The road fix

Why do we keep building more roads? Because when it comes to planning, the deck is cynically stacked

Britain's environmentalists have won every argument against expanding the roads network - but still the government keeps pouring billions of pounds into new highways.

Studies show that new roads do not solve congestion - they just generate more traffic. They add to pollution and, of course, they raise Britain's greenhouse gas emissions. Road transport already generates 142m tonnes of CO2 a year - about 25 per cent of Britain's total. As the European emissions trading scheme puts an ever-higher price on carbon, those emissions could cost the taxpayer increasingly dearly.

The Treasury and Department for Transport know this, so why do their economists give their blessing to Labour's £13bn roads programme?

The answer lies far away from public scrutiny in the arcane and biased rules under which proposed roads are assessed. These New Approach to Appraisal (Nata) rules were introduced by La bour in 1998 under the integrated transport policy designed by John Prescott, then overseeing environment and transport. Most of Prescott's plans were chucked out by Blair and Brown as being far too green, but the Department for Transport (DfT) loved Nata and now the reasons are becoming clear.

Under Nata, road builders such as the Highways Agency and local authorities must submit detailed assessments of proposed transport projects to the government. These are meant to be balance sheets showing the costs, benefits and environmental impacts. In theory this is a good thing, but in reality the rules are designed to make road schemes look better than any greener alternative, every time.

Take section 3.5.1[1] of the Nata rules. This awards extra points to schemes that generate more traffic because more cars and lorries on the road mean more fuel sales - and hence more tax revenue for the government. By contrast, public transport schemes, which take motor vehicles off the road and so reduce fuel sales and tax revenue, have points deducted.

Then there's the rule on journey times, where planners can claim that a road will bring economic benefits if they can show it will cut the average journey time of each user. Every minute saved for a car driver is valued at 44p - which can be offset against the cost of building the road.

Forty-four pence may not sound much, but multiply it by the number of minutes saved per trip, then again by the millions of drivers using the road each year - and then yet again by 60 years, the notional lifetime of most road schemes. The result, invariably, is a huge positive value for every proposed road.

How does this work in practice? Look, for example, at the scheme to widen a 56km stretch of the M1 between junctions 30 and 42. The cost to the taxpayer is £1.5bn, which sounds like a lot, but the Highways Agency has used the Nata system to claim that, over the next 60 years, the widening is worth no less than £4.5bn because of the time it will save travellers. Since this supposed "benefit" to the economy far exceeds the cost, the scheme has been approved.

Just how biased this system can be is set out in the Nata rules that assign lower values to other types of traveller. A minute saved on a cyclist's travel time, for example, isn't worth 44p but just 28p. A bus-user's time is valued at 33p a minute. The implicit assumption is that cyclists and bus-users make less contribution to the economy than car drivers.

Roads can be made to look even better. Manipulating the accident figures is a typical device. If a proposed road can be predicted to reduce accidents, then each life saved and injury prevented can be given a notional value. The Highways Agency predicts that another £2.5bn M1 widening scheme (junctions 21-30) would prevent 2,081 accidents over 60 years, of which four would be fatal. This, it claims, adds £105m to the value of the scheme. (It would also, it calculates, generate another £41.3m in taxes from the extra fuel sold.) Critics point out that such calculations, based on accidents that have not yet happened on a road that is not even built, are dubious in the extreme.

Nata assessments have also always avoided costing the most damaging aspects of new roads, such as the impact on landscapes, noise and pollution and, of course, carbon emissions. This means that, even though a road might be an environmental disaster, there are no estimated cash costs to be set against the claimed economic benefits. Instead the planners give a qualitative assessment, using terms such as "moderate", "severe" or, worst of all, "very large adverse".

These qualitative judgements have in the past been enough to frustrate the road builders. Alistair Darling rejected "improvements" to the A303 that would have carved a new road through the Blackdown Hills, an area of outstanding natural beauty on the Devon-Somerset borders, after seeing in the Nata assessment that it would have a "seriously adverse" impact. He apparently did not want to be the minister who overruled such a negative assessment.

It should be no surprise that ever since that decision was taken, Treasury and DfT officials have been working to get rid of such "emotional" analyses by designing a system to assign monetary values to landscapes, tranquillity and biodiversity. The ostensible aim is to make the system more "objective" and number-based - but the crucial issue is what values are assigned to qualities that are inherently priceless. How much might the last dormouse in Wiltshire be worth? Soon Labour's minions may be able to tell you.

Appearance of objectivity

A hint of what lies in store came in the Eddington report, published last December. Sir Rod Ed dington, former chief executive of British Airways, was commissioned by the Treasury and DfT to examine the long-term links between transport and the UK's economic productivity and he found that building lots more roads would bring huge benefits to the economy for a relatively low environmental cost. "Even after accounting for environmental effects, there appears to be a good case for adding strategic road infrastructure over and above the schemes in the current roads programme," said his report, suggesting that Britain's trunk roads and motorways needed 3,350km of new lanes by 2025, at a cost of up to £33bn.

But how did Eddington account for environmental costs? His report does not explain, but a footnote directs the reader to an obscure research annexe, "Transport Demand to 2025 and the Economic Case for Road Pricing and Investment", written by Treasury officials. This document doesn't explain how Eddington priced the environment either, but it refers the reader to yet another set of reports commissioned by the Office of the Deputy Prime Minister in 2002, for a purpose entirely different from road-building.

Based on these outdated reports, the Eddington study assigned a one-off value to the damage done by roads to the landscape of between £900,000 and £1.25m for each kilometre of new lane that is built - a remarkably small sum compared to both the claimed economic benefits and the £40m cost of building the average kilometre of trunk road.

(If this approach seems to lack rigour then the Treasury report's forecasts for fuel costs are even less rooted in reality. "Fuel costs are forecast to fall by 26 per cent up to 2025," they said. "This comprises a 3 per cent increase in fuel prices and a 28 per cent increase in fuel efficiency. An oil price of $35 a barrel is assumed in 2025." Oil prices, of course, had already hit $50 a barrel when this report was published last year. They have stayed that way ever since and analysts predict the long-term trend is upwards, meaning roads will become ever less economical.)

What Eddington and the Treasury have done is to give the road builders a way of putting an apparent monetary value on landscape and tranquillity, so creating the appearance of objectivity when assessing the costs and benefits of any new road. In reality, however, the values assigned to landscape and tranquillity are so low that they will always be far outweighed by the apparent economic benefits.

"The upshot of all these assessment systems is that, however bad a road might look to the people living near its route, and however damaging it is likely to be to the environment, the economic 'benefits' will, on paper, always look much greater," says Rebecca Lush of Transport 2000, who has analysed the reports.

The great factor that is missing from these calculations is the cost of carbon emissions. In their appraisals, the road builders have to say how much extra CO2 their scheme will generate. The M1 widening scheme above, for example, will generate more than 186,000 tonnes a year extra CO2. But no financial cost was assigned to these emissions when this scheme was approved.

It wasn't until January this year that the DfT told road builders to begin adding a cost of £70 for each tonne of carbon emitted in project calculations. This is still too low to shift the equations away from favouring road building - and it will apply only to new projects. Moreover, £70 is an arbitrary sum because no one can agree how to price the the cost of future carbon emissions. Some experts have said the real value should be around £1,000 a tonne. Once again, therefore, factors that should count against new road projects are undervalued while those that support them are overvalued.

The £13bn-worth of new roads approved under the Nata system makes Labour's roads programme even larger than the one they inherited from the Conservatives in 1997. Back then, the new Labour government cancelled that programme with promises of an integrated transport system.

Among schemes that have recently been approved is the widening of the M25, which will turn most of London's orbital motorway into an eight-lane highway under a private finance initiative that will cost taxpayers more than £5bn. Around Leeds, the M62 motorway is approved for a £336m widening. This year the government will decide whether to approve a £3bn project to widen the M6 between Birmingham and Manchester.

Undermining rail

The Highways Agency is also seeking approval for the Mottram-Tintwistle bypass, a short-cut for lorries through the Peak District National Park. The main economic justification is the notional value, under Nata criteria, of the time the road would save for drivers - put at £159m over 60 years. Opponents of the scheme say the national park is worth a lot more than that.

Also on the table are some highly controversial local road schemes such as the Dorset County Council's Weymouth relief road, which would slice through the Dorset Downs area of outstanding natural beauty, a site of special scientific interest, as well as ancient woodlands. Again, the main economic justification is the notional time saved for drivers, put at £275m over 30 years.

A secondary effect of the Nata rules is to undermine the economic case for investing in public transport. The light rail schemes variously proposed for Liverpool, Sheffield, Portsmouth, Leeds and other cities were all turned down for funding under the Nata formula, as the government declared they were "poor value for money" and recommended bus schemes instead. Another bias in the system is that the government requires light rail planners to contribute 25 per cent of the funding, whereas road builders have to contribute only 10 per cent.

There is strong evidence that assessment systems such as Nata offer no real guide to a road's future performance. Last year the former Countryside Agency and the Campaign for the Protection of Rural England published an investigation into three completed road projects, comparing the predictions made before they were built with what happened afterwards.

It looked at the A34 Newbury bypass, the A27 Polegate bypass and the M65 Blackburn southern bypass, and in each case found that the preliminary assessments had underestimated the scale of traffic growth and the impact on the landscape. They had also made little allowance for the way new roads increase development pressure, often leading to a rash of buildings along their length.

The report concluded: "Issues of induced traffic growth, landscape impact and development pressures are rarely addressed adequately in the evaluations. It is easy to gain the impression that evaluations are carried out in consultancy back offices for the interests of Highways Agency officers only."

Recently the DfT said it planned to "refresh" the Nata rules to take account of the Stern review on the economics of climate change, the Eddington report and other developments. What this is likely to mean, say insiders, is the disappearance of "emotive" descriptions of a new road's impact on the landscape and wildlife and their replacement with indices - numbers - that will have far less obvious meaning. The low price placed on carbon emissions of £70 per tonne is unlikely to change.

This will open the way for Eddington's vision to prevail. Carbon emissions, damaged landscapes, lost tranquillity and vanishing biodiversity will all be given such tiny numerical values that they will inevitably be wiped out by the economic "benefits". The economists will be satisfied, the politicians will be absolved - and the road builders will be delighted.

Jonathan Leake is the Sunday Times science and environment editor

This article first appeared in the 13 August 2007 issue of the New Statesman, Road fix

David Young
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The Tories are the zombie party: with an ageing, falling membership, still they stagger on to victory

One Labour MP in Brighton spotted a baby in a red Babygro and said to me: “There’s our next [Labour] prime minister.”

All football clubs have “ultras” – and, increasingly, political parties do, too: although, in the case of political parties, their loudest and angriest supporters are mostly found on the internet. The SNP got there first: in the early days of email, journalists at the Scotsman used to receive bilious missives complaining about its coverage – or, on occasion, lack of coverage – of what the Scottish National Party was up to. The rest soon followed, with Ukip, the Labour Party and even the crushed Liberal Democrats now boasting a furious electronic horde.

The exception is the Conservative Party. Britain’s table-topping team might have its first majority in 18 years and is widely expected in Westminster to remain in power for another decade. But it doesn’t have any fans. The party’s conference in Manchester, like Labour’s in Brighton, will be full to bursting. But where the Labour shindig is chock-full of members, trade unionists and hangers-on from the charitable sector, the Conservative gathering is a more corporate affair: at the fringes I attended last year, lobbyists outnumbered members by four to one. At one, the journalist Peter Oborne demanded to know how many people in the room were party members. It was standing room only – but just four people put their hands up.

During Grant Shapps’s stint at Conservative headquarters, serious attempts were made to revive membership. Shapps, a figure who is underrated because of his online blunders, and his co-chair Andrew Feldman were able to reverse some of the decline, but they were running just to stand still. Some of the biggest increases in membership came in urban centres where the Tories are not in contention to win a seat.

All this made the 2015 election win the triumph of a husk. A party with a membership in long-term and perhaps irreversible decline, which in many seats had no activists at all, delivered crushing defeats to its opponents across England and Wales.

Like José Mourinho’s sides, which, he once boasted, won “without the ball”, the Conservatives won without members. In Cumbria the party had no ground campaign and two paper candidates. But letters written by the Defence Secretary, Michael Fallon, were posted to every household where someone was employed making Trident submarines, warning that their jobs would be under threat under a Labour government. This helped the Tories come close to taking out both Labour MPs, John Woodcock in Barrow and Furness and Jamie Reed in Copeland. It was no small feat: Labour has held Barrow since 1992 and has won Copeland at every election it has fought.

The Tories have become the zombies of British politics: still moving though dead from the neck down. And not only moving, but thriving. One Labour MP in Brighton spotted a baby in a red Babygro and said to me: “There’s our next [Labour] prime minister.” His Conservative counterparts also believe that their rivals are out of power for at least a decade.

Yet there are more threats to the zombie Tories than commonly believed. The European referendum will cause endless trouble for their whips over the coming years. And for all there’s a spring in the Conservative step at the moment, the party has a majority of only 12 in the Commons. Parliamentary defeats could easily become commonplace. But now that Labour has elected Jeremy Corbyn – either a more consensual or a more chaotic leader than his predecessors, depending on your perspective – division within parties will become a feature, rather than a quirk, at Westminster. There will be “splits” aplenty on both sides of the House.

The bigger threat to Tory hegemony is the spending cuts to come, and the still vulnerable state of the British economy. In the last parliament, George Osborne’s cuts fell predominantly on the poorest and those working in the public sector. They were accompanied by an extravagant outlay to affluent retirees. As my colleague Helen Lewis wrote last week, over the next five years, cuts will fall on the sharp-elbowed middle classes, not just the vulnerable. Reductions in tax credits, so popular among voters in the abstract, may prove just as toxic as the poll tax and the abolition of the 10p bottom income-tax rate – both of which were popular until they were actually implemented.

Added to that, the British economy has what the economist Stephen King calls “the Titanic problem”: a surplus of icebergs, a deficit of lifeboats. Many of the levers used by Gordon Brown and Mervyn King in the last recession are not available to David Cameron and the chief of the Bank of England, Mark Carney: debt-funded fiscal stimulus is off the table because the public finances are already in the red. Interest rates are already at rock bottom.

Yet against that grim backdrop, the Conservatives retain the two trump cards that allowed them to win in May: questions about Labour’s economic competence, and the personal allure of David Cameron. The public is still convinced that the cuts are the result of “the mess” left by Labour, however unfair that charge may be. If a second crisis strikes, it could still be the Tories who feel the benefit, if they can convince voters that the poor state of the finances is still the result of New Labour excess rather than Cameroon failure.

As for Cameron, in 2015 it was his lead over Ed Miliband as Britons’ preferred prime minister that helped the Conservatives over the line. This time, it is his withdrawal from politics which could hand the Tories a victory even if the economy tanks or cuts become widely unpopular. He could absorb the hatred for the failures and the U-turns, and then hand over to a fresher face. Nicky Morgan or a Sajid Javid, say, could yet repeat John Major’s trick in 1992, breathing life into a seemingly doomed Conservative project. For Labour, the Tory zombie remains frustratingly lively. 

Stephen Bush is editor of the Staggers, the New Statesman’s political blog.

This article first appeared in the 01 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The Tory tide

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The opponents of Jeremy Corbyn are running out of road

The Corbyn insurgency has opened up a chasm on the left. His opponents may have to accept that Labour is now an anti-capitalist party – or leave altogether.

The skirmishes since Jeremy Corbyn’s remarkable victory have avoided the main issue. The Labour Party has been sucked into debates about the rights and wrongs of serving in the shadow cabinet, the wearing of red poppies, the style of Prime Ministers’ Questions and the singing of the national anthem. Recollections of the battles of the 1980s (which I analysed at the time as political editor of the New Statesman) have prompted arguments about whether the best way to secure a progressive government in 2020 is for Labour now to split or to stay together.

There is, however, a more fundamental question that needs to be confronted head-on. It concerns the very purpose of Labour’s existence. Corbyn’s election has opened up a doctrinal chasm on the left. Can it now be bridged or not?

If it can, then Labour might fray at the edges but not shatter. But if the divide is simply too wide, and if Corbyn is still in place in two or three years’ time, then his opponents will face a stark choice: accept that Labour has reverted to an older, firmly anti-capitalist version of its purpose – or leave this party and start a new one.

Here lies the true significance of the Corbyn insurgency. It clarifies and polarises the debate that should be held about what Labour really stands for. Of course, doctrinal arguments have been held throughout the party’s history. Labour has debated the character of socialism for well over a hundred years. But, until now, the outcome has repeatedly been a fix, a fudge, disdain by the party leader or the application of machine politics to keep out the far left. In every one of its four periods of majority government since 1945, Labour has in practice come to terms with capitalism. Now, for the first time, the far left has taken over. Corbyn has already demanded nationalised railways, energy companies and banks.

Perhaps that is all; perhaps he privately embraces the market system in the rest of Britain’s economy. However, his latest plans for corporate taxes suggest no such enthusiasm. Indeed, all the evidence points in the opposite direction. In his 32 years as an MP (and in the years before that when I listened to him backing Tony Benn, Militant and other assorted Trotskyists when we were both members of Labour’s general committee in Hornsey and Wood Green, in north London), I have never come across anything he has said or written that displays any p­assion for the process of wealth creation that flows from competition among privately owned businesses.

Indeed, the opposite is the case. In November 2013, Corbyn published a column in the Morning Star headlined “Challenging capitalism”. He wrote: “It’s high time to move public ownership firmly to the centre of the political agenda.” More broadly, he has been reported as telling his Islington North Labour Party that: “Our job is not to reform capitalism; it’s to overthrow it.” No wonder he has appointed a shadow chancellor whose Who’s Who entry declares his ambition as “fermenting the overthrow of capitalism”.

In the short term, Corbyn will doubtless compromise on his policy agenda, in order to prevent an immediate revolt by more moderate Labour MPs. We should not be fooled. He is a principled socialist. His long-term aims remain. He is a leopard whose spots have never changed, and never will. In a way, that is to Corbyn’s credit. Throughout his political life he has held to a particular view of how to achieve prosperity. He thinks the best way to build a good society is for workers and elected politicians, not company shareholders, to take the big decisions in the business world.

However, that is not remotely what most of Labour’s other leading MPs want. They believe in capitalism. They do not regard it as an evil to be fought at every turn, or even as a regrettable necessity to be endured for the time being. They like its dynamism. They regard it as the best way to invent, develop and supply most goods and services. They have no wish to replace it, even as a long-term objective. They think that one of the basic ambitions of progressive government is to find the best way to encourage private-sector success and, through the judicious use of support, regulation and taxation, to harness that success to the wider task of building a fairer, better society.

Not that many of them would put it as bluntly as that. Look at the words written and spoken by Corbyn’s three opponents and, with the partial exception of Liz Kendall, you will find no celebration of the success and virtues of capitalism and the market system, merely a guarded acknowledgement of its existence. They talk about capitalism not in the manner of a sister to be embraced, but as an awkward cousin to be tolerated.

The outcome has been an ideologically lopsided debate in the leadership contest. For those who view the New Labour years as a model to be admired not reviled, it has come across as a choice between Corbyn who has been wrong but clear, and his rivals who have been right but mealy-mouthed.

This brings us to the heart of the matter. For the character of the century-long tussle between traditional socialism and working-with-capitalism social democracy has always been thus, as left-wing clarity vies with centrist mush. The process has been consistently messy, and frequently frustrating; but it has also been seldom catastrophic and occasionally triumphant. Understanding the evasive culture of Labour’s internal discourse through the 20th century helps us to see why Corbyn’s election could mark such a profound moment in the party’s history.



Morgan Phillips, Labour’s general secretary in the 1950s and one of the old school of machine politicians, made the important observation: “The Labour Party owes more to Methodism than to Marxism.” This is far more than a neat contrast between two words beginning with “M”. It reflects a profound truth about the way Labour has evolved. When Keir Hardie arrived in the House of Commons in 1892 and railed against poverty and exploitation, he couched his argument in moral terms. In his maiden speech in 1893 he spoke not of Karl Marx or class war, but “the horrors of sweating, of low wages, of long hours, and of deaths from starvation”. His proposals – in that particular case, to curb cheap imports that cost British workers their jobs – were rooted in ethical concern rather than ideological conviction.

That set the course for the decades that followed. Even the famous, or notorious, Clause Four, agreed in 1918, fits the pattern. It was crafted with care by Sidney Webb, the most prominent of the early Fabians. In its final form (it went through various drafts over a period of months), it stated that Labour’s objective was:

To secure for the workers by hand or by brain the full fruits of their industry and the most equitable distribution thereof that may be possible upon the basis of the common ownership of the means of production, distribution and exchange, and the best obtainable system of popular administration and control of each industry or service.

This is generally regarded as a call for ­full-scale nationalisation. But “common ownership” is a far looser term, and the phrase “as may be possible” suggests an incremental rather than revolutionary process. This was deliberate. Overshadowing the Clause Four debate was the Russian Revolution. It inspired some in the west but terrified many more. Webb and his colleagues were determined to distance Labour from the Soviet model. In October 1917, days before Lenin finally seized control, Webb wrote in the Observer:

It [Clause Four] is a socialism which is no more specific than a definite repudiation of the individualism that characterised all the political parties of the past generations . . . This declaration of the Labour Party leaves it open to choose from time to time whatever forms of common ownership, from the co-operative store to the nationalised railway, and whatever forms of popular administration and control of industry, from national guild to ministries of employment, and municipal management may, in particular cases, commend themselves.

In the context of its time, with Britain engaged in the Great War and with much of the economy under state control, as well as Russia turning communist, Webb’s ambition was modest, even insipid.

That said, Labour’s election manifestos in the 1920s and 1930s preached a more muscular socialism. (In 1931 the party proclaimed that “the decay of capitalist civilisation brooks no delay”.) But the party’s two short spells of minority government, in 1924 and 1929-31, gave it little chance to turn words into action. Its first proper test came in 1945, with Clement Attlee’s landslide victory.

Attlee wanted to fight the election with no specific commitments to nationalisation. But in December 1944 the party conference defied his wishes and voted overwhelmingly for “the transfer to public ownership of the land, large-scale building, heavy industry and all forms of banking, transport and fuel and power”. Attlee blithely ignored most of this list. True, his government nationalised the mines and the railways; but given how badly these had been run before the war, one could make a perfectly pragmatic, non-ideological case for taking them over. By 1949, Harold Wilson, president of the Board of Trade, was proclaiming that he had made “a bonfire of controls” to release the energies of the private sector.

As the postwar years ushered in the consumer society, Clause Four looked increasing out of place. What was the relevance of “common ownership” to a world of privately owned homes, cars, television sets and washing machines? In 1959, a few weeks after Labour’s third successive election defeat, the party’s leader, Hugh Gaitskell, sought to change it.

Once again, the party leader argued for pragmatism rather than explicitly for the virtues of capitalism: nationalisation, he said, was one of a number of means for pursuing freedom, social justice and the public interest. Once again, the leader was opposed by left-wing calls for state socialism. Frank Cousins, general secretary of the Transport and General Workers’ Union, the biggest trade union in Britain, addressed the party conference in terms that could have come straight from the Corbyn playbook:

“Let us give over pretending we have to get half a million Tory people to change their allegiance at voting time. There are five million or six million people who are socialists in embryo waiting for us to go out and harness them to the power machine we want to drive.”

Once again, as in 1944, the party leader was defeated. But once again, when Labour was next in power (under Wilson, elected party leader after Gaitskell’s death), it disregarded the conference decision. Clause Four lived on, yet as a symbol rather than a strategy. Only in the catastrophic election of 1983 did Labour take it seriously.

Finally, in 1995, Tony Blair did persuade the National Executive Committee and a Labour conference to agree a new Clause Four:

The Labour Party is a democratic socialist party. It believes that by the strength of our common endeavour, we achieve more than we achieve alone, so as to create for each of us the means to realise our true potential and for all of us a community in which power, wealth and opportunity are in the hands of the many not the few; where the rights we enjoy reflect the duties we owe, and where we live together freely, in a spirit of solidarity, tolerance and respect.

Out went the vague ambition of “common ownership”. In came a perfectly sensible statement of the ethic of co-operation, but nothing that made the case for any kind of economic freedom, let alone full-blown market capitalism. Blair can claim the credit for refusing to take the Attlee/Gaitskell/Wilson route of ignoring Clause Four and disregarding party conference decisions. But he did not win the argument for a pro-capitalist version of social democracy, because he never spelled it out. He implemented policies that the left now attacks as “market liberalism” not by persuading his party of its virtues but by winning elections and asserting his authority.


Thinking with the wisdom of hindsight, we should not be surprised that the anti-capitalist left has revived. The hard truth is that it was never defeated because it was never properly engaged. It was simply thrust to the margins, where it bided its time. After two general election defeats, the left appeals to party activists in a way it could never do during the era of Blair’s election victories. And the character of the recent leadership contest matches the character of every significant doctrinal contest through the Labour Party’s history, with Corbyn arguing his case with clarity and his opponents ducking and weaving.

The difference is that Labour now has a leader, for the first time since at least the Second World War, who actually believes in the policies that the left has consistently advocated and previous leaders equally consistently ignored.

Could things have worked out differently? Could Labour done more than hold the left at bay: could it have won a head-on doctrinal battle?

Perhaps. Such a battle was waged, and won, more than 50 years ago in Germany. In 1959 the German Social Democratic Party (SPD) – Labour’s sister party – met at Bad Godesberg and agreed a new doctrine. In the extract here, the final sentence is the one most frequently quoted, but the whole paragraph is striking, if only because no British Labour conference has ever agreed anything remotely like it:

Free choice of consumer goods and services, free choice of working place, freedom for employers to exercise their initiative as well as free competition are essential conditions of a Social Democratic economic policy. The autonomy of trade unions and employers’ associations in collective bargaining is an important feature of a free society. Totalitarian control of the economy destroys freedom. The Social Democratic Party therefore favours a free market wherever free competition really exists. Where a market is dominated by individuals or groups, however, all manner of steps must be taken to protect freedom in the economic sphere. As much competition as possible – as much planning as necessary.

How come the SPD so long ago confronted left-wing socialism in a way that even Blair at the height of his popularity never attempted? The immediate context plainly played a part. The SPD had lost every postwar election and knew it had to change. Across the border, East Germany, and the Soviet bloc generally, were giving Marxist notions a bad name. Nothing that sniffed of communism, in however dilute a form, was likely to be popular in West Germany.

But there was something else. There was a fundamental difference between Labour’s history and that of the SPD. As we have seen, Labour, with its Methodist-not-Marxist roots, has always been a party of ethics rather than ideology. In contrast, the SPD was created in 1863 as an explicitly Marxist party. That is not to say Marx was a fan. In 1875 the SPD adopted a programme that he strongly criticised as too concerned with formal economic structures and too little with the dynamic of class struggle. However, for the following eight decades, the SPD viewed the world through the prism of ideology.

The essence of what happened in the years leading to Bad Godesberg was that the realisation grew within the SPD that its ideological theory was wrong. State control of the economy was a bad idea. A competitive market economy was intrinsically superior. Governments should intervene only when markets failed.

In a way, the SPD in the 1950s applied the tenets of the Enlightenment to itself. It approached its problems empirically. It pondered the evidence and concluded that Marxist socialism did not work, while properly regulated market capitalism did.

Labour has never engaged in any such Enlightenment-style debate. This is because the advocates of left-wing socialism inside Labour (leaving side the Trotskyists, communists and fellow-travellers who have occupied its fringes from time to time) have argued from a moral rather than a theoretical standpoint. And the ethic of co-operation and fairness does not lend itself easily to empirical investigation.

Thus Labour finds itself with a new leader who rejects the accommodation with market capitalism that every Labour leader since the Second World War, except for Michael Foot, has in practice upheld but none has properly persuaded his party to embrace.

What now? By 2020, one of three things will have happened.

1. Jeremy Corbyn will have maintained control over his party, which may have frayed but not split;

2. Corbyn will have been replaced by a more electable, less left-wing leader;

3. Labour will have split, leaving Corbyn as the leader of a significantly diminished group of MPs.

I don’t know which of these will happen, but I suspect that the outcome will depend on how many MPs decide to fight his left-wing doctrine directly. Most Labour MPs think Corbyn’s politics are bonkers. Left to their conscience, most would strive to remove him at the earliest opportunity or, if that fails, break away and start a new party. But will enough of them combine to do either of these things? Or will they recall the unsettling dictum that the plural of conscience is conspiracy, do nothing to risk being deselected as party candidates in 2020, and quietly hope that Corbyn’s leadership will crumble of its own accord?

I fear that the quiet life will win the day, that Corbyn will become entrenched, and that a head-on doctrinal dispute will, as always, be avoided. For a century, fudging the issue has occasionally allowed Labour to build an election-winning, big-tent coalition of progressive voters. Today, that approach guarantees disaster. It will leave Corbyn free to promote his electorally toxic and economically destructive brand of left-wing politics. If that is what happens, Labour’s tent will become a lot smaller and the party will cease to be fit for purpose.

Peter Kellner is the president of YouGov. Read his analysis of the new polling data that shows the challenge for Jeremy Corbyn here

This article first appeared in the 24 September 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Revenge of the Left