Interview: David Miliband

The foreign secretary explains he has identified four great progressive causes for the world.

The timing is awkward. David Miliband has been urged by his top mandarins to cancel our interview. They don't want us in the building, after their case against our whistleblower Derek Pasquill collapsed so ignominiously at the Old Bailey. Miliband, to his credit, politely declined their advice. We had agreed a long time beforehand to talk about his new world order, which he was preparing to set out in a speech to the Fabian Society's annual conference.

By way of an opener, we ask the Foreign Secretary to assess the state of play in British politics. He launches into a soliloquy: "The Arsène Wenger school of management says that you focus on your own team . . . and let the oppos ition take care of themselves. We've got a con viction leader who is determined to ensure that ideas as well as competence are at the heart of government. There is a genuine crisis of Conservatism and the fulcrum of it is how you reconcile a belief in markets with a belief in social order. It's unreconciled at a philosophical level and an intellectual level, and that's why you see it unreconciled at a political level."

Miliband has invented a catchphrase - the "civ il ian surge". He develops this theme: "There are 200 million Chinese learning English; there are more bloggers in Iran than any other country in the world per capita; Buddhist monks march for democracy in Burma. I got the idea of a civilian surge when I was talking to David Petraeus [the US military commander] in Iraq because, he says, 'You can't kill your way out of this problem - you need politics as well as security.'"

There are four great causes in current foreign policy, Miliband says. He lists them: tackle terrorism and weapons of mass destruction, "and that's what we're trying to do in Afghanistan"; try to reduce conflict, "and that's what we're trying to do in the Middle East, Kosovo and Sudan"; tackle inequality through low-carbon, high-growth economic aid and development policies, "and that's what we're trying to do in Bali and elsewhere"; and build durable international institutions that recognise international inter dependence, "and that's what we're trying to do with the EU and the UN". These, he says, "are all great progressive causes".

Democracy or security?

Miliband is seeking to reconcile what he calls "the old Westphalian settlement, which says we have no business being concerned with what goes on in other countries", with the mistakes of Iraq. He suggests that the present Tory position of David Cameron and William Hague is not unlike that of John Major and Douglas Hurd when the west stood back and allowed the massacres in Bosnia and Rwanda to take place.

We talk in detail about Tony Blair's criteria for "humanitarian intervention", and how it foun dered in Iraq. "People say, and I say myself, there are no military solutions. There are military victories, but then you've got to win the peace. That means building the institutions of civic society, and that's true in all the places where our military are deployed," he says. "It's the old argument of: 'Do you want democracy first or security first?' Actually, it's the wrong question because sequencing doesn't work. You can't have democracy without security, and as we're seeing in places like Pakistan, if you want true security you need democracy as well."

And was Iraq a great cause? Perhaps for fear of antagonising a US administration wary of the new incumbent in Downing Street, he is strange ly robust. "The idea that Iraqi citizens should be able to determine their own futures, in a democratic system that respects human rights - that's a progressive thing to want to do." So was it a progressive war? "The aim, which was to free the Iraqi people from a tyranny, is of course a progressive thing. Twelve million Iraqis went out to vote. Now, there's all sorts of things we could talk about - there are lessons, there are things that haven't gone right . . ." We put it again. Is he really proud that Britain went to war?

At this point he draws back. "A lot of our people have died. A much larger number of Iraqis have died. You have to have a lot of humility about what happened. I believe this was done for the right reasons - I don't believe the conspiracy theories. I believe it was done after a lot of hard thought and a lot of hard searching.

"The fifth anniversary invites us not to put a glib label on it, but to make sure Britain and the international community are more united about the next five years. There is a real opportunity, without pre judice to any of the deeply held views of New Statesman readers and others about the wisdom of the original decision, to say: 'Where we are now, what does Iraq need?' It needs political reconciliation, it needs economic reconstruction and it needs continued commitment to the security of the people there."

We press him on Iran. Miliband supports the US, but puts his own gloss on the issue. "Iran is a sponsor of terrorism. It is a potential source of conflict." He elaborates. "It's a country that should be contributing all its riches and all its people to a stable international community. That doesn't require a change of regime in Iran, it requires a change of behaviour on the part of the regime.

"The challenge is to make clear that the international community is serious about the stability we say is important, but also show that we're serious about the offer we're making [to Iran] to engage with the international community."

Whatever happened, we wonder, to the neoconservative dream that Blair seized on with such alacrity? "What do they say is the definition of a neocon? A liberal who's been mugged. People who came out of the 1960s, but who had lost their faith in progressive policy because they said we weren't hard-headed enough," he replies. "Now the PM says our foreign policy is going to be defined by hard-headed internationalism. The military can't bring you the solution alone, but sometimes you need the military. In Darfur, we need an African Union/UN force. It's the progressive position to say economics and politics and social intervention where possible, military intervention where necessary." He adds: "We shouldn't cede the ground of universal values to the neocons."

Miliband develops his challenge to the left, saying it should do more to reappraise the relationship between state and individual. "On its own, social democracy is not adequate for this changing world. It's necessary but not sufficient. On the other hand, you've got a progressive tradition of radical liberalism . . . whose defining belief is the idea of individual freedom in the market economy. But it's not enough, because it's got no answer for distributional questions that are thrown up - the inequality questions. The politics that will address the 21st century is the fus ion of the social democratic commitment to social justice through collective action, not just through the state."

He talks of combining a greater emphasis on civil liberties with the need, post the 9/11 and 7/7 attacks, for security. He produces a curious approach to pre-trial detention. Once you have agreed on the need for any length of time you have established a principle, he says. "There's no magic in any number. What there should be is robustness and integrity in the processes. In dividual liberties depend on strong checks and balances." The longer anyone is held, the greater should be the scrutiny, Miliband says, but there need be no limit.

We turn to the issue that has caused such discomfort: the collapse at the Old Bailey of the prosecution of a Foreign Office official, Derek Pasquill, under the Official Secrets Act. It is our contention that this was a malicious prosecution pushed by the Foreign Office, even in the know ledge that the case would not stand up. This is now the second instance of an OSA trial foun dering, and we ask Miliband if the act should be reformed. "You always have to be open-minded about this. Have I been persuaded of the case for change? No. Do I rule out that it might need to be changed? No."

Does he not recall that Labour advocated such a reform when in opposition, particularly the inclusion of a public-interest defence? Miliband appears not to be aware of this. "I need to go and do some further research before I get drawn into that." And what of the principles of the case? "In principle, I think the confidentiality of government discussions is absolutely essential to effective government and I think we need a very effective regime to police that."

Religion and terror

We press him on our demand for an inquiry. He bridles. "I'm not going to get into any individual case. There are internal disciplinary issues relat ed to the leaks and I'm not going to say anything about it." What if someone at the Foreign Office had misled the courts? "Any suggestion of that is a matter for investigation by the CPS [Crown Prosecution Service] on the back of a complaint.

"We are a department that always seeks to make sure it upholds the highest standards of government, and we always look at our own procedures and processes to make sure that happens." He concludes: "I've seen nothing to suggest that there weren't appropriate and high standards followed all the way through. But you're not going to tempt me into discussion on this."

We move to the broader issue of engaging with Islam. Miliband describes this as a two-strand approach involving security and "hearts and minds". He has been persuaded by studies that suggest "you don't confuse degree of religiosity with propensity to terrorism". He adds: "We're much further ahead than we were three or four years ago in understanding what we're dealing with and how it feeds off grievance, both real and alleged. What we're clear about is that we're trying to counter insurgency, not counter people's religious freedoms. We're trying to avoid a clash of civilisations, rather than prosecute one."

Amid reports of the odd disagreement with Downing Street, and with a new baby on the home front, we ask him if he is enjoying his job. "It's a fantastic job. Great job. All these jobs are very demanding, but it's a great job to do. It's a huge privilege to do this." Miliband is curious to know why we called it the "Edward Stourton question". Because, we advise him, that was the question on the Today programme that stumped the Prime Minister. He winces.

This article first appeared in the 21 January 2008 issue of the New Statesman, Art is the new activism

BRIAN ADCOCK FOR NEW STATESMAN
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Divided Britain: how the EU referendum exposed Britain’s new culture war

The EU referendum exposed a gaping fault line in our society – and it’s not between left and right.

There are streets in Hampstead, the wealthy northern suburb of London, where the pro-EU posters outnumber cars. A red “Vote Remain” in one. A “Green Yes” in another. The red, white and blue flag of the official campaign sits happily next to a poster from the left-wing campaign Another Europe Is Possible proclaiming that the world already has too many borders.

If you were looking for an equivalent street in Hull, in the north of England, you would look for a long time. In the city centre when I visited one recent morning, the only outward evidence that there was a referendum going on was the special edition of Wetherspoon News plastered on the walls of the William Wilberforce pub in Trinity Wharf. Most of the customers agreed with the message from the chain’s founder, Tim Martin: Britain was better off outside the European Union.

“Far too much Hampstead and not enough Hull” – that was the accusation levelled at the Remain campaign by Andy Burnham in the final weeks of the campaign. He wasn’t talking about geography; Remain’s voice is persuasive to residents of Newland Avenue in Hull, where I drank a latte as I eavesdropped on a couple who were fretting that “racists” would vote to take Britain out of the EU.

Rather, Burnham was talking about an idea, the “Hampstead” that occupies a special place in right-wing demonology as a haven of wealthy liberals who have the temerity to vote in the interests of the poor. The playwright and novelist Michael Frayn, in his 1963 essay on the Festival of Britain, called them “the Herbivores”:

“. . . the radical middle classes, the do-gooders; the readers of the News Chronicle, the Guardian, and the Observer; the signers of petitions; the backbone of the BBC . . . who look out from the lush pastures which are their natural station in life with eyes full of sorrow for less fortunate creatures, guiltily conscious of their advantages, though not usually ceasing to eat the grass.”

For Hampstead then, read swaths of Islington, Hackney, Brighton, Bristol, Cambridge, Edinburgh and Oxford today – all areas that were most strongly in favour of Remain and where Jeremy Corbyn is popular. But Remain never found a tone that won over the other half of Labour England; the campaign struck as duff a note among the diminishing band of pensioners on Hampstead’s remaining council estates as it did on Hull’s Orchard Park Estate.

The rift between “Hampstead and Hull”, in the sense that Andy Burnham meant it, is one that has stealthily divided Britain for years, but it has been brought into sharp focus by the debate over Europe.

Academics use various kinds of shorthand for it: the beer drinkers v the wine drinkers, or the cosmopolitans v the “left behind”. “It’s not just that [Britain] is div­ided between people who buy organic and people who buy own-brand,” says Philip Cowley, a professor of politics at Queen Mary University of London, “but between people who wouldn’t understand how anyone could buy own-brand and people who wouldn’t buy organic if you put a gun to their head.” Equating political preferences with shopping habits might sound flippant, but on 21 June the retail research company Verdict estimated that “half of Waitrose shoppers backed a Remain vote, against just over a third of Morrisons customers”.

The referendum has shown that there is another chasm in British politics, beyond left and right, beyond social conservatism v liberalism, and beyond arguments about the size of the state. The new culture war is about class, and income, and education, but also about culture, race, nationalism and optimism about the future (or lack of it). This divide explains why Ukip’s message has been seductive to former Labour voters and to Tories, and why Boris Johnson, an Old Etonian, led a campaign that purported to despise “elites” and “experts” and spoke of “wanting our country back”.

***

At the start of the campaign, the question that most accurately predicted whether you would back Remain or Leave was consistently: “Are you a graduate?” (Those who answered yes were much more likely to vote in favour of staying in the EU.) Stronger In never found a way to change that and win over those who left education at 18 or earlier. Pollsters also suggested that the much-vaunted Euroscepticism of older voters reflects generations where only one in ten people went to university.

This fissure has been growing for the best part of a decade and a half, but Britain’s first-past-the-post system, which deters newcomers and maintains entrenched parties, has provided a degree of insulation to Labour that its European cousins have lacked. Yet even here in the UK the mid-Noughties brought the brief rise of the British National Party, powered by voter defections from Labour in its strongholds in east London and Yorkshire, as well as the election of the Greens’ first MP on the back of progressive disillusionment with the governments of Tony Blair and Gordon Brown.

In office, both Blair and Brown calculated, wrongly, that Labour’s core vote had “nowhere else to go”. In opposition under Ed Miliband, the party calculated, again wrongly, that discontent with immigration, and the rise of Ukip powered by that discontent, was a problem for the Conservative Party alone.

In a 2014 pamphlet for the Fabian Society, ­Revolt on the Left, the activist Marcus Roberts, the academic Rob Ford and the analyst Ian Warren warned that Labour had “few reasons to cheer about the Ukip insurgency and plenty to worry about”. When the votes were cast in the general election the following year, that prediction turned out to be dispiritingly accurate. Defections from Labour to Ukip led to Labour losing seats to the Conservatives in Gower, Southampton Itchen, Telford and Plymouth Moor View.

For the most part, however, first-past-the-post papered over the cracks in Labour’s broad coalition: cracks that, in the harsh light of the EU referendum, have become obvious. The divide isn’t simply one of class, or income. The social profile and culture of voters in Cumbria are no different from that of voters on the other side of the border – but Scots in the Borders backed a Remain vote while their English peers in the border areas opted for Brexit. Inhospitality towards Brexit proved a stronger indication of city status than a mere cathedral: Vote Leave generally found Britain’s great cities more difficult terrain than the surrounding towns and countryside.

The problem of the fracturing vote is particularly acute for the Labour Party, which for much of the 20th century was able to rely on the Herbivores. In concert with Frayn’s “less fortunate creatures”, they have been enough to guarantee Labour close to 250 seats in the House of Commons and roughly one-third of the popular vote, even in difficult years. But Britain’s EU referendum placed Hampstead and Hull on opposing sides for the first time in modern British political history.

It was Tony Blair who, in his final speech to the Trades Union Congress as Labour leader in September 2006, said that the new debate in politics was not left against right, but “open v closed” – openness to immigration, to diversity, to the idea of Europe. Driven by their commitment to openness, Blair’s outriders dreamed of reshaping Labour as a mirror of the US Democrats – though, ironically, it was Ed Miliband, who repudiated much of Blair’s approach and politics, who achieved this.

At the 2015 election Labour’s coalition was drawn from the young, ethnic minorities and the well educated: the groups that powered Barack Obama’s two election wins in 2008 and 2012. The party was repudiated in the Midlands, went backwards in Wales and was all but wiped out in the east of England. (Scotland was another matter altogether.) Its best results came in Britain’s big cities and university towns.

The Remain campaign gave Labour a glimpse of how Miliband’s manifesto might have fared without the reassuring imprimatur of a red rosette. Britain Stronger In Europe has been rejected in the Midlands and struggled in the east of England. But it also failed to inspire passion in Sunderland, Oldham and Hull – all areas that, for now, return Labour MPs.

***

In appearance, Hull’s city centre is built on blood and sandstone, dotted with memorials to a lost empire and postwar replacements for bombed buildings, all ringed by suburban housing built by the private sector in the 1930s and the state in the 1950s and 1960s. It could be Bristol without the excessive hills, or a smaller Glasgow with a different accent. Unlike in Glasgow or Bristol, however, the residents of Hull are largely hostile to the European Union. Unlike Glasgow and Bristol, Hull is a post-imperial city that has yet to experience a post-colonial second act.

The William Wilberforce is named after a native son who helped destroy the British slave trade, the engine of Hull’s prosperity in the 18th century. The destruction of another local industry – fishing – drives resentment among the pub’s ageing clientele, who were there for breakfast and a bit of company when I visited. They blame its demise squarely on the EU.

Although the Labour Party now has only one MP in Scotland, the back rooms of the labour movement host an outsized Scottish contingent. For that reason – and the continuing threat that the loss of Labour’s seats in Scotland poses to the party’s chances of winning a majority at Westminster – the Scottish independence referendum of 2014 loomed large for Labour throughout the EU campaign.

From the outset, Britain Stronger In struggled to replicate the success of the Scottish No campaign, in part because the price of victory was one that Labour regarded as too high to pay a second time. In Glasgow, in the week before the Scottish referendum, everyone knew where Labour stood on independence – consequently, many voters were already planning to take revenge. The proprietor of one café told me that Labour was “finished in this city, for ever”.

Predictions of this sort were thin on the ground in Hull. Alan Johnson, the head of Labour’s EU campaign, is one of the three Labour MPs whom Hull sent to Westminster in 2015. But even late in the campaign, in his own constituency, I found uncertainty about the party’s official position on the referendum. For that reason, if nothing else, it didn’t have the feeling of a city preparing to break with a half-century-plus of Labour rule, as Glasgow did in 2014. In Scotland, most people I spoke to believed that they were on the brink of independence, which made the eventual result a big blow.

Only among Hull’s pro-European minority could I find any conviction that Britain might actually leave the EU. In September 2014 Kenneth Clarke remarked that Ukip’s supporters were “largely . . . the disappointed elderly, the grumpy old men, people who’ve had a bit of a hard time in life”. To listen to Hull’s Leave voters is to hear tales of the same frustrated potential: they feel that politicians of all stripes have lives entirely removed from theirs. In their defence, they are right – just 4 per cent of MPs in 2010 were from working-class backgrounds.

As for Ken Clarke, he has carved out a second career as every left-winger’s favourite Tory, but that tone of indifference towards the “disappointed lives” of globalisation’s casualties recalls his younger days as a rising star of Margaret Thatcher’s government.

Hull’s residents have been dismissed, first as the regrettable but inevitable consequence of Thatcherite economics, and now as small-minded opponents of social progress and racial diversity. Unsurprisingly, people who feel that their wishes have been ignored and in some cases actively squashed by successive governments of left and right did not expect to wake up on the morning of 24 June to discover that this time, their votes really had changed something.

Equally unsurprisingly, the Remain campaign’s warnings of economic collapse lacked force for people for whom the world’s end had been and gone.

In Glasgow in 2014 Scottish independence was a question of identity in itself, whereas in Hull, hostility towards Europe is the by-product of other identities that feel beleaguered or under threat: fishing, Englishness and whiteness, for the most part.

In Hampstead, a vote for Remain feels more like a statement about the world as you see it. One woman, who walks off before I can probe further, tells me: “Of course I’m voting to stay In. I buy Fairtrade.”

***

Immigration, not the European Union, is the issue that moves voters in Hull. “Britain is full” was the most frequent explanation they gave for an Out vote. Knowing that immigration, rather than the abstract question of sovereignty, would be crucial to winning the contest, Vote Leave tried from the beginning to make it a referendum on border control. Leave’s main theme: the threat of Turkey joining the European Union and, with it, the prospect of all 75 million Turks gaining the right to live and work in Britain.

Although Turkey’s chances of joining the EU are somewhere only just north of its hopes of launching a manned mission to Mars, the tactic worked: according to an ­Ipsos MORI poll released on the morning of 16 June, 45 per cent of Britons believed that Turkey will be fast-tracked into the Union.

That same morning, Nigel Farage posed in front of a poster showing refugees – mostly from Syria and most of them non-white – on the border between Croatia and Slovenia, with a slogan warning that uncontrolled immigration was leaving Britain at “breaking point”. But the row over the poster came to an unpleasant halt just a few hours later as news began to break that Jo Cox, the Labour MP for Batley and Spen, had been shot and stabbed on her way out of a constituency surgery. She died of her injuries a little over an hour later. On 19 June Thomas Mair, who was arrested in connection with the killing, gave his name at Westminster Magistrates’ Court as “Death to traitors, freedom for Britain”.

The circumstances of the killing felt familiar. A little after midnight on 5 June 1968, Robert Kennedy was returning to the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles in high spirits. He had just won a crucial victory in the California primary and was well placed to secure the Democratic nomination to run in that year’s presidential election. Going through the kitchen in order to avoid cheering crowds and get straight to his press conference, he was ambushed by a man called Sirhan Sirhan, who fired six shots from a revolver. Kennedy was rushed to hospital, where he died early the following morning.

Five months later Richard Nixon was elected president. The American right held on to the White House for 20 years out of the next 25. Jo Cox’s killing, amid the nativist howling from Farage et al, felt like the beginning of a similar chapter of right-wing advance in the UK.

Labour’s problem, and that of its social-democratic cousins throughout Europe, is the same as the American left’s was in the 1960s. Its founding coalition – of trade unions, the socially concerned middle classes and minorities, ethnic and cultural – is united (barely) on economic issues but irrevocably split on questions of identity. Outside crisis-stricken Greece and Spain, the left looks trapped in permanent opposition, with no politician able to reconsolidate its old base and take power again.

***

When I arrive in Hull, preparations are under way for a vigil in Jo Cox’s honour, but it is the nation of Turkey that is weighing on the minds of undecided voters. On Park Street, residents are divided. Those who have exercised their right to buy and are concerned about their mortgages are flirting with an Out vote but are terrified about negative equity. Those who remain in social housing or the private rented sector are untouched by stories of soaring mortgages. To many residents, the Treasury’s dire warnings seem to be the concerns of people from a different planet, not merely another part of the country. As Rachel, a woman in her mid-fifties who lives alone, puts it: “They say I’d lose four grand a month. I don’t know who they think is earning four grand a month but it certainly isn’t me.”

As Vote Leave knew, the promise that an Out vote will allow people to “take control” always had a particular appeal for those with precious little control – of their rent, of next week’s shift, of whether or not they will be able to afford to turn the heating on next week. Never mind that the control envisaged by Vote Leave would be exercised by the conservative right: the campaign found a message that was able to resonate across class and region, at least to an extent that could yet create a force to be reckoned with under first-past-the-post in Britain.

Four grand a month isn’t a bad salary, even in leafy Hampstead, but in that prosperous corner of north London fears of an Out vote, and what will come after, gained a tight purchase. The worry was coupled with resentment, too, over what would come, should the Outers triumph.

The great risk for the left is that herbivorous resentment is already curdling into contempt towards the people of Hull and the other bastions of Brexitism. That contempt threatens the commodity on which Labour has always relied to get Hull and Hampstead to vote and work together – solidarity. The referendum leaves the Conservatives divided at Westminster. That will give little comfort to Labour if the long-term outcome of the vote is to leave its own ranks divided outside it.

 

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

This article first appeared in the 23 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Divided Britain