Middle England. They’re nicer than you think

Middle Englanders are insular, selfish and intolerant. Not so, argues Richard Reeves. Plus Stephen A

It is a place inhabited by "ordinary people with suburban dreams who worked hard to improve their homes and their lives; to get gradually better cars, washing machines and televisions; to go on holiday in Spain rather than Bournemouth", in the words of the new Labour strategist Philip Gould. It is where homes are anxiously owned, families are raised and crime is feared. The Daily Mail lies on the doorsteps. It is where contemporary British elections are won and lost. And it casts a powerful spell over marketeers, pollsters, journalists and - above all - politicians. It is, of course, "Middle England".

When Gordon Brown praises "hard-working families" or when David Cameron takes the axe to inheritance tax, they are assumed by headline-writers to have their eyes trained on this semi-mythical land. It represents, we are supposed to assume, the very heartland of the nation. As such, it acts as a kind of political bull's-eye: if parties can aim their policies directly at Middle England, the electoral match will be theirs.

Middle England is also frequently assumed to be insular, selfish, xeno phobic, homophobic, anti-welfare, anti-Europe and generally resentful. It is the place where Thatcher's children moved to when they grew up. But if Middle England means anything at all, then its inhabitants are in fact more numerous, more diverse and considerably more liberal than the stereotype. Middle England reads the Mail, but does not agree with it.

Ian Hislop, researching his BBC radio series Looking for Middle England, found Lord Salisbury using the term in 1882, but it did not seem to have caught on. The historian David Cannadine records in his Class in Britain that it was Mrs T herself who introduced the term into the modern political lexicon - apparently copying Richard Nixon's conjuring of "Middle America". Politically, Middle England denotes a set of voters, presumed to have mainstream attitudes, who are also disproportionately likely to be swing voters in marginal constituencies. Martin Jacques has complained that Middle England is a "metaphor for respectability, the nuclear family, conservatism, whiteness, middle age and the status quo".

One of the fears of liberal-left commentators, who unfailingly use the term disparagingly, is that national politics is being driven by the neuroses of an insular, unrepresentative group of a few hundred thousand people. It is certainly true that those in Brown's team are obsessively interested in the views of this group, and that Lord Ashcroft is pouring money into winning their votes, but they are not political freaks. Their views may not be those of New Statesman readers - but they are roughly representative of the nation. They voted Tory until 1997 and have voted Labour since, though with misgivings in 2005. They are non-graduate families in which both Dad and Mum work to pay the mortgage. They read the tabloids but get their news from television, and are utterly uninterested in party politics. They water their neighbours' plants when they are on holiday and keep an eye on the old lady over the road. The only manner in which they differ significantly from the norm is their unusually high, and largely irrational, fear of crime.

Ben Page, managing director of the MORI Social Research Institute, says that the label Middle England is used as "a convenient shorthand for the 25 per cent of the population who are not surgically wedded to one of the main parties - and who happen to live in marginal constituencies". For this group, party commitment is weak and the impression made by an individual leader is strong. Policies are generally weakly linked with voting intention - unless they push the right buttons.

The Conservative pincer movement to lower both stamp duty and inheritance tax played beautifully with them because of their powerful relationship with property: they are the first in their family to own a home, and fear that they will be the last. The rise in house prices threatens to price their children out of the market. This is also the group with the darkest memories of Black Wednesday, negative equity and repossessions. Even if they were not personally affected, they know somebody who was. It is true that inheritance tax is extremely unlikely to affect them - but it also offends one of their strongest instincts, which is to see their kids right.

Geographically, Middle England means suburbs - in the south and the Midlands. There are moments when "Middle Britain" is preferred by Labour politicians, but Scotland and Wales do not feature in any of the social, spatial or psepho logical categories that command the attention of the political classes. Middle England is Metroland - the areas traversed by the Metropolitan Line: Pinner, Ruislip, Hillingdon - writ large across the English nation. It is Essex Man, or Worcester Woman, but never Merthyr Man or Galloway Girl.

In terms of social status, Middle Englanders are what pollsters and marketing analysts call C1s and C2s, otherwise the lower middle class and skilled working class, though analysts at the purer end of the market don't like such labels. "Categorisations always carry the danger of being misleading," says Miranda Phillips from the National Centre for Social Research. "Middle England is a phrase used in the press and politics, rather than in social research. On balance, I think Middle England is likely to be a misleading categorisation. It is simply not that straightforward."

The university effect

It certainly is not. Class, status and attitudes relate to each other in complex and changing ways and there are many dangers in our apparently insatiable desire to put ourselves - and especially other people - into tidy boxes. Nonetheless, certain key trends are fairly clear. More people are middle class, and more people think of themselves that way; the relationship between social class and both political identification and social attitudes is weakening; and - most interesting of all - the group that can plausibly be defined as being in the "middle" is both more liberal than the stereotype suggests, and becoming more so with each passing year.

Forty per cent of the population now define themselves as "middle class", up from 30 per cent four decades ago. The final numerical triumph of the bourgeoisie is at hand: as Professor Anthony Heath has written: "In 1964, for every person who called themselves middle-class, there were 2.1 who said they were working-class. Now that ratio is just 1:1.5." Even John Prescott is middle-class now, remember. As the number of unskilled labourers has diminished, the proportion of the adult population classified as C1 or C2 or equivalent has reached 22 per cent, up from 18 per cent in 1983 - a significant expansion in socioeconomic terms.

Profound shifts are taking place in attitudes, too. The lazy stereotype is that Middle Englanders lack the lofty liberalism of their AB cousins, but the evidence often suggests otherwise. In a Populus survey this year, for example, 42 per cent of respondents in social classes AB agreed that "children brought up by a single parent are more likely to get into trouble than children brought up by married parents", compared to 37 per cent of C1s and 28 per cent of C2s.

Over time, Middle Englanders have become more tolerant and open-minded. According to data prepared by the National Centre for Social Research, the pro p ortions of C1s and C2s who think that "sexual relations between two adults of the same sex" are "always wrong" are 23 and 30 per cent, respectively - down from 38 and 56 per cent in 1983. The current figure among those from social class A is 17 per cent.

Widening access to higher education has played a part: one of the best predictors of socially liberal attitudes is level of edu cation. Universities have been opened to the masses, to the dismay of über-conservative commentators such as Digby Anderson, who asks in his pamphlet All Oiks Now: the Un noticed Surrender of Middle England: "In what ways do the middle-class students differ from the others? They certainly look the same. It is difficult to tell the daughter of a doctor from the daughter of an unemployed miner, indeed sometimes from the son of an unemployed miner." His Middle England, it should be noted, is entirely upper-middle-class.

In the 1960s, a fierce academic debate raged over the "em bourgeoisement thesis" - which stated that, as the working class became more affluent, they would detach from their proletarian peers, lose class consciousness and adopt the attitudes and values of the middle class, in particular with regard to party and trade union loyalty. (Anderson fears that the opposite process - de-embourgeoisement, perhaps? - is the actual result.) The famous sociologist John Goldthorpe, in his masterpiece The Affluent Worker, showed that, in terms of social networks, even well-off workers remained true to their roots, but that their political opinions did begin to alter. In particular, their support for the Labour Party became contingent, rather than given. In some ways, the politics of the rest of the century flow from this fact, and Labour's long failure to grasp it. Where it is clear that embourgeoisement does apply is in social attitudes; affluence has brought toleration in its wake.

Muddle England

One reason why commentators miss the rising liberalism of Middle England is that they make the mistake of looking at what they read, and assuming they agree with it. It is true that Daily Mail readers are more likely to vote Conservative - but to a lesser extent than Mirror readers are more likely to vote Labour. And while it is also true that 46 per cent of Mail readers think that immigration is one of the most important issues facing the country, 44 per cent of Financial Times readers do, too. On many social issues, the readers of the Middle England tabloids are more liberal than the population at large, especially the younger ones. The views of Mail readers are not facsimiles of the paper's editorials. There is no clone army of Paul Dacres roaming the suburbs.

What is stalking the land is anxiety and fear, especially about money. Middle Englanders are under huge financial pressure. Wages in the middle-income range have ticked up painfully slowly over the past decade - which may be one reason why Middle England supports moves to hit the unearned wealth of private equity barons and the untethered wealth of the "non-doms": again, a truth the Tories divined before phobic Labour ministers. Their concerns about immigration are primarily economic, rather than straightforwardly "racist".

The fears of Middle England are not always consistent, or rational. Ben Page has decided that the public is suffering from "cognitive polyphasia", a diagnosis that means "people are holding lots of conflicting ideas": more muddle England than Middle England. The majority think immigration is a big problem, but only a small minority say it is a problem affecting them. Middle England, he says, is also "a bit Pooterish - a bit Margo from The Good Life; they are conservative but with a small 'c'". They may well be fiscally conservative, but they are mostly socially liberal. Their high fear of crime may stem from their position as the first middle-class members of their family: now they have something to lose.

As with all sociopolitical categories, the edges of Middle England become more blurred as you approach them, the inhabitants as hard to pin down as those of Middle Earth. Middle Englanders certainly do not recognise the "long shadows" falling across county cricket grounds and the "old maids bicycling to Holy Communion" evoked by John Major; but nor did they make much of the tortured attempts of early new Labour to conjure a "Cool Britannia".

Middle England is sceptical of party politics, yes. Fearful about crime and immigration, certainly. Instinctively desiring to hold on to its own money rather than give it to the Treasury, you bet. Much of which is because Middle England is a more precarious place than the lands above, where professionals and the rich can insulate themselves against risk, and below, where there is less to be lost in any case. But Middle England is not nasty. Indeed, it is a broad-minded kind of place. And to the extent that it really is the soul of the nation, this can only be cause for celebration. For the liberalisation of Middle England might represent the final triumph of liberalism itself.

Illustration by A Richard Allen

This article first appeared in the 29 October 2007 issue of the New Statesman, Pakistan

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The Brexit odd squad

The Brexiters are resilient and have the support of some unlikely foreign allies. Can they really topple the political establishment and lead Britain out of the European Union?

Look at the troops arrayed on the Leave and the Remain sides in the June referendum and you might think that our continued membership of the European Union is assured. On the side of staying in the EU are Britain’s four living prime ministers, the International Monetary Fund, the Treasury, most members of the Labour and Liberal Democrat parties, the Trades Union Congress, the Confederation of British Industry, the governor of the Bank of England, the head of the NHS, Britain’s three largest trade unions and the US president. Leave has Boris Johnson, Nigel Farage and the contested ghost of Margaret Thatcher.

Yet few expect the final result of Britain’s In/Out referendum to be as asymmetric as that roll-call would suggest. At the top of the pro-EU campaign Britain Stronger in Europe, there is no doubt: it could lose.

So what – and who – is responsible for the unlikely appeal of Brexit’s “odd squad”? And how do they work together when their side is so fractious and its big personalities seem so uninterested in teamwork?

The story begins on the morning of 20 February, when David Cameron summoned his cabinet to announce the results of his EU renegotiation and ask his ministers to support Britain’s continued membership of the Union. Those who did left by the front door; the six dissidents were asked to leave by the tradesman’s entrance.

Nipping out the back were the full cabinet members Iain Duncan Smith, Michael Gove, Chris Grayling, Theresa Villiers and John Whittingdale, plus the employment minister, Priti Patel, who has the right to attend cabinet meetings. They soon reconvened at Vote Leave’s headquarters, a nondescript tower block in Westminster, where they posed with a giant sign bearing the campaign’s slogan “Vote Leave, take control” – a sight more reminiscent of a group of local councillors vowing to protect a bus lane than the upper reaches of the British political class.

Then again, the cabinet Leavers are not, on the whole, an impressive bunch. Villiers and Grayling were among the casualties of the formation of the coalition government in 2010, moving from their briefs to make way for Lib Dems, and both had to be content with junior posts until the 2012 reshuffle. Since then, Villiers has been a competent if uninspiring operator in Northern Ireland. Grayling was widely held to be a failure at the Ministry of Justice and now serves as Leader of the House of Commons, historically the antechamber between full cabinet rank and the wilderness.

As for Whittingdale, he is that rare creature in Whitehall: a secretary of state for culture, media and sport who does not regard the post as a stepping stone to bigger things. As the recent white paper on the future of the BBC showed, the golden thread of his thinking is scepticism: towards the EU, the BBC and regulation of the press. He was Margaret Thatcher’s last political secretary in Downing Street and, after becoming an MP in the 1992 election, he set up meetings between the former prime minister and his fellow new boys from the 1992 intake – meetings that John Major blamed for fanning the flames of Eurosceptic rebellion in the dog days of his premiership.

Priti Patel also has impeccable Eurosceptic credentials. She cut her teeth as a press officer to the Referendum Party, set up in a doomed attempt to secure an In/Out referendum in 1997. Following William Hague’s election as Tory leader and the adoption of complete hostility towards the single currency, she joined the Conservative Party, becoming an MP in 2010.

She is best known for contributing to Britannia Unchained, a series of essays by Patel and four of her fellow 2010-ers (including Dominic Raab, widely expected to run for the Tory leadership next time). The book was intended to provide the intellectual ballast for a revivified Thatcherism, though the only part that attracted headlines was the claim that British workers were “among the worst idlers in the world”.

This dubious crew of ministerial heavyweights has grown marginally more likeable since Duncan Smith’s resignation as work and pensions secretary. Yet it is not his six-year tenure as a minister but his two-year stint as Tory leader that has left the biggest mark on the Brexit debate, with his former hires among the loudest advocates for a Leave vote – including the founding editor of ConservativeHome, Tim Montgomerie, now at Gove’s old newspaper the Times. (In the unhappiest periods of Cameron’s first term, when the Prime Minister was frequently criticised by Montgomerie in that newspaper, Cameroons would mutter about the irony that one of their sharpest critics had served as chief of staff to the least successful leader of the Conservative Party in its history.)

As for Michael Gove, though he is loved by lobby journalists, he remains a hate figure in the country at large and particularly among teachers, as a result of his belligerent tactics during his time as secretary of state for education.

***

The last of the senior Brexit-supporting Tories didn’t leave through the back door that morning because he hadn’t yet declared his position. That came the next day, in a media scrum outside his home in Islington, north London.

The former mayor of London Boris Johnson is still Britain’s most popular politician, surviving crises and scandals that would have left others dead in the water. He is also the only politician whom the Remain campaign truly fears. But Johnson is not a wholly congenial presence among Britain’s Brexiters. Although he is a far more adept planner than his dishevelled appearance – or his paper-thin record at City Hall – would suggest, he can be difficult to manage. His  weekly Telegraph column has largely been turned to cheerleading for Brexit but Vote Leave’s biggest gun doesn’t always point in the direction its chief strategists would like.

During Barack Obama’s visit to the UK in April, Johnson became embroiled in a war of words in which he suggested that the president had an ancestral dislike of Britain because of his “part-Kenyan” heritage. Having made this racially charged argument in the Sun, he extended the story needlessly by giving a similarly robust interview to the Daily Mail, much to the frustration of staffers at Vote Leave.

So there you have it. An unpopular firebrand, an unsuccessful former Tory leader, four relative nonentities and a blond bombshell who is considered clever but uncontrollable. It is less a huddle of Big Beasts than a grotesque menagerie – and these are among the sensible, mainstream voices on the Leave side. The other politicians who can get on to the Sunday shows to talk Brexit include Nigel Farage, who is adored by the four million people in Britain who voted Ukip in last year’s general election – and hated by the remaining 42 million. Yet he is a national treasure compared to George Galloway, formerly of Labour, who secured just 37,000 votes in the mayoral election. An unkind observer might say that none of the Brexit-backing politicians can stop traffic: half of them because they are unknown and the other half because most people would quite like to run them over.

There are also few compelling figures from business, sport, entertainment and science backing Brexit. Ian Botham is a rare celebrity Outer. “Cricket is a game where you achieve the greatest success when you are confident in your own ability to go out and stand proud,” he wrote in the Sunday Times. “Britain has that spirit.” In April, a slew of acts withdrew from a gig in Birmingham after finding out that it was organised by Leave.EU. Only Phats & Small, whose last hit was in 1999, refused to pull out.

Then there’s the infighting. To give just one example of the ongoing civil war, Vote Leave – the officially recognised campaign group for Brexit – believes Farage is so toxic to its cause that it regards his invitation to appear in a TV discussion alongside Cameron as an establishment stitch-up. “ITV has effectively joined the official In campaign,” said a Vote Leave statement to journalists on 11 May, written by Dominic Cummings, the campaign’s director. “There will be consequences for its future – the people in No 10 won’t be there for long.”

***

In the light of all this, why are the pro-Europeans so worried? Many feel that the current campaign is beginning to remind them of a nightmare year: 2011, when Britain voted decisively to reject electoral reform by moving from first-past-the-post to the Alternative Vote (AV). Around the time of the 2010 general election, polls had shown that Britain was in favour of the change by a 27-point margin. But on 5 May 2011, more than two-thirds of voters said No to AV, which ended up more than 35 points ahead.

What undid the Alternative Vote was a ruthlessly effective campaign against it – one that was almost completely fact-free. No2AV focused relentlessly on the cost of a new voting system; poster after poster made reference to its illusory price tag of £250m. “He needs bulletproof vests,” intoned one illustrated with a picture of a soldier, “NOT an alternative voting system.” Another came with a picture of a baby: “She needs a new cardiac facility, NOT an alternative voting system.”

As one veteran of the pro-AV campaign recalled recently: “It was impossible to fight. How do you repudiate it without repeating it? We never found a way.”

That appeal to economic interests was so powerful that Vote Leave has come up with a similarly memorable figure: the £350m weekly cost of Britain’s EU membership. This has been debunked by fact-checkers such as Full Fact, which estimates that the UK pays roughly £9.8bn a year once money back is taken into account. Regardless, Vote Leave keeps quoting the figure – and no wonder, because the chief executive of Vote Leave is also the architect of No2AV’s crushing victory: a 38-year-old LSE graduate called Matthew Elliott.

Despite Vote Leave’s anti-politics flavour, Elliott is a Westminster insider and well connected in the wonk world. He is the founder of the Taxpayers’ Alliance, the most high-profile of a close network of think tanks that are a proving ground for a rising generation of right-wingers. The Taxpayers’ Alliance, the Institute of Economic Affairs and the Adam Smith Institute together form what one alumnus jokingly calls a “Sorbonne for neoliberals”.

Much of Vote Leave’s staff is drawn from another Elliott creation: Business for Britain. The group was set up ostensibly to lobby for David Cameron to renegotiate Britain’s membership of the EU but was in reality designed as a Leave campaign in utero. Accordingly, many of its early recruits have ended up moving across.

Elliott is regarded as having a keen eye for talent and for being generous with his time. At each organisation where he has worked, he has taken care to bring on promising protégés. Alumni of the Elliott school include Susie Squire, who spent two years at the heart of Cameron’s administration as press secretary; Nick Pickles, head of UK public policy at Twitter; and Dylan Sharpe, the combative head of public relations at the Sun. Most of his favourite employees have three things in common: libertarian politics, a cut-throat instinct and loyalty to him personally. Those who have worked for Elliott largely speak highly of him.

The same cannot be said for the second leading player in Vote Leave who has the Remain side worried: Gove’s former henchman Dominic Cummings. David Laws – who, as a junior minister, worked closely with Cummings when he was at Gove’s Department for Education – describes him as a “grade-A political Rottweiler”. “As well as being bright,” Laws writes in his memoirs, “Dom Cummings was also blunt, rude, impatient and tactless.” According to friends of both, without Cummings’s encouragement, Gove would have been a mostly silent presence in the Leave campaign because of his close friendship with Cameron.

The former special adviser’s commitment to anti-Europeanism is a long-held one – his first job in politics was at Britain for Sterling, which lobbied against Britain joining the European single currency in the 1990s. Thereafter, he worked for Iain Duncan Smith during his brief and unhappy leadership. A former staffer from that time remembers him as an “abrasive presence”.

After Duncan Smith’s removal as Tory leader, Cummings retreated to his native Durham, where he helped to engineer victory for the No side in the referendum on whether to give the north-east its own devolved assembly. It was the tactics used in that referendum – an endless focus on costs, coupled with personal attacks on the credentials of the Yes side – which were taken on and extended by Elliott during the AV contest. Those tactics are once again on display in this referendum.

That partly explains why, on the Remain side, Cummings is respected and feared in equal measure. Yet his confrontational approach often proves his undoing: for instance, he understood the importance of giving a cross-party sheen to Vote Leave (not least to secure the official campaign designation), yet his conduct led to the departure of the Eurosceptic Labour MP Kate Hoey. “We live in a world where people get things by being nice to each other,” reflects a former colleague of Cummings, “and Dom doesn’t really work like that.”

Hoey’s walkout set the ball rolling on another, less dramatic exit: John Mills, Labour’s largest private individual donor and a Brexiter of many years’ standing. He feared the Vote Leave brand had become irrevocably Conservative. (Unlike Hoey, Mills remains on speaking terms with Vote Leave.)

Friends say that, for Elliott, who has been “planning this [campaign] for some time”, Cummings’s disposition is a price worth paying for his tactical nous. It was Cummings who was the architect of Vote Leave’s two-pronged strategy: claiming that the money we now pay to the EU could go towards the NHS, and suggesting that Brexit will allow us to cut immigration by “regaining control of our borders”.

The perceived cut-through of the latter message with older Labour voters was behind Vote Leave’s big tactical gamble. On 8 May, an official statement by the campaign declared that leaving the EU would also entail leaving the single market.

That decision is unlikely to find favour with big businesses that rely on international trade but it does allow Vote Leave to make strong and unambiguous claims about cutting immigration. If we are outside the European Union but inside the single market (as Norway is), we would have to accept free movement of labour. If we leave the single market, however, we could introduce a points-based entry system, or even finally achieve Cameron’s otherwise impossible cap on net migration.

Upset business but win over small-C conservative voters: it’s a big risk for the Brexiters to take. It represents a throw of the dice by Cummings, who sidelined Nigel Farage precisely in order to minimise the campaign’s focus on immigration. But with the vote scheduled to take place on 23 June and a repeat of last year’s refugee crisis in the Mediterranean looming, security and borders are likely to be at the forefront of voters’ minds. For all that those on the Brexit side have denounced Cameron for running a repeat of “Project Fear”, they know that they have to make change less terrifying than maintaining the status quo.

***

In their quest to take Britain out of the EU, the Brexiters have a simple, if high-stakes, strategy. They want to appear to be the underdogs (hence their repeated complaints about the government’s £9m pro-EU leaflet) and as a scrappier, grass-roots campaign taking on the might of the establishment. Naturally, this image doesn’t reflect an unvarnished truth: the press has been largely onside and senior editors and columnists are very willing to take Vote Leave’s calls.

There is also no concern about keeping the lights on. Arron Banks, the insurance magnate who bankrolled Ukip at the 2015 general election, might have refused to fund Vote Leave after it triumphed over his favoured vehicle, Leave.EU – he has called Matthew Elliott “Lord Elliott of Loserville” and threatened to sue the Electoral Commission for naming Vote Leave the official voice of Brexit – but insiders say that the campaign’s financial position is nothing to worry about.

If Vote Leave wins, it will have scored an extraordinary victory – and, it should be noted, defied the hopes of most of our allies in the rest of the world. The politicians backing Britain’s continued membership of the EU include not just Barack Obama but his likely successor, Hillary Clinton, as well as the prime ministers of Canada, New Zealand and Australia.

There is a vanishingly small number of international politicians who back Brexit. Like the inner core of Vote Leave, they are overwhelmingly drawn from the right-wing fringe – US Republicans such as Ted Cruz and Donald Trump and the French National Front leader, Marine Le Pen, who, unhappily for the Brexiters, is expected to visit Britain to support their case.

The only foreign leader who seriously supports a British Leave vote in June is a man praised by Nigel Farage and whose country Dominic Cummings spent several years working in: Vladimir Putin, who, as far as British voters are concerned, is even more toxic than Farage, Galloway or Gove.

When Britain’s odd squad looks abroad for allies, its options are few – but this ragtag collective is far from beaten. 

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. He usually writes about politics. 

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad