Why Labour is now offering MPs a free vote on gay marriage

The party decided to hold a free vote after the government agreed to allow ceremonies in religious buildings.

Ahead of today's statement by equalities minister Maria Miller on gay marriage, there has been some confusion over Labour's position. The party previously indicated that it would impose a three-line whip on its MPs (in favour of the bill), but now appears likely to offer a free vote. However, as one MP explained to me, there's been no U-turn. "The three-line whip only applied to civil ceremonies. Now the government has agreed to allow gay marriages in religious buildings, we will hold a free vote."

Although less numerous than those in the Conservatives, there are some in Miliband's party who are hostile towards gay marriage. Roger Godsiff, the MP for Birmingham Hall Green, has said he will oppose any law "redefining the current definition of marriage", while his parliamentary colleague Austin Mitchell tweeted yesterday: "Gay marriage is neither urgent nor important.It's also a moral issue therefore a free vote on which basis it won't pass". Three other Labour MPs, Jim Dobbin, Joe Benton and Mary Glindon, have signed the Coalition For Marriage petition against the proposal.

The Lib Dems have yet to say whether their MPs will be whipped in favour of gay marriage, but it's worth noting that Nick Clegg has previously criticised David Cameron's decision to offer Conservative MPs a free vote. He told The Andrew Marr Show in May: "My view is that in the same way that the civil partnerships legislation that was introduced under Labour was a whipped vote, I personally don’t think this is something that should be subject to a great free-for-all because we’re not asking people to make a decision of conscience about religion."

Update: The Coalition for Equal Marriage has pointed me towards three other Labour MPs who oppose gay marriage: Brian Donohoe, Paul Murphy, and Stephen Pound.

Ed Miliband records a video for the Out4Marriage campaign in favour of equal marriage.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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I dined behind the Houses of Parliament in my sexually connected foursome

My wife and I would sometimes dine out with another couple. We did not always check the significance of the date. 

I am self-employed and find that working from home, setting your own schedule, the days generally blur into each other, with weekends holding no significance, and public holidays, when those who are employed in factories, offices or shops get time off, meaning nothing. I am often surprised to go out and find the streets empty of traffic because it is some national day of observance, such as Christmas, that I wasn’t aware of. I find myself puzzled as to why the shops are suddenly full of Easter eggs or pancake batter.

Growing up in a Communist household, we had a distinct dislike for this kind of manufactured marketing opportunity anyway. I remember the time my mother tried to make me feel guilty because I’d done nothing for her on Mother’s Day and I pointed out that it was she who had told me that Mother’s Day was a cynical creation of the greetings card monopolies and the floral industrial complex.

Valentine’s Day is one of those I never see coming. It’s the one day of the year when even the worst restaurants are completely booked out by couples attempting to enjoy a romantic evening. Even those old-fashioned cafés you’ll find still lurking behind railway stations and serving spaghetti with bread and butter will tell you there’s a waiting list if you leave it late to reserve a table.

In the late 1980s my wife and I would sometimes dine out with another couple, he a writer and she a TV producer. One particular place we liked was a restaurant attached to a 1930s block of flats, near the Houses of Parliament, where the endless corridors were lined with blank doors, behind which you sensed awful things happened. The steel dining room dotted with potted palm trees overlooked a swimming pool, and this seemed terribly sophisticated to us even if it meant all your overpriced food had a vague taste of chlorine.

The four of us booked to eat there on 14 February, not realising the significance of the date. We found at every other table there was a single couple, either staring adoringly into each other’s eyes or squabbling.

As we sat down I noticed we were getting strange looks from our fellow diners. Some were sort of knowing, prompting smiles and winks; others seemed more outraged. The staff, too, were either simpering or frosty. After a while we realised what was going on: it was Valentine’s Day! All the other customers had assumed that we were a sexually connected foursome who had decided to celebrate our innovative relationship by having dinner together on this special date.

For the four of us, the smirking attention set up a strange dynamic: after that night it always felt like we were saying something seedy to each other. “Do you want to get together on Sunday?” I’d say to one of them on the phone, and then find myself blushing. “I’ll see if we can fit it in,” they’d reply, and we would both giggle nervously.

Things became increasingly awkward between us, until in the end we stopped seeing them completely. 

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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