Conservative Party conference in 2008. Very white. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Does the Tory party understand non-white people?

The real reasons why so many black and Asian people refuse to vote Conservative.

David Cameron made the welcome point this week that black and minority ethnic (BME) communities must be given greater respect if the Conservative party intends to win the next general election. Pointing to research  showing that only 16 per cent of BME voters support the Conservatives while two thirds voted Labour, he deserves  a great deal of credit given the vitriol that calls for BME representation receive from within the party’s right wing. When Sayeeda Warsi was appointed as Conservative Party chairman, a cynical response followed from the influential Tory website ConservativeHome, where Nile Gardiner commented that appointing someone with her views was “the wrong signal at a time when Britain is fighting a global war against Islamic terrorism and extremism”.

Within the parliamentary party, modernising voices are calling for change. Conservative Party Vice Chairman, Alok Sharma, is responsible for developing the strategy to encourage greater BME participation. He recently blogged the case for listed companies to reveal how many employees come from BME backgrounds and to state numbers represented on boards or at senior level. Croydon Central MP, Gavin Barwell, has also come out in support of Cameron’s plea to the party and said the party “faces an existential threat if it does not increase support among voters from minority communities.”

But before anyone begins to think that with all this support coming from the leadership, BME communities have “never had it so good” it may be worth looking again at the remedies being proposed and being honest about the real reasons why so many black and Asian people refuse to vote Conservative.

The Independent newspaper reported that MPs are being urged to ramp up their ethnic minority PR to win favour. Instructions to get more coverage in ethnic-minority press, attend key events, and hit TV and radio stations with BME friendly messages are the order of the day. As noble an idea as this might first appear, other rather more substantive factors need “fessing up” to head on.

Research by Tory peer and pollster, Lord Ashcroft, shows that Bangladeshi and Black African respondents were the most likely to say Labour “shares my values” (74 per cent and 81 per cent). Only 16 per cent of Black Caribbean respondents said the Conservative Party “shares my values”. At the same time, the research concludes for British Muslims voters, there is a “perception that the Conservative Party does not stand for fairness, is actively hostile to people from different ethnic and religious backgrounds, and that its policies have shown this to be the case, were the strongest factors for Muslims who say they would never vote Tory.”

I can understand how views like this are incubated. As a recent – now former – conservative local councillor at Reigate and Banstead Borough Council in Surrey, I asked for a break between the Christian vicar-led prayers and the beginning of council meetings. Sadly, I was not too shocked on receiving an email from an executive member of council - copied to the rest of the Conservative group – which read: “As far as I am concerned the most basic gift we can offer the minorities is the one we all enjoy and that is freedom. Freedom to not attend, walk away, or go somewhere else if you don't like the way we live.”  This view was shared unanimously by the other Conservative members. On my part, I was keen to serve another term, but the local party was not quite so keen.

Similarly, when the first ever black MP was selected to serve my constituency, East Surrey, an emergency general meeting had to be called soon afterwards as party members refused to deliver leaflets because they were “unhappy” about the result. No doubt, many of the few BME Tory activists will also have their own stories to tell. Although I could cite numerous other incidents, I remain a Conservative party supporter. Perhaps real change is possible for the next generation of Tories taking up office? 

 But without real change on the ground – in constituencies and local conservative groups - PR campaigns are likely to be interpreted as “spin”. Lazy thinking such as the idea that black and Asian people mainly live in Labour seats is something that needs to be challenged within the party at every level. As Mehdi Hasan notes: “In 14 of the top 50 seats where the Tories narrowly came second to Labour in 2010, non-white voters made up more than 10 per cent of the population.”

Some Tories are even arguing that BME communities are over-represented in lower socio-economic groups and so more likely to vote labour. I doubt that past leaders, Margaret Thatcher and John Major would subscribe to this view, nor most likely would much of the white working class – another important part of the community Tories need to win the next election. Without change, I can easily imagine a world where the Tory party follows the Republicans’ trajectory to irrelevance amongst black and Asian people. Just as the GOP reached out to their right-wing in the misguided belief that getting their vote out would make up for lost BME votes, the Tory party runs a real risk of pandering to the vocal neo-conservative and right wing at home.

More effort in reaching out to BME communities will undoubtedly help, especially in the 14 marginal constituencies such as Birmingham Edgbaston, Tooting, and Luton South. However, the party needs to challenge itself on the question of what values it shares with BME voters? Being told to “go home” if we don’t like how things are being done is not a strategy that resonated well with me. I doubt it is likely to work too well on the electorate in Birmingham, or at my home, Surrey. 

Update, 29 December 19.50: This piece originally attributed remarks about the appointment of Sayeeda Warsi to Tim Montgomerie, editor of Conservative Home. They were in fact made by CH contributor Nile Gardiner. This has been corrected.

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Why don’t we talk about the pain of friendship break ups?

Breaking up with a friend is hard to do – society should give more weight to the process.

Countless songs have been written about heartbreak; we recall the disintegration of our romantic entanglements as pivotal moments in our lives; being "dumped" by a boyfriend or girlfriend is understood as a kind of trauma that requires "healing" and a "mourning period". But what of the friendship break up?

It's only recently that we've begun to have public conversations about the difficulties of losing a friend, and those conversations aren't even very good ones. A new web series, Ex-Best, explores the issue in a jokey way, exaggerating awkward situations among ex-friends who still work together or are – gasp – invited to the same dinner party, and a couple self-helpy articles will come out every year, offering advice on "How to Break Up with a Toxic Friend," but the actual impact of ending a friendship remains mostly unacknowledged.

This strange cultural silence around the sadness and, yes, grief one can experience after being rejected by a friend makes what can be a confusing situation feel even more disquieting.

I'd known my friend Will since I was a teenager and, while our friendship had waxed and waned over the years, as most do, I considered him one of my dearest friends. We'd spent countless evenings drinking wine at the beach or watching Drunk History, drunk (to fully appreciate the experience, of course), ranting about feminism and gossiping about friends. We'd shared a mutual friendship group for almost two decades. So after months of being brushed off and noticeably not invited to gatherings that had always been social staples, I couldn't ignore the fact that something was up. But what?

This is the thing with friend break ups – there is no social expectation of "processing" or that the "dumper" must offer an explanation for their sudden departure. Ghosting, something seen as a terrible faux-pas in the context of a long-term romantic partnership, is a perfectly acceptable way to end a friendship.

Friends don't go to couples counselling, they aren't expected to offer a legitimate and logical explanation for wanting to "break up", there is no effort to "work things out", and no "we have to talk". The dumpee is left only with an awkward series of unreturned texts, a few half-hearted excuses for being unable to meet up for drinks on any single evening for six months, and a mysterious missing invitation to the annual Christmas party your friend has thrown every year for a decade.

Was Will angry with me? Was it something personal? Now he had a wife and child, maybe his childless, single friends like me no longer fit into his dad lifestyle? It was strange not to know. Had Will been a boyfriend, we would have had a number of explosive arguments, teary counselling sessions, promises to do better, to communicate more honestly, to stop eating all of my yoghurt in the middle of the night, don't use my expensive moisturiser, and why can't you ever ask me about my life? I'm interesting.

When our romantic partnerships end, we usually know why. If not, it's at least expected that words will be exchanged: "We've grown apart." "I want to see other people." "You have no interests." "For the last time, it's 'mannerism,' not 'aneurysm'." "Are you literally 12?!" Etc. But with friends, for some reason, it's different.

What's strangest about the subject matter is how long it's gone unexplored. Surely we've all experienced the ending of a friendship. In fact, most of us will have more friends in our lifetimes than boyfriends or girlfriends and more friend break ups than divorces – yet we don't treat this particular kind of heartbreak with anywhere near the same kind of compassion we do our intimate partnerships.

There is no widespread social understanding of the pain we're experiencing, no "Nothing Compares 2 U, BFF" or "You've Lost That Buddy Feeling" songs to wallow in, and no "Ten Ways To Get Over A Friend Break Up" articles in Cosmo. Our other friends don't spend hours processing the break up with us, saying, "she probably just loved you too much and it scared her" or "you'll forget all about him as soon as you make a new friend".

It's as though we're expected to feel nothing at all. Which is a pity because losing a friend can be far more painful – and certainly more bewildering – than losing a lover.

The feelings of rejection are all there, but tenfold. When romantic relationships end, it often makes sense. We place expectations on our intimate partnerships that are incredibly high, often unrealistic, and that foster codependence. You end up having the same fights over and over again, often related to the fact that you've decided to live in the same house with this person for the rest of your life, and to share money as well as tiny, stinky, screaming humans. It's not exactly a recipe for success.

But when a person you've known and chosen to spend time with for 20 years, by choice – no contracts, no shared property or beds, no children to raise, no money issues to fight over, no sexual or domestic expectations, no attempts to control who the other befriends or spends time with – suddenly wants nothing to do with you and offers no explanation? That's hard.

I mean, you were friends for a reason, and the reason was simple: you liked each other. So what does it mean when a friend leaves you? There are few explanations aside from, "I guess he just doesn't like me, as a person." Talk about a blow to your heart.

In many ways we set ourselves up for this kind of pain and don't leave room to address our friendship break ups in any way that feels like the "closure" we seek at the end of a romantic relationship. As a society, we place far more value on intimate partnerships (particularly heterosexual ones) than we do on friendship. We do this despite our friends being more likely to be the ones that stick with us until the bitter end, less likely to hurt us as badly as our exes have, and more likely to actually be there through thick and thin, rather than abandoning us and trading us in for a newer, younger friend-model.

We don't tend to choose our friends for superficial reasons, because of hormones, or because of too much whiskey – we choose them because we enjoy their company, because we find them interesting or funny, or because we have shared interests and histories. Naturally, as we get older and our lives change, friends may grow apart as lovers do, but the concerted, sudden, one-sided ending of a friendship doesn't get the respect or attention it deserves. It's socially acceptable.

After Will had avoided making plans with me for months and failed to invite me to his birthday party, I realised this was not just in my head. I finally confronted him – resentful that I'd had to ask, and in effect point out the obvious. I learned little beyond that he had made a decision to no longer be my friend.

I sobbed to my boyfriend the way I would had someone died – but other than that, I was mostly alone in my grief. I felt like I had to simply push that particular heartache out of my mind and move forward as though nothing had happened. Yet I still miss my friend more than I do any ex-boyfriend.

Meghan Murphy is a writer from Vancouver, B.C. Her website is Feminist Current.