Can't take the heat

Washington ground to a halt in a recent heatwave. What better proof of how America's infrastructure

This week, I vowed, I would do something unprecedented in modern times: I would not write a single word about the shenanigans of B****k or Mc***n or H*****y, or even about this year's presidential election at all. I intend to keep my word, too, with just one proviso: to say that the subject I have chosen to write about, notwithstanding its tragicomic aspects, should be exercising the mind of the next US president perhaps more than any other single issue.

The fact that I sat in my top-floor office in a puddle of sweat for most of the second week of this month because the air-conditioning had failed, for example, is hardly something I would expect the candidates to lose too much sleep over - even when the temperature inside crept past 110 degrees. For me, it all culminated in a visit from Bill, my friendly air-conditioning technician, on the morning of Friday the 13th.

What he told me symbolised much more than the strangely confused and angry mood that consumes America when the mere subject of "energy conservation" comes up. The ramifications went far beyond my usually nicely cooled, breezy office. Even America's outrageous hogging of the world's energy supplies - it comprises just 5 per cent of the world's population but uses 23 per cent of its energy resources - no longer seemed that surprising, let alone outrageous. It was what was going on around me and Bill as we spoke early that morning that brought home something I have been noticing with increasing alarm over the past two decades: the sheer fragility of America's crumbling infrastructures.

To my American readers: please do not get too angry with me when I say this, but the rapidity of the deterioration of your country's infra structures often reminds me of an extensive tour of the Soviet Union I undertook in 1986 - when I saw for myself, in places such as industrial Ukraine and Siberia and St Petersburg, that the Soviet Union had already had its day. For just as Bill and I were having our grim conversation early that Friday morning - and unknown to either of us at the time - the heart of the capital of the most powerful nation on earth, less than a mile from where we stood, had been plunged into the kind of chaos one might envisage in, say, New Delhi on a very, very bad day.

Because of the temperature, an underground train had earlier derailed as a result of what was described as a "heat-buckle" on the tracks. Two separate fires on the subway system were then triggered that morning by faulty "stud bolts". Terrified, sweaty commuters sprinted up stationary escalators while, from above, all they could hear was ambulance, police and fire sirens zigzagging frantically around them.

In the meantime, a switch in an electrical sub-station sizzled out, cutting power throughout central Washington - including, yes, the White House. "It was like each man for himself . . . like a third world country," next day's Washington Post quoted 34-year-old David Zaidain, "a city planner who was stunned by the level of anarchy he encountered while walking to work", as saying. Pedestrians were struck by cars at junctions where traffic lights were not working (although, miraculously, nobody was killed).

That one fused switch alone left 12,000 customers - which, in power company terminology, can mean one family house or a block of offices with thousands of workers - without power, the very prospect of which sent wealthy Washingtonians scurrying to book cool rooms or suites at the Four Seasons.

Most were not so lucky: every day, according to the Galvin Electricity Initiative, half a million Americans spend at least two hours without power, at an annual cost to the nation of at least $150bn. And yet, with conditions like those in DC on Friday-the-13th and the politicians who created them, Americans are scared of al-Qaeda? Bush et al scoffed at the prospect of the US joining the 174 other nations that ratified the Kyoto Accord, on the grounds that industrial giants such as China would then be able to take advantage of decent Americans doing the right thing.

Back in my office, I was not surprised when Bill pronounced my air-conditioning unit to be finished, but I was amazed to be told that, in order to replace it, we would need a much bigger unit that would have to be hoisted on to the roof by a crane; the street would have to be closed, a licence obtained beforehand to do so, and the roof strengthened to take the new weight.

Hadn't miniaturisation come to air-conditioning units, I asked Bill incredulously? Surely China, or some other poor smog-infested country, now churned out trillions of tiny units that cost next to nothing so that the likes of me could sit and work in comfort? No, he told me: because of emissions laws overseen by the Environmental Protection Agency, air-conditioning units had become much bigger rather than smaller.

This, in fact, is a neatly illustrative little allegory that demonstrates just how rabidly right-wing America has become in recent decades. The EPA has become a symbol of soppy lefty hand-wringing to so many Americans, yet it was proposed and signed into law in 1970 by none other than President Richard Nixon.

The lesson? All that do-gooding just means that you - the decent guy - now have to fuss around with licences and cranes while the likes of China, India and France (the French are always guilty of something truly diabolical) get away with murder.

Central truism

This is the one central truism about the United States that most Brits (particularly Blair, Brown and co) fail to understand: that (Nixon's noble exception notwithstanding) Americans instinctively reject strong government or regulatory rule, with the result that the government frequently fails to cope with problems or disasters (whether they be of the magnitude of Hurricane Katrina in 2005, or the ridiculous DC dramas on 13 June, or the collapse last August of the busy commuter I-35W bridge over the Mississippi in central Minneapolis, which led to 13 deaths).

The first of three official reports into why that bridge collapsed illustrates succinctly what I am saying. The reasons, in the words of Construction Bulletin of 16 June, were that "the Minnesota Department of Transportation missed opportunities to detect potentially fatal problems, lacked money which led to poor decisions, did not have the leadership to properly address a variety of projects, and did not document or follow up on its inspections . . ." The structure was only 40 years old, but for 17 successive years had been deemed to be in "poor" corrosive condition by inspectors; the American Society of Civil Engineers, which should know what it is talking about, estimates that some $1.7trn is now needed to repair America's crumbling infrastructure.

There are some hopeful signs, however. In March this year, Americans drove 11 billion fewer miles than they did in March 2007; they also took 10.3 billion trips on public transport in 2007, the highest total for 50 years. In other words, they may not be as genetically predisposed against public transport as many think. Indeed, Americans are outraged that a (US) gallon of petrol (the equivalent of 3.7 litres) now costs (at my local station last Monday, at least) between $4.19 and $4.49; I didn't have the heart to tell anyone that petrol was selling in Britain at around £1.18 a litre, almost double that.

Should anybody doubt my warnings about US infrastructure or comparisons with the Soviet Union of two or more decades ago, I recommend Fareed Zakaria's excellent The Post-American World. Zakaria, editor of Newsweek International, tells us that although the US remains militarily and economically the most powerful nation on earth, its role is changing. The world's wealthiest person is not American, but Mexican, he says; the world's tallest building is in Taipei and will soon be overshadowed by one in Dubai; Bollywood now makes more films and sells more tickets than Hollywood. And where do you go if you want to shop away to your heart's content at the world's biggest shopping mall? Beijing, of course.

Please don't write to me to say that, because I don't want to work in 110 degrees, I am part of the problem. I know that; I don't claim any moral superiority. I can report, too, that after I told Bill to mend my unit as best he could, he shook his head but said he would try - and that I am now sitting at my desk in blissfully cooled air, but doubtless still pumping out carbon dioxide to an extent that would certainly get me a deserved scolding from Dick Nixon.

Fareed Zakaria tells us, incidentally, that 48 million air conditioners were made in 2005 in, er, China - compared with 200 in 1978. It's just that these modern ones, you see, are big and designed to compete in the world market, and . . . Need I go on?

Andrew Stephen was appointed US Editor of the New Statesman in 2001, having been its Washington correspondent and weekly columnist since 1998. He is a regular contributor to BBC news programs and to The Sunday Times Magazine. He has also written for a variety of US newspapers including The New York Times Op-Ed pages. He came to the US in 1989 to be Washington Bureau Chief of The Observer and in 1992 was made Foreign Correspondent of the Year by the American Overseas Press Club for his coverage.

This article first appeared in the 23 June 2008 issue of the New Statesman, Truly, madly, politically

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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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