Miliband and the Blairites have more in common than they suggest

A leader who has explicitly "turned the page on New Labour" makes many of the same compromises and electoral calculations as the former prime minister and his allies.

There are only two things that former ministers – the big beasts of a party – can be in relation to an incumbent leader: silent or unhelpful. To offer advice in public is to imply that private counsel has not been sought or not been heeded. No veteran politician thinks his experience is worthless or irrelevant so the very act of commenting in public contains a rebuke to the younger generation, which is why no amount of code and caveat prevents it being reported as such. 

So it was with Tony Blair’s comments in the centenary edition of the New Statesman, Peter Mandelson and Alan Milburn in the Independent, David Blunkett in the Observer and John Reid all contributing to the discussion of what Ed Miliband should be doing. Not silent, therefore not helpful. That isn’t a comment on their collective insight or entitlement to an opinion it is just a fact of the way news reporting works.

Ed Miliband would be foolish to ignore the views of those with more experience of ministerial office and of beating Tories in elections than is currently amassed on the opposition front bench. As it happens, Miliband doesn’t entirely ignore the views of senior figures in his party. But what he has done is express doubt that their prescriptions for success, fashioned to meet the demands of political combat 1994-2010, are transferable to Labour’s current task.

This is widely interpreted as a move to the left. Partly it is. Miliband and some of his closest advisors believe that the New Labour project was corrupted by excessive deference to a super-rich financial elite, that it was too credulous about the supposed benefits of introducing competitive market forces into public services and too squeamish in expressing the potential merits of government intervention generally.

Milibandism holds that Blairite accommodations with free-wheeling, turbo-capitalism, while understandable in the mid-90s, are no longer required. Nor are they thought to be what the majority of British people want now that they have seen the destructive potential of that model fully realised in the financial crisis. In short, a tack to the left, but on the presumption that the centre isn’t where it used to be.

It is hardly surprising that senior figures on the retired Blairite side of the party think those are hazardous assumptions. No-one likes to see their professional work denigrated. (But it is worth noting also how irrational it would be for any party leader to follow without deviation the methods and policies of his predecessors.)

Whether or not Miliband’s judgment about the shifting geometry of British politics is sound will become clear soon enough. Meanwhile, he would not even have the job without explicit efforts in the 2010 contest to distance himself from Blair and his works. Regardless of what that says about Labour’s – or more precisely trade union bosses’ – ambivalent relationship with a thrice election-winning leader, it was effective campaigning politics on Miliband’s part. He shrewdly gamed his party’s prejudices to present himself as the compromise candidate of post-Blair social democratic restoration.

Much of his leadership energy has subsequently been spent shoring up that position so he now has an unshakeable claim to occupy the centre ground of Labour, if not the country. If Miliband does win an election from that stance he will arrive in Downing Street with an advantage that David Cameron never had – a victory that party and leader can own together. Cameron revelled in his dissimilarity to the average Tory and his MPs have never forgiven the insult.

Given all of this, the remarkable thing is not how far Miliband has shifted to the left, but how little. So he likes a 50p top rate of tax for high earners. It is a very popular policy that some Tories privately concede they should not have abandoned. So he resists the effective privatisation of swathes of public services, especially in the NHS. In so doing he reflects a suspicion held by millions of non-aligned voters about the deleterious effect of market forces in health and education. A Labour government would almost certainly adjust the governance system and admissions process that applies to academies and free schools. It would not enact some great restoration to pre-Blair education structures. "One Nation" Labour is hardly Bennism 2.0.

Meanwhile, Labour has accepted the public sector pay freeze and recognised, in theory at least, the obligation to reform welfare spending (including a cap of some kind). Miliband promises to impose more rigorous controls on immigration.

These are compromises that have disappointed some sections Labour party, enraged others. On the left there has been little doubt what force is to blame – the wicked residue of Blairism. Inside Westminster it is obvious that the Cult of Tony is a depleted band of refugees with their haggard faces pressed hungrily against the Miliband shop front. Yet in leftier corners of the national party there endures a myth of the Zombie Blairites whose instincts are crypto-Tory and who wield tremendous power and influence. Their sinister bastion is held to be the campaign group Progress, depicted as an engine of wild capitalist entryism. (It isn’t.

Of course, that interpretation is handy to some figures in the trade union movement who would otherwise have to explain why the candidate they advised their members to elect is not behaving as advertised. Likewise, there have been advantages for Miliband in having on his right flank a diminished but conspicuous Blair-loving tendency that serves as scapegoat in the party for any distasteful compromises that need making with public opinion.

But if it were true that Blairites were such a powerful influence, why on earth would they be putting their delicately worded doses of advice in the pages of magazines and newspapers? If they had any strings to pull, they would be pulling them. They would not be writing opinion pieces or giving interviews advertising their impotence. There lies the real significance of the veterans’ interventions of the past few days. If there is a coded message it needs to be heeded not by the leadership but by the left of the party and it is this: your wish is granted, Blairism is repudiated, the ideological treason you despised is reversed. And yet a leader who isn’t Blair and who has explicitly "turned the page on New Labour" makes many of the same compromises and electoral calculations as the Blairites. Miliband has as much room to move left as he wants. There is no external impediment, no zombie grip on his shoulder. The lurch is there for the making. But for all the fervent hopes of Tories that he will do it and their spin that he already has done it, really he hasn’t. Why not? What is stopping him? What is preventing Miliband from becoming the ultimate fantasy candidate of the anti-Blair revanche? No one but Miliband himself and his ambition to win an election.

Tony Blair talks with Ed Miliband during a Loyal Address service to mark the Queen's Diamond Jubilee at Westminster Hall. Photograph: Getty Images.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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