Lift up your voices: The century-long battle for women's freedom

The <em>NS</em> of 1913 may have been in the vanguard for women’s rights yet its tone was hectoring, even patronising. But today’s popular feminists should not forget that the pioneers’ concerns still have weight.

A hundred years old, the paper feels worn under my fingers but the voice of the elderly New Statesman is still distinctive. I am sitting in the basement of a library, turning the pages of the first issues of the magazine, and it is almost overwhelming just how masculine this voice is.

The only woman who appears regularly in the New Statesman in the early months is its co-founder Beatrice Webb. She is represented in her partnership with Sidney Webb and their solid 22-part series “What is Socialism?”, which dominates the first months of the magazine. Just one instalment of this series is devoted to, as they call it, “freedom for the woman”. In its dogged lines, I find both what must have been most attractive and what may have been most alienating about feminism 100 years ago.

What is attractive is the insistence on material emancipation. After centuries of mystification of the angel of the house, the Webbs are fiercely sure that there is, quite simply, a “loss of personal dignity and personal freedom . . . inherent in dependence on the caprice of another . . . The childbearing woman, like the wage earner, must be set free from economic subjection.” Fifty years before Betty Frie­dan told American housewives the same thing, Beatrice Webb suggested to British housewives that economic dependence was not romantic.

Elsewhere in her life and writing, Webb was often conflicted about feminism and the woman’s role beyond the home. Yet this is a straightforward message of material independence. Even now, we often see Daily Mail columnists bridling at the idea that being financially dependent involves any loss of personal freedom. What a call to arms this must have been 100 years ago.

The argument, however, develops in rather less liberating ways. Economic independence, we learn, will gain for women “the personal dignity and consciousness of freedom on which perfect motherhood, no less than perfect citizenship, really depends”. Perfect motherhood and perfect citizenship? This feels rather too utopian to be fully emancipatory.

Gradually, I start to notice the glowering puritanism underpinning some of their views. The Webbs are scathing about the thought that one might confuse the “freedom of the woman” with “sexual licentiousness”, and they reserve their greatest bile not for the men who oppress women, but for those women who are complicit in their oppression by being lazy: the “unoccupied women, married or unmarried, who are a drag on the civilisation of the race”.

Too often, the Webbs’ work falls into this kind of high-minded hectoring. Reading this article and flicking through the copies of the magazine in which their essays appeared, I feel that I understand more about why feminism sometimes struggled to occupy the central place that it should have had in British society over those years. Not only were women almost excluded from serious debate for most of this time but those women who were allowed into the room, to sit at the table with the men, may not always have been the most welcoming of figures.

I take this exclusion and exclusiveness personally – not just because, as a feminist, I want to hear the full range of voices of those women who were working and agitating over the past century but also because, among all the male voices in the New Statesman in its 100-year history, I hear those of my forefathers.

Just a few pages into this bound volume of the first year of the magazine, for instance, I come across one of my great-grandfathers, S K Ratcliffe. It is part of my family lore that Ratcliffe, a liberal journalist, gave the magazine its title. Having just returned from editing the English- language newspaper the Statesman in India, he apparently suggested the moniker to the founders of the New Statesman.

If my great-grandfather was responsible, even partly, for this masculine title, my father made his own contributions to a tone that could be almost hostile to women’s voices. In an issue of the magazine from 1983, I stumble across one of the many pieces that Nicolas Walter wrote, in which he decries the suggestion that the Greenham Common women might have a point. “Women have been involved in the nuclear disarmament movement on a free and equal basis throughout its existence,” he writes – no matter that women were, at that time, arguing that they needed their own space to organise in the peace movement.

The magazine, then, is a mirror to British society over the past century: male-dominated to the core, even its socialist and progressive core. Yet that is not the only story about the New Statesman and feminism over these 100 years of change. All the time, women’s voices would break in, bringing news of a changing feminism and a changing world. These voices remind us just how diverse, how urgent, how revolutionary feminism has always been, despite all the attempts to marginalise it or fit it into a box.

Next to the Webbs’ high-minded rhe­toric in those early years, for instance, are occasional despatches from one of my favourite feminist writers of the first half of the 20th century, Maud Pember Reeves. What is wonderful about Reeves is her ability to capture not just her views on any issue but the voices of the women who needed change more urgently than anyone. In August 1913, she brings us right into the heart of these women’s lives. This is a short article, simply called “The weighing room”. “It was a cold day,” it begins. “The gas fire was lit . . . The door opened and, one after another, several dismally dressed, silent women carrying babies straggled in.” And there I am in the cold room, with the women and their babies and the weighing scales, watching the determined jollity of the health visitor and the doctor in the face of the malnutrition of the children they are seeing and the poverty of their mothers.

In direct, unrhetorical prose, Reeves brings this scene into sharp light. She may have a cloth ear for how patronising she sometimes sounds when she renders the women’s voices for the New Statesman reader: “An’ wot would I feed ’im on?” one woman asks furiously when the doctor tells her that it’s time to wean her son. “I’m owin’ six shillin’ to a lender, an’ Glover an’ the other five children ter do on 20 bob.”

Yet these stories are urgent and important. If one had been reading the magazine 100 years ago, surely it would have been Reeves’s reportage that would have stirred you to action rather than Webb’s rhetoric. And the legacy of the work of Reeves and others in the socialist movement of the first half of the 20th century was the introduction of maternity and child benefit, vital legislation that directed money from the wallet towards the purse.

As I turn the pages of the magazine, I am also reminded of even greater changes that were afoot, and that these feminists who were stoutly arguing for economic independence and family allowances did not yet even have the vote. Just how heroic the struggle for the vote was is often forgotten. We remember caricatures – even if they are well-meaning caricatures – of women in bonnets and petticoats struggling with blundering bobbies; we remember splits in the movement and flawed leaders. But it takes only a few letters from the pages of the New Statesman to show me that there was a time when there was everything to play for and when political representation really was a matter of life and death, because, as one letter writer notes, the full force of the state was still falling on the protesters and “Mrs Pankhurst’s next re-arrest would probably mean her death”.

That salutary reminder of the urgency of the struggle stresses why we should be so grateful to the feminists of 100 years ago. It is extraordinary to think how much of what feminists in 1913 were dreaming of has come to pass: the then elusive vote and so many of those other aspects of society that we now take for granted – women in government, the Equal Pay Act, child benefit, state support for unwaged mothers, free contraception and abortion, women going to university and into the professions in equal numbers to men, and so on. It is true that women did not speak with a unified voice for all of these steps forward; indeed, at one point Webb was notably opposed to women’s suffrage and she disliked talk of contraception and abortion.

Yet we owe the transformation of our lives to all of them, from the high-minded socialist writers and the brave activists willing to risk their lives to the dogged workers on the front line of poverty. They all did so much to shape the world we see today and to show us that, whatever hurdles lie in front of us, we can be hopeful that change is always possible.

Given its successes, feminism today looks very different from the feminism of 1913. There is, wonderfully and rightly, something much less embattled, much more inclusive and much more relaxed about feminists now. Rather than chasing the chimera of the “perfect mother” and the “perfect citizen”, we can accept one another in our flawed variety. The humourlessness that sometimes characterised women’s politics in the early 20th century has disappeared and many leading voices in contemporary feminism, from Caitlin Moran to the Vagenda magazine, use humour as their main weapon. The new tone of feminism suggests that instead of being furious and earnest all the time, we can begin to enjoy how far we have come.

This humour is hugely attractive to younger women and effective in divesting the enemy of much of his power simply by giggling at him. It rests very much on the progress that has already been made and the ability of the funny feminists to build their audiences through social media and the internet, rather than having to rely exclusively on editors who may not be in on the jokes. Yet I hope that, however much we love the funny feminists, we do not forget to love some of the other aspects of feminism – aspects that may be harder to find on one’s iPhone and harder to laugh about.

The unifying force of the movement for suffrage is not going to be seen again in our generation. But I can still see the power of activism and it is heartening to see women still coming together to dem­onstrate this power through action in everyday life, not just over the internet or through the published word. Over the past 12 months, I have taken part in a lobby of parliament organised by UK Feminista; in One Billion Rising, an international day of activism against violence against women organised by V-Day; and in a number of conferences and public gatherings at which women are learning from one another face to face.

Such activity can sometimes feel time-consuming and frustratingly slow but it also leaves me with a renewed understanding of the process of creating change. And that is vital, because even though feminism has achieved so much, there is still so much to be done. While this government is making decisions on benefits, education and housing that are forcing more women and children into poverty, we have to protest. While women are still experiencing rape and sexual assault in their everyday lives and finding that the perpetrators walk free, we need to stand up for change. While women are still too often absent from public life, we need to make sure our voices are heard loudly, even angrily.

The other crucial aspect of feminism that should not be forgotten is the importance of listening to stories about what goes on beyond the comfort of our lives. There is always time to make jokes about thongs and pubic waxing or about women’s magazines and bad sex but funny feminism is not always great at bringing in other issues. After all, there is not much to laugh about in women having to queue at food banks, or being trafficked into forced prostitution or being killed in the name of honour.

My plea to British feminists to make sure that they do not forget about these other areas of inequality is not a plea to revive a well-meaning but clonking Victorian philanthropy. Feminists throughout the ages have sometimes displayed a misplaced desire to go out into the workhouses of the world to hold up other women’s misery for our edification – yet surely we can learn from the open eyes and open ears of Maud Pember Reeves. She found untold stories in the weighing rooms of London, stories that laid the foundations for the movement towards maternity and child benefit. There are still untold – or unheard – stories today: of the poverty in this country and how it is affecting a new generation of mothers and children. And there are still women who are rarely heard, even though they are not distant from us.

For instance, every week, I go to work at Women for Refugee Women. To this organisation’s building off City Road in London, women come from all over the world – from Afghanistan, from Iraq, from Congo, from Somalia – with their tales of trafficking and honour killing and violence. Their experiences are often horrific, but what is so extraordinary is not just the violence but the fact of their survival, and their determination to speak out and continue to build solidarity and a better world.

Recently I worked with some of the women in our network to record their views of what was holding women back in their home countries. They talked about the lack of female political representation in Afghanistan, honour crimes in Iraq and the legacy of war in South Sudan. However, they were also keen to talk about how to move forwards and they kept repeating words such as “sisterhood” and “action”. Although the odds against it may seem overwhelming, I cannot help but believe that women across the globe are working for a more equal and safer society.

Feminist history teaches us to be hopeful, however tempered and realistic our optimism must be. Looking back over the past 100 years, I can see clearly the change that has happened and is still happening, not just in this magazine but throughout public debate. Women are still under-represented, but they are represented much more frequently than they used to be. Their voices are now myriad: they are funny but also angry; they are middle class and also working class; they are western but also from a range of cultures; they are high-minded and also filthy-minded.

To be sure, the world is a more complicated place than some feminists thought it would be 100 years ago, but it is also a world with more reasons to be hopeful. The path to women’s freedom may be more fraught than many expected, but there are many more women walking it now.

Natasha Walter is the founder of Women for Refugee Women

Featured artwork: Cindy Sherman (born 1954) is one of the most influential artists of our time. Her exhibition “Untitled Horrors” opens at the Astrup Fearnley Museet in Oslo, Norway, on 4 May: afmuseet.no

Cindy Sherman's Untitled (2010/2011). Image: Metro Pictures.

Natasha Walter is the founder of Women for Refugee Women, @4refugeewomen

This article first appeared in the 12 April 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Centenary Special Issue

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How Jeremy Corbyn won the Labour leadership election

The revolt against the leader transformed him from an incumbent back into an insurgent. 

On the evening of 12 July, after six hours of talks, Jeremy Corbyn emerged triumphantly from Labour’s headquarters. “I’m on the ballot paper!” he told supporters gathered outside. “We will be campaigning on all the things that matter.”

The contest that Corbyn’s opponents had sought desperately to avoid had begun. Neither a vote of no confidence by 81 per cent of Labour MPs, nor 65 frontbench resignations had persuaded him to stand down. Days of negotiations led by Tom Watson had failed (“For years I’ve been told that I’m a fixer. Well, I tried to fix this and I couldn’t,” Labour’s deputy leader sorrowfully told the parliamentary party). The rebels’ last hope was that the National Executive Committee would force Corbyn to reseek nominations. After being backed by just 40 colleagues in the confidence vote, both sides knew that the leader would struggle to achieve 51 signatures.

But by 18-14, the NEC ruled that Corbyn would be automatically on the ballot (“Watson, Watson, what’s the score?” chanted jubilant aides in the leader’s office). After withstanding a 16-day revolt, Corbyn appeared liberated by the prospect of a summer of campaigning. His confidence prefigured the outcome two months later.

Corbyn did not merely retain the leadership - he won by a greater margin than last time (with 61.8 per cent of the vote to last year's 59.5 per cent) and triumphed among all three sections: party members, affiliated supporters and registered supporters. The rebels had hoped to narrow his mandate and win among at least one group: they did neither. Far from being a curse for Corbyn, the contest proved to be a blessing. 

***

The day before the pivotal NEC meeting, Angela Eagle, who had been preparing to stand for months, launched her leadership bid. The former shadow business secretary was admired by MPs for her experience, tenacity, and economic acumen. Her trade union links and soft left background were further cited in favour of her candidacy.

But after an underwhelming launch, which clashed with Andrea Leadsom’s withdrawal from the Conservative contest (leaving Eagle calling questions from absent journalists), MPs gravitated towards Owen Smith.

Like Eagle, Smith hailed from the party’s soft left and had initially served under Corbyn (two prerequisites in the rebels’ eyes). But unlike her, the former shadow and work pensions secretary did not vote for the Iraq war (having entered parliament in 2010) or the 2015 Syria intervention. “It looks like the war party,” a senior Corbynite said of Eagle’s campaign launch with Hilary Benn. Many Labour MPs feared the same. With the left-leaning Lisa Nandy having ruled herself out, only the ambitious Smith met the criteria.

“I’d been in hospital for two days with my brother, who was unwell, in south Wales,” he recalled when I interviewed him.  “I came out having literally been in A&E at Cardiff Heath hospital for 29 hours, looking after him, to have my phone light up with 30, 40, 50 colleagues, MPs and members, ringing up saying ‘there’s going to be a contest, Angela Eagle has thrown her hat into the ring, you should do likewise.’ And at that point, on the Wednesday night, I started ringing people to test opinion and found that there was a huge amount of support for me.”

On 19 July, after Smith won 90 MP/MEP nominations to Eagle’s 72, the latter withdrew in favour of the Welshman. A week after the Conservatives achieved their second female prime minister, Labour’s 116-year record of all-male leaders endured. Though Smith vowed that Eagle would be “at my right hand throughout this contest”, she went on to appear at just one campaign event.

Corbyn’s challenger was embraced by MPs as a “clean skin”, untainted by service during the New Labour years. But Smith’s non-parliamentary past was swiftly - and ruthlessly - exploited by his opponents. His time at the US drugs firm Pfizer was cited as evidence of his closeness to big business. Corbyn’s supporters also seized on interviews given by Smith as a by-election candidate in 2006.

The man pitching to the left was found to have defended Tony Blair (suggesting that they differed only over the Iraq war), supported private sector involvement in the NHS and praised city academies. “I'm not someone, frankly, who gets terribly wound up about some of the ideological nuances,” he told Wales Online. Such lines were rapidly disseminated by Corbyn supporters through social media.

“Getting out early and framing Owen was crucial,” a Corbyn source told me. A Smith aide echoed this assessment: “It helped secure their base, it took a load of people out of contention.”

Throughout the campaign, Smith would struggle to reconcile his past stances with his increasingly left-wing programme: opposing private provision in the NHS, returning academy schools to local authority control, banning zero-hours contracts and imposing a wealth tax of 1 per cent. “It was easy for us to go for the jugular over his background when he portrayed himself as a left candidate,” a Corbyn source said.

Smith insisted that the charge of opportunism was unmerited. “To be honest, my opponents have extrapolated rather a lot in an attempt to brand me as a ‘Blairite wolf in sheep’s clothing,’” he told me in August. “Well, I’m nothing of the sort, I’ve always been a democratic socialist and I always will be.” He added: “I’m someone who’s been surrounded by people who’ve been on the left of the Labour movement all their lives. It should come as no surprise that I’ve come out of that background and I’m pretty red. Because I am.”

But a former shadow cabinet colleague said that Smith did not stand out as “a radical” in meetings. “The only time that I remember him becoming really animated was over further tax-raising powers for Scotland and the implications for Wales.”

As well as Smith’s ambiguous past, Corbyn’s allies believe the breadth of his political coalition hindered him from the start. “He was trying to bring together Blairites, Brownites and every other -ite in between,” a campaign source said. “That was never going to hold, we knew that and from the moment there were splits it was easy to point out.”

Jon Trickett, the shadow business secretary and one of Corbyn’s early supporters, told me: “They tried to pretend that there was no distinction between them and Jeremy on policy grounds, they tried to narrow down the areas of difference to electability. But, frankly, it didn’t seem credible since some of the people behind it were absolutely ideologically opposed to Jeremy. Peter Mandelson and people like that.”

A frequently expressed charge was that Smith’s left-wing pledges would be overturned by Blairite figures if he won. John McGeechan, a 22-year-old postgraduate student who joined Labour after “self-indulgent, self-serving MPs initiated their corridor coup”, told me of Smith: “He’s just another mealy-mouthed careerist who says whatever he thinks is going to get him elected. I don’t believe at all that he means what he says about creating a radical socialist government given that he’s got the backing of Peter Mandelson, Alastair Campbell and Tony Blair, people who’ve disagreed with Corbyn on pretty much all his socialist policies. I don’t believe that he’s going to stand up to these people.”

Whether believable or not, Smith’s programme showed how Corbyn had shifted Labour’s centre of gravity radically leftwards - his original aim in June 2015.

***

On the night Corbyn made the leadership ballot, the rebels still found cause for hope. Unlike in 2015, the NEC imposed a freeze date of six months on voting (excluding 130,000 new members) and increased the registered supporter fee from £3 to £25 (while reducing the sign-up period to two days). “It’s game on!” a senior figure told me. By narrowing the selectorate, Corbyn’s opponents hoped to achieve a path to victory. With fewer registered supporters (84 per cent of whom voted for Corbyn last year), they believed full party members and affiliated trade unionists could carry Smith over the line.

But when 183,000 paid £25 to vote, their expectations were confounded. Far from being “game on”, it looked to many rebels like game over. Once again, Corbyn’s opponents had underestimated the left’s recruiting capacity. Smith’s lack of name recognition and undistinctive pitch meant he could not compete.

Alongside the main contest were increasingly fractious legal battles over voting rights. On 28 July, the high court rejected Labour donor Michael Foster’s challenge to Corbyn’s automatic inclusion on the ballot. Then on 8 August, a judge ruled that the party had wrongly excluded new members from voting, only for the decision to be overturned on appeal.

In the view of Corbyn’s allies, such legal manevoures unwittingly aided him. “They turned Jeremy, who was an incumbent, back into an insurgent,” Trickett told me. “The proponents of the challenge made it seem like he was the underdog being attacked by the establishment.”

Smith, who repeatedly framed himself as the “unity candidate”, struggled to escape the shadow of the “corridor coup”. That many of his supporters had never accepted Corbyn’s leadership rendered him guilty by association.

“The coup had an enormous galvanising effect and an enormous politicising effect,” a Corbyn source told me. “For a great number of people who supported Jeremy last year, there was a feeling, ‘well, we’ve done the work, that’s happened, now over to him.’ What the coup meant for a lot of people was that this isn’t about Jeremy Corbyn, this is a people’s movement, which we all need to lead.” The Corbyn campaign signed up 40,000 volunteers and raised £300,000 in small donations from 19,000 people (with an average donation of £16). Against this activist army, their rivals’ fledgling effort stood no chance.

“At the launch rally, we had 12 simultaneous events going on round the country, livestreamed to each other,” a Corbyn source said. “We had a lot of communication with people who were big in the Sanders campaign. In the UK context, it’s trailblazing.”

On 12 August, after previously equivocating, Smith ruled out returning to the shadow cabinet under Corbyn. “I've lost confidence in you. I will serve Labour on the backbenches,” he declared at a hustings in Gateshead. In the view of Corbyn’s team, it was a fatal error. “He shot apart his whole unity message,” a source said.

Smith, who initially offered Corbyn the post of party president, was rarely booed more than when he lamented Labour’s divisions. As one of the 172 MPs who voted against the leader, he was regarded as part of the problem, rather than the solution. By the end, Smith was reduced to insisting “I wasn’t in favour of there being a challenge” - a statement that appeared absurd to most.

As well as his leftist credentials and unifying abilities, Smith’s other main boast was his competence and articulacy. “HIs USP was that he was this media-savvy guy,” a Corbyn source said. “As a result, he threw himself up for any and every media opportunity and made tons of gaffes. We just made sure people were aware of them.”

The most enduring gaffe came early in the campaign, on 27 July, when he spoke of wanting mto “smash” Theresa May “back on her heels”. Though Smith initially defended his “robust rhetoric” (“you’ll be getting that from me”), by the afternoon his campaign had apologised. What was explained as a “rugby reference” dogged them for weeks. “It played into the hands of how Corbyn wanted to depict us,” a Smith source told me. “It was really hard to shake off.”

More unforced errors followed. Smith suggested getting Isis “round the table”, in anticipation, many believed, of Corbyn agreeing. But the Labour leader baulked at the proposal: “No, they are not going to be round the table”. Corbyn’s communications team, more organised and agile than in 2015, denounced Smith’s remarks as “hasty and ill-considered”. As with “smashed”, the Labour challenger had achieved rare cut-through - but for the wrong reasons.

Smith’s rhetorical looseness became a recurring problem. At a rally on 23 August, he appeared to refer to Corbyn as a “lunatic”. In an interview with the Daily Mirror, he said of meeting his wife: “1,200 boys, three girls and I pulled Liz. So I must have something going on. That must be leadership.”

Earlier in the campaign, Smith’s team denied that the candidate referred to the size of his penis when he quipped of his height: "5ft 6. 29 inches - inside leg!” The guffaws from his supporters suggested otherwise.

We used to have a gaffe counter,” a Corbyn source told me. “I think it got up to 30 by the end.”

Smith’s team, meanwhile, despaired at how the Labour leader’s own missteps failed to dent him. The discovery that Corbyn had in fact secured a seat on a Virgin train, contrary to initial impressions, did little lasting damage. “It’s priced in, the bar is much lower for him,” a Smith source complained.

Incorrect claims, such as Labour being level in the polls before the coup attempt and Corbyn giving 122 speeches during the EU referendum campaign, were believed by many of his supporters. “How do you rebut bullshit?” a Smith aide asked. “If you respond, it becomes a story.”

So frequently had Labour MPs condemned their leader that extraordinary charges were soon forgotten. On 22 August, shadow business minister Chi Onwurah wrote in the New Statesman that Corbyn’s treatment of her and Thangam Debbonaire could constitute “racial discrimination”.

If this had been any of my previous employers in the public and private sectors Jeremy might well have found himself before an industrial tribunal for constructive dismissal, probably with racial discrimination thrown in,” she argued. But within a day, the story had moved on.  

For Smith, fleeting momentum was achieved through significant endorsements. On 10 August, the GMB backed his campaign after becoming the only trade union to ballot its members. The following week, Labour’s most senior elected politician, Sadiq Khan, endorsed Smith. Unlike Andy Burnham, the London mayor believed he could not remain neutral during this profound schism. Smith was subsequently also backed by the Scottish Labour leader, Kezia Dugdale. Neil Kinnock and Ed Miliband trumpeted his cause. Yet such declarations counted for little. “It’s like the Remain campaign and the Archbishop of Canterbury,” one Smith ally told me, suggesting that Labour members, like Leave voters, ”weren’t listening” to such grandees.

But in the view of Corbyn’s team, the rebels profoundly “underestimated” their opponent. “He’s a nice guy but he also has an inner steel and won't flinch from a challenge. The Obi-Wan Kenobi comparison is very accurate when you work up close with him. He’s also extremely intelligent and has a great grasp and retention of detail. It showed in the debates.”

“I have to say, I felt pretty sorry for Owen at several points,” another Corbyn source reflected. “Whatever it was, his ambition or being pushed into it, it didn’t seem like it was the right time for him. He hadn’t worked out what he was about and why that fitted with the times.”

***

Those Labour MPs who long warned that an early challenge to Corbyn would prove futile have been vindicated. “Party members are always loyal to the incumbent,” a senior source astutely noted. In the case of Corbyn, a lifelong campaigner, who many contended was “never given a chance”, this traditional fealty was intensified.

“Most of the people backing and funding him didn’t think Owen was going to win,” a Corbyn source said. “Their aim was, one, to reduce Jeremy’s mandate and, secondly, to map the selectorate.”

Having won a second leadership contest - an unprecedented achievement for the Labour left - the leader’s supporters insist their ambitions do not end here. “We’ve got to think incredibly seriously about how we win a general election in a totally changed landscape,” a Corbyn source told me. “This campaign has been showing how to do it.” But a Smith aide warned that it was a “massive strategic error” to make electability, rather than principle, the defining test of Corbyn. The leader, he suggested, could withstand a general election defeat provided he simply affirmed his values.

Beyond regarding a split as worthless, Labour MPs are divided on how to proceed. Some want another leadership challenge as early as next year. Rather than seeking to narrow the selectorate, they speak of recruiting hundreds of thousands of new members to overpower the left. “There are lots of people out there who want a credible, electable, centre-left proposition and we have not given them enough of a reason to sign up,” a former shadow cabinet minister told me. “Who has an offer and the charisma to be able to bring in new people? That has to be the question the next time round.”

Others believe that backbenchers should follow Thumper’s law: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”  A senior MP argued that MPs should “just shut up” and “let Jeremy crack on with it.” The imperative, he said, was to avoid MPs “taking the blame for us getting thumped in a snap election”. Some are prepared to move beyond neutrality to outright support by serving under Corbyn.

The Labour left and their most recalcitrant opponents both confront challenges of electability. The former must demonstrate a path to victory despite Corbyn’s subterranean poll ratings. The latter, who boast so often of their superior appeal, must face a remorseless truth. Until they are electable in the party, they will never be electable in the country.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.