrosity".

When the monstrosity is done and the people of Gaza are even more stricken, the Dagan Plan foresees what Sharon called a "1948-style solution" - the destruction of all Palestinian leadership and authority, followed by mass expulsions into smaller and smaller "cantonments", and perhaps, finally, into Jordan. This demolition of institutional and educational life in Gaza is designed to produce, wrote Karma Nabulsi, a Palestinian exile in Britain, "a Hobbesian vision of an anarchic society: truncated, violent, powerless, destroyed, cowed . . . Look to the Iraq of today: that is what [Sharon] had in store for us, and he has nearly achieved it."

Dr Dahlia Wasfi is an American writer on Iraq and Palestine. She has a Jewish mother and an Iraqi Muslim father. "Holocaust denial is anti-Semitic," she wrote on 31 December. "But I'm not talking about the World War II, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad [the president of Iran] or Ashkenazi Jews. What I'm referring to is the holocaust we are all witnessing and responsible for in Gaza today and in Palestine over the past 60 years . . . Since Arabs are Semites, US-Israeli policy doesn't get more anti-Semitic than this." She quoted Rachel Corrie, the young American who went to Palestine to defend Palestinians and was crushed by an Israeli bulldozer. "I am in the midst of a genocide," wrote Corrie, "which I am also indirectly supporting, and for which my government is largely responsible."

Reading the words of both, I am struck by the use of "responsibility". Breaking the lie of silence is not an esoteric abstraction, but an urgent responsibility that falls to those with the privilege of a platform. With the BBC cowed, so too is much of journalism, merely allowing vigorous debate within unmovable, invisible boundaries, ever fearful of the smear of anti-Semitism. The unreported news, meanwhile, is that the death toll in Gaza is the equivalent of 18,000 dead in Britain. Imagine, if you can.

Then there are the academics, the deans and teachers and researchers. Why are they silent as they watch a university bombed and hear the Association of University Teachers in Gaza plead for help? Are British universities now, as Terry Eagleton believes, no more than “intellectual Tescos, churning out a commodity known as graduates rather than greengroceries”?

Then there are the writers. In the dark year of 1939, the Third American Writers' Congress was held at Carnegie Hall in New York and the likes of Thomas Mann and Albert Einstein sent messages and spoke up to ensure that the lie of silence was broken. By one account, 2,500 jammed the auditorium. Today, this mighty voice of realism and morality is said to be obsolete; the literary review pages affect an ironic hauteur of irrelevance; false symbolism is all. As for the readers, their moral and political imagination is to be pacified, not primed. The anti-Muslim Martin Amis expressed this well in Visiting Mrs Nabo kov: "The dominance of the self is not a flaw, it is an evolutionary characteristic; it is just how things are."

If that is how things are, we are diminished as a civilised people. For what happens in Gaza is the defining moment of our time, which either grants war criminals impunity and immunity through our silence, while we contort our own intellect and morality, or it gives us the power to speak out. For the moment I prefer my own memory of Gaza: of the people's courage and resistance and their "luminous humanity", as Karma Nabulsi put it. On my last trip there, I was rewarded with a spectacle of Palestinian flags fluttering in unlikely places. It was dusk and children had done this. No one had told them to do it. They made flagpoles out of sticks tied together, and a few of them climbed on to a wall and held the flag between them, some silently, others crying out. They do this every day when they know foreigners are leaving, in the belief that the world will not forget them.

John Pilger, renowned investigative journalist and documentary film-maker, is one of only two to have twice won British journalism's top award; his documentaries have won academy awards in both the UK and the US. In a New Statesman survey of the 50 heroes of our time, Pilger came fourth behind Aung San Suu Kyi and Nelson Mandela. "John Pilger," wrote Harold Pinter, "unearths, with steely attention facts, the filthy truth. I salute him."

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2009 issue of the New Statesman, The destruction of Gaza

Ralph Steadman
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Discipline over dazzle: Helen Lewis interviews Yvette Cooper

Yvette Cooper is offering Labour a platform of cautious pragmatism – but will that be enough to take the crown?

In November 1997, not long after Labour’s landslide election victory, the newly elected Yvette Cooper wrote a column in the Independent, where she had previously worked as a writer on economics. “Seven months ago, I was still a journalist, delighting in the healthy scepticism and intelligent individualism that makes broadsheet newspapers so essential to a thriving democracy,” the new MP observed. “In contrast, I fear now that former journalist colleagues will find me earnest, idealistic and breathless. So be it. We have a unique opportunity.”

Fast-forward to 2015, and although few would accuse the 46-year-old of breathlessness, the charge of earnestness has not gone away. When the Labour leadership race began, the conventional wisdom was that Andy Burnham would run a good campaign but ultimately Cooper would triumph by picking up all the other candidates’ second preferences. Her campaign would not be flashy but it would be reassuring. By not making too many pledges, she would win with a clean slate, rather than being hidebound by promises made to assuage one special interest group or another.

The entry of Jeremy Corbyn into the race, and the subsequent surge of support for a conventionally socialist policy platform, upset that calculus. So, I ask Cooper on a visit to her spartan offices overlooking Big Ben, has her campaign been too nebulous? What does she think Lab­our is for? “The simple answer is the Labour Party has to be for a fairer country,” she says in a soft northern accent. “It has to be for greater equality.”

For her, that means weaving together the two strands of Labour identity that have shaped her politics. The first is the “liberation and emancipation tradition”, which takes in feminism and LGBT rights. One of the first political campaigns she was involved in was against Section 28, the legislation banning the “promotion” of homosexuality. “That is probably one of my only . . . well, my few law-breaking moments, when we graffitied these buildings – hoardings – with triangles before a big march.” I look mildly surprised at such youthful recklessness. Where was that? “At Oxford.”

The second strand of her politics is the “tradition of solidarity from the coalfield communities”, with its emphasis on hard work and looking after your neighbours: “Christian socialism but without the God attached”, she calls it. This might seem familiar: in the early days of his leadership, Ed Miliband also used to talk about communities, under the rubric of Blue Labour, an intellectual project championed by the academic Jonathan Rutherford, the independent-minded peer Maurice Glasman and the Dagenham and Barking MP, Jon Cruddas. It was aimed at finding a way for Labour to appeal to socially conservative, working-class voters – essentially, Daily Mail readers who found the party a bit too Guardian.

But Cooper thinks the project was flawed. “I’ve always found the Blue Labour approach to family and community actually just too traditional, too anti-women,” she says. “There’s something in that whole tradition . . . that always assumes all communities are good. You just have strong communities and that’s a good thing. Actually no, some communities are really oppressive and, you know, divisive. Or that all families are a good thing. Well, actually, there’s abuse and there’s violence within the family, and you should be strong about justice as well as about families.”

Cooper is arguably the most experienced of the leadership contenders. Educated at a comprehensive school, Oxford and Harvard, she made her maiden speech in 1997 days after Labour’s first Budget in 18 years, focusing on unemployment in her constituency and the struggle of former mining communities to adapt. “Keynes said: ‘In the long run we are all dead’ – but I say, ‘So what?’ Our children and our grandchildren will still be alive,” she concluded.

In the years that followed she progressed swiftly, serving as minister for housing, chief secretary to the Treasury (during the financial crash in 2008) and secretary of state for work and pensions. Most recently, she has shadowed Theresa May at the Home Office. What reason does she give for May’s longevity in the post, when her predecessors had the life expectancy of a chocolate teapot? “When things go wrong, Labour home secretaries always used to feel we need to go and reassure people that we’re doing something about it, whereas Theresa May just stays way out of the way and blames somebody else.”

In 2001, with the birth of her second child, she became the first minister to take maternity leave, an experience she found relatively stress-free. But when she had her third child in 2004 she found the civil servants in the Communities Department “very unsupportive”. (In 2001 the Daily Mail had nicknamed her “the Minister for Maternity Leave”, noting that “Mrs Cooper [sic] is known as a self-contained character, who gives little away – even to her family”. Fourteen years later, that still sums up the prevailing opinion of her in the party.)

Her political persona has never been that of a firebrand feminist, but during this campaign she has made an explicitly gendered pitch for the top job. First, there is the assertion that “it’s time Labour elected a woman leader”; second, her pledges include buffer zones around abortion clinics and better provision of women’s refuges, where contracts too often go to generic outsourcing companies rather than specialist providers. She names Jane Ellison as her favourite Tory MP, for the work they did together on opposing a crackdown on sex-selective abortion, which Cooper saw as a Trojan horse for attempts to restrict access to termination more generally. “I wish I was here as Labour home secretary having this discussion, because we would have done a Violence Against Women and Girls Bill,” she adds.

Like many women, she says, she has been reluctant to push herself forward. Although she comes from a politically engaged family – her father was general secretary of the Prospect trade union – she “ended up as an MP by accident” after being urged to stand in 1997 by her fellow candidates Ruth Kelly and Lorna Fitzsimons. “Women often need to be asked to apply for things or to stand for things or to be encouraged, whereas men are more likely to think to do something,” she says. “So if you want to encourage more women at the top of an organisation you have to actively ask and encourage.”

Yet not everyone is impressed with her feminist credentials. There have been complaints from Liz Kendall’s camp that Cooper’s pitch as a “working mum” is an implicit rebuke to their candidate’s childlessness (Cooper rejects this, saying the point is being used to divide women unnecessarily). Others in the party complain that she has a record of squashing potential female rivals. When I ask which women in the party she is proud to have mentored or promoted, she says she doesn’t want to “take the credit” for anyone’s career, but names Seema Malhotra, a junior shadow minister in Cooper’s team, as someone who is “doing some great stuff”.

She also believes that a female leader would be well placed to attack David Cameron. “I don’t think he sees or gets women’s lives at all, which is why [the Tories] do things like such massive cuts to tax credits, which will heavily hit women . . . I don’t think David Cameron knows how to handle women in parliament, either, in the chamber, in the Commons. You know, the ‘calm down, dear’ moment was an extreme example of it, but it’s not the only example.”

To prove that she isn’t only interested in feminism when there are partisan points to be scored, she shows me a 1999 parliamentary question she found while clearing out her office. In it, she asks Patricia Hewitt – then economic secretary to the Treasury – about the impact of the Budget on women. That’s depressing, I say. Sixteen years later you’re still having to ask the same questions. “It shows consistency about a problem that’s not yet been solved,” she replies. “But it also shows the contrast . . . Labour governments could deliver.”

That is the heart of the Yvette Cooper pitch, and her rebuttal to Corbynmania. She has been a Labour MP in government and out of it, and she prefers the former.

At leadership hustings, she tells the story of speaking to a constituent on election day who was in arrears on the bedroom tax. In between sorting out the woman’s debt, Cooper urged her to go to the polling booth. “What we were trying to do that day was sort out her bedroom-tax arrears but also abolish the bedroom tax altogether . . . So we persuaded her to go and vote, but what difference did it make? We lost. We let her down; we can’t abolish the bedroom tax.”

Election day brought another blow for Cooper – her husband, Ed Balls, who had hoped to become chancellor of the Exchequer, lost his seat to a Conservative candidate. A polarising politician, Balls had won respect from colleagues for his relentless countrywide campaigning although many marvelled that he did not take more care when his own seat was so marginal. “It was admirable, but mad,” a shadow cabinet colleague of his told me afterwards. “You have to mind your own backyard.”

Cooper says that when the results from Balls’s seat, Morley and Outwood, came through on the morning of 8 May, she was devastated, and struggled with an “immediate emotional feeling . . . of wanting to walk away”. But party loyalty and a sense of purpose won out. “You can’t walk away, because it’s too important.”

The unspoken truth, of course, is that her partner’s exit from parliament made it easier for her to stand for leader. After the Miliband v Miliband psychodrama of 2010, who would want to risk stories about cabinet splits between a husband and wife? There are practical benefits to the new arrangement, too: a few days after the election, Balls was pictured collecting the family’s dry-cleaning, and during the Budget he took their teenage daughter on holiday to Greece. Cooper tells me he has recently baked an impressive Go Ape cake for one of their children’s birthdays, and laughs at my suggestion that he go on The Great British Bake-Off. (For an insight into what Ed Balls might be like as a political spouse, consider this, from a 1996 Independent column by Cooper: “Oh for the days – and the balls – of Denis. Male and retired, Denis Thatcher could play the strong, silent type . . . Denis was never required to slide on to the stage at an English seaside resort to snuggle with Margaret at the end of her speech.” So, no snuggling from Ed. Praise be.)

Both Cooper and Balls have tried to keep their children out of the public eye, and insights into their home life are rare. She has said that work, childcare and demands for a “taxi service” don’t leave a lot of time for hobbies. The last book she read for pleasure was an Agatha Christie mystery – “about how the establishment had to stand firm against a communist conspiracy that was manipulating the General Strike” – and she likes watching Strictly Come Dancing and Doctor Who, though she worries that the latter has become “a bit dark”. (Her favourite Doctor is David Tennant but Peter ­Capaldi is growing on her: “Now I really like him. I just feel like he’s too sad, so I feel worried for him.”)

It’s just as well that Cooper doesn’t have many outside interests, because whoever takes over the party will face a formidable task. If you accept the premise that Scotland is lost to Labour for a generation – and most observers do – then the party needs to win more seats in England and Wales than it did in 1997 just to scrape an overall majority. Unsurprisingly, Cooper sees fighting nationalism as critical to Labour’s rehabilitation: challenging not only the Scottish National Party, but also the English nationalism promoted by Ukip and the Tories.

“The biggest challenge for us is Scotland,” she says. “The heart of that is actually how you stand up against nationalism and how you cope with nationalism. When you’ve got falling living standards for a long period of time, that is always fertile ground for nationalism, and has been all over Europe.”

Her analysis, with its emphasis on UK-wide solidarity, reminds me of the one I heard from Labour’s chief election strategist Douglas Alexander before he was swept away by the SNP wave in May. He reflected that it was hard for a party that stressed solidarity to compete with one that gave priority to identity. “The thing about nationalism is it manages to combine the politics of blame with a false politics of hope,” Cooper says. “Hope for a better, sparkly future that is simply about changing the name of your country.” She does not believe that Labour should back full fiscal autonomy (“that’s just bad for Scotland”), but Scottish Labour does need to have “a distinctive Scottish argument about what they want to do” and be able to oppose “very unsocialist” SNP policies such as cutting college places.

As voting for the leadership approaches, Cooper’s campaign has had mixed fortunes. After a slow start in May she finished almost level with Andy Burnham in nominations from constituency Labour parties, clocking up 109 to his 111 (Jeremy Corbyn secured 152). Early in August she was endorsed by Alan Johnson – who declared she had “the intellect, the experience and the inner steel” needed – and by Jack Straw. Her supporters claim that private polling puts her ahead of Burnham, though critics say this is an attempt to claim the “Stop Corbyn” mantle. A YouGov poll on 11 August put her third.

In response to criticisms that her campaign has been too quiet, a small stream of policy announcements began to dribble out. Cooper wants the minimum wage rise to apply first to care workers; the return of Sure Start centres (which looked after young children); and a freeze on appointing new members of the Lords until the second chamber has been reformed or replaced. She is open-minded about the future of the railways but opposes the return of Clause Four, Labour’s commitment to public ownership of the means of production. She scored a decent hit with a list of “Nine Broken Promises From the First 100 Days of This Conservative Government”, including cuts to tax credits. In line with collective responsibility, however, she abstained rather than voted against the Welfare Reform Bill.

There is talk in the Cooper campaign of a “radical centre” but it remains to be seen if her rather cautious platform can tempt back Corbyn supporters. For instance, when I ask her for her opinion on a universal basic income, an idea fashionable among left-wing economists, she says that “if you have a minimum wage and you have tax credits, then you have effectively a basic income”. But you don’t: UBI is supposed to apply even if you are unemployed.

If you believe the polls, Jeremy Corbyn’s lead now looks unassailable. But there is still a small chance for Cooper, as the vagaries of the leadership vote – in which candidates are eliminated in rounds and their support redistributed to their remaining rivals – mean that second preferences are vital.

Among those who will be voting Corbyn first, it is hard to predict whom they will put second. Many I’ve spoken to do not believe their candidate can win in 2020 – but they don’t believe any of the others can, either. “They might create an effective opposition if they can be shown to believe in something,” is a typical sentiment. I put this to Cooper. No one would deny that her career shows she is clever and hard-working: but discipline can feel cautious, even boring. Is there an unavoidable difference between an effective leader and an interesting leader?

“Yes,” she says simply. “And it’s also the difference between being in journalism and being in politics. The great thing I used to enjoy about being a journalist was the irreverence . . . The downside was that you could feel very strongly about something but not actually be able to deliver it or to change it. Whereas in politics there’s a lot of earnestness. Some of that’s inevitable because you’re trying to change important things and, you know, leadership is serious.”

For Cooper, getting the chance to change policy is worth a life of rictus self-control at the despatch box, in media appearances – and even at the checkout. “You can’t lose your temper . . . if someone pushes in front of you in the queue,” she observes of the downsides to life as a politician. “That’s the responsibility.” And so, the question is: does the party want discipline – or dazzle?

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

This article first appeared in the 13 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The Battle for Calais