Blue Labour, Maurice Glasman and the fight for the "People's Port"

Glasman's Blue Labour movement has found a cause in the fight to stop the Port of Dover being privatised.

There are no bluebirds. Pull into Dover, and it’s the geography and the poverty that hits you. The white cliffs sit like quarried giants against a dirty paper sky. They guard a sea that stretches moodily over the southern edge of England. For generations Dover has been an industrial power base; now a few pale kids work on the minimum wage at Costa Coffee. Others loiter around, out of work and out of hope. A southern town with northern levels of poverty.

Right now Dover is also the site of a battle. The local community is fighting to stop the privatisation of the town’s historic port. Lord Maurice Glasman, godfather of the Blue Labour movement, has been talking wide-eyed about this campaign to anyone who will listen.

“The port could be endowed in perpetuity to the people of Dover on behalf of the nation,” Glasman tells me. “It’s a story about Labour helping workers and exports. About Labour winning in the south. About nationhood and building the common good. It’s everything Blue Labour stands for.”

At one time, getting a job with the Dover Harbour Board, which has run the port since 1606, was a great prize. They paid decent wages and guaranteed job stability. The pretty regency town flourished through trade, providing a beacon in the darkest economic times. The Board saw itself as part of the town, providing Christmas decorations and bringing firewood to workers’ families in winter. But over the last ten years, all that’s changed.

Taking a seat in the freezing station coffee shop, two locals have come to meet me. John Heron used to work as a security guard at the port before he was “outsourced”. The other has friends who still work for the Harbour Board, but doesn’t want to give his name. Employees have already been chastised for talking to the press.

“It’s been a very stressful time,” he says. “Our backs are up against the wall. They [the Harbour Board] make it sound like this is the only way – that it’s all hopeless – but we know it’s not.”

Over the last eleven years these workers have watched the number of people employed drop from over 800 to 310. They say safety standards have slipped and quality has suffered as agency workers have replaced those with experience. Heron says this was part of a deliberate strategy by the Harbour Board’s chair, Bob Goldfield, who he believes was brought in to run the port down. After all, a port with fewer fixed contracts is more attractive to foreign buyers.

“He [Goldfield] outsourced everyone apart from his cronies. Workers were repopulated from people outside Dover who didn’t care about the community… G4S and others were re-employing others on zero hour contracts. The economic instability is hollowing out the community.”

As he speaks he points to the young guy serving coffee in the cold.

“Ten years ago he would have worked for the Harbour Board on a living wage,” he says, “It’s not just us we’re fighting for.”

As for Goldfield, he dismisses these allegations as  “paranoid”. He says it became clear that privatisation was the best option only after his appointment, because the port was haemorrhaging money and unable to borrow. Under his watch, he says, the port has finally begun to turn around:

“We were over-manned and over staffed. It’s absolute nonsense to say that standards have slipped . . . I’m not in the business to asset strip, I’m here to grow. That’s why I want privatisation.”

But campaigners fear that foreign owners will have no incentive to care about the town. If privatisation goes ahead, the sole purpose of the port will be to maximise profit for shareholders. They say this won’t just damage local workers, it will also hurt the ferry companies and cargo operators who use the port, who will almost certainly be given higher tariffs without negotiation.

Campaigners are now pushing for their own radical solution. The Dover People’s Port campaign wants to transfer the whole port into community ownership as part of a community land trust. A board of local members – including the local MP, councillors and workers – has already sold over a thousand shares in this venture at £10 each. They’ve approached capital markets, who say they will lend them £200m for the project subject to due diligence. Locals backed community ownership in a referendum last year by 98 per cent.

For Glasman, whose Blue Labour agenda is critical of blanket economic liberalism and believes in more democratic forms of ownership, this campaign is perfect. Over the last year, he has regularly been getting on the train to meet the key players, strategise and give talks about the history of Dover. Patrick MacFarlane, one of Blue Labour’s earliest adherents, gave up his summer to work on the campaign. Although Glasman is not by any means the chief leader of the People’s Port, locals describe him as a “tent pole figure” who has given them hope against great authority.

“He’s helping us create a whole new vocabulary between commerce and community,” says Heron, “He brings people in and shows them another way.”

Sadly not everyone feels this way. Clair Hawkins, Labour’s prospective parliamentary candidate for Dover, says that Glasman’s involvement has “not been without its challenges” for the local party. She says she is “totally against” privatisation but has some concerns that a People’s Port could leave the community with too much debt.

The fact that the sitting Conservative MP, Charlie Elphicke, has helped lead plans for the People’s Port complicates matters even further. In true Blue Labour style, Glasman can get people’s backs up by finding more in common with One Nation Tories than members of his own party. For this, he remains unapologetic:

“Labour has to restore trust with ordinary people in the south, and that means showing that we can genuinely represent a future that can work . . . there is an alternative between nationalisation and privatisation that is Labour, and it’s called the People’s Port.”

Right now the fight is continuing. The Dover Harbour Board has rejected the community’s plans, but campaigners are keeping up pressure on the government who are about to make the final decision. It’s clear this isn’t just a decision for Dover and its people. It’s a fight for what kind of capitalism we want to embrace – whether we are going to let globalisation go unchallenged or find ways to create more democratic forms of ownership. It’s also a battle for the heart of the Labour party, which needs to pick a side. Let’s see what the tide brings in.

The Port of Dover. Photograph: Getty Images

Rowenna Davis is Labour PPC for Southampton Itchen and a councillor for Peckham

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Andy Burnham and Sadiq Khan are both slippery self-mythologisers – so why do we rate one more than the other?

Their obsessions with their childhoods have both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

Andy Burnham is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s widely seen as an unprincipled flip-flopper.

Sadiq Khan is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s the hugely popular mayor of London, the voice of those who’d be proud to think of themselves as the metropolitan liberal elite, and is even talked of as a possible future leader of the Labour party.

Oh, and also they were both born in 1970. So that’s a thing they have in common, too.

Why it is this approach to politics should have worked so much better for the mayor of London than the would-be mayor of Manchester is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. There are definite parallels between Burnham’s attempts to present himself as a normal northern bloke who likes normal things like football, and Sadiq’s endless reminders that he’s a sarf London geezer whose dad drove a bus. They’ve both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

And yes, Burnham apparent tendency to switch sides, on everything from NHS privatisation to the 2015 welfare vote to the leadership of Jeremy Corbyn, has given him a reputation for slipperiness. But Sadiq’s core campaign pledge was to freeze London transport fares; everyone said it was nonsense, and true to form it was, and you’d be hard pressed to find an observer who thought this an atypical lapse on the mayor’s part. (Khan, too, has switched sides on the matter of Jeremy Corbyn.)

 And yet, he seems to get away with this, in a way that Burnham doesn’t. His low-level duplicity is factored in, and it’s hard to judge him for it because, well, it’s just what he’s like, isn’t it? For a long time, the Tory leadership’s line on London’s last mayor was “Boris is Boris”, meaning, look, we don’t trust him either, but what you gonna do? Well: Sadiq is Sadiq.

Even the names we refer to them by suggest that one of these two guys is viewed very differently from the other. I’ve instinctively slipped into referring to the mayor of London by his first name: he’s always Sadiq, not Khan, just as his predecessors were Boris and Ken. But, despite Eoin Clarke’s brief attempt to promote his 2015 leadership campaign with a twitter feed called “Labour Andy”, Burnham is still Burnham: formal, not familiar. 

I’ve a few theories to explain all this, though I’ve no idea which is correct. For a while I’ve assumed it’s about sincerity. When Sadiq Khan mentions his dad’s bus for the 257th time in a day, he does it with a wink to the audience, making a crack about the fact he won’t stop going on about it. That way, the message gets through to the punters at home who are only half listening, but the bored lobby hacks who’ve heard this routine two dozen times before feel they’re in the joke.

Burnham, it seems to me, lacks this lightness of touch: when he won’t stop banging on about the fact he grew up in the north, it feels uncomfortably like he means it. And to take yourself seriously in politics is sometimes to invite others to make jokes at your expense.

Then again, perhaps the problem is that Burnham isn’t quite sincere enough. Sadiq Khan genuinely is the son of a bus-driving immigrant: he may keep going on about it, but it is at least true. Burnham’s “just a northern lad” narrative is true, too, but excludes some crucial facts: that he went to Cambridge, and was working in Parliament aged 24. Perhaps that shouldn’t change how we interpret his story; but I fear, nonetheless, it does.

Maybe that’s not it, though: maybe I’m just another London media snob. Because Burnham did grow up at the disadvantaged end of the country, a region where, for too many people, chasing opportunities means leaving. The idea London is a city where the son of a bus driver can become mayor flatters our metropolitan self-image; the idea that a northerner who wants to build a career in politics has to head south at the earliest opportunity does the opposite. 

So if we roll our eyes when Burnham talks about the north, perhaps that reflects badly on us, not him: the opposite of northern chippiness is southern snobbery.

There’s one last possibility for why we may rate Sadiq Khan more highly than Andy Burnham: Sadiq Khan won. We can titter a little at the jokes and the fibs but he is, nonetheless, mayor of London. Andy Burnham is just the bloke who lost two Labour leadership campaigns.

At least – for now. In six weeks time, he’s highly likely to the first mayor of Greater Manchester. Slipperiness is not the worst quality in a mayor; and so much of the job will be about banging the drum for the city, and the region, that Burnham’s tendency to wear his northernness on his sleeve will be a positive boon.

Sadiq Khan’s stature has grown because the fact he became London’s mayor seems to say something, about the kind of city London is and the kind we want it to be. Perhaps, after May, Andy Burnham can do the same for the north – and the north can do the same for Andy Burnham.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.