What Jon Cruddas's speech told us about Labour's policy review

The head of Labour's policy review hints that a mass programme of housebuilding will be a priority for the party.

Jon Cruddas's speech to the Resolution Foundation last night on "earning and belonging" was, in common with all of his addresses, thoughtful, intellectually rich and imbued with a rare sense of history. But anyone hoping for specifics from the head of Labour's policy review would have left disappointed. Cruddas described the review as being in its "first phase" and promised that over the next 12 months major pieces of work would be completed on "childhood, the Condition of Britain [Cruddas will deliver an IPPR lecture on this subject next Thursday], a British Investment Bank, infrastructure and voctional education". After the 2013 conference, he added, the review would enter a "second phase" before the policies "distil into a manifesto and pledge cards" after the 2014 conference.

There were, however, several important hints of Labour's priorities. In one of the most memorable passages, Cruddas lamented that while the government spends £1.2bn on housebuilding, it spends twenty times that amount on "rental payments to landlords". Not only was this a good example of how Labour is seeking to reframe the debate around welfare policy (Cruddas referred to "rent payments", rather than housing benefit), it also suggested that one of the party's key pledges will be a mass programme of housebuilding. 

In another intriguing section of the speech, Cruddas spoke of how Labour was exploring new ways of holding "our public institutions" to account and generating "a sense of ownership and responsibility". He cited the BBC, the police, Parliament and the City of London. Tessa Jowell's recent piece for the Telegraph calling for the BBC to be turned into "the country’s biggest mutual, with 26.8 million licence-fee payers as its shareholders", is a good example of the form this could take in practice. 

The line that has attracted the most attention is Cruddas's warning that "simply opposing the cuts without an alternative is no good." (He added: "It fails to offer reasonable hope. The stakes are high because when hope is not reasonable despair becomes real.") 

On one level this is a statement of the obvious. But it also points to a significant divide in Labour between those who believe there is nothing wrong with the economy that a bit of Keynesian stimulus won't fix and those who believe that capitalism needs to be fundamentally remade (Raf has neatly characterised this as a battle between Brown Labour and Blue). Cruddas's words made it clear that he intends to position Labour on the latter half of this divide. 

Jon Cruddas, the MP for Dagenham and Rainham and the head of Labour's policy review. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt