The New Labour That Wasn’t: lessons for Miliband

If there is a lesson to be learned from the road not taken by New Labour, it is that economic reform and political reform are necessarily connected.

Labour currently faces a period of challenging redefinition. New Labour is emphatically over and done. But as New Labour recedes into the past, it is possible to speak of a road not taken – the ‘New Labour That Wasn’t? And what relevance does it have for Labour today?

The New Labour That Wasn’t found expression in a number of important works from the mid-1980s to the mid-1990s. Perhaps the key early contribution was David Marquand’s The Unprincipled Society, followed by Paul Hirst’s After Thatcher and Associative Democracy. Will Hutton’s The State We’re In (1995) arguably pulled the ideas together in the way that had the biggest impact. Another important feature of the context was the rise, from 1988, of Charter 88 as a pressure group and wider political movement arguing the case for comprehensive constitutional reform.

The New Labour That Wasn’t argued that the UK’s economic problems had deep institutional roots. In The State We’re In, Hutton argued that the UK’s competitiveness in manufacturing had been undermined historically by the short-termism of the City, making for an excessively high cost of capital and consequent underinvestment. German capitalism, he argued, offered an alternative model based on long-term, ‘patient’ industrial banking. It also illustrated the benefits of structures of governance of the firm that incorporate not only long-term investors but also labour as long-term partners – ‘stakeholders’ – in enterprise management.

For Paul Hirst, the UK’s economic revival depended on manufacturing renewal in particular. At its heart would be small and medium-sized firms adapted to the production of high-quality goods, targeted to the needs of varied customers, on the basis of highly and broadly skilled workforce. Institutionally, Hirst argued, this kind of production is supported by ‘corporatist’ arrangements that facilitate collaboration between labour and capital, as well as a strong regional dimension to economic growth strategy.

The second key plank of the New Labour That Wasn’t was the advocacy of a pluralist polity: Charter 88’s platform of devolution, a UK Bill of Rights for the UK, electoral and House of Lords reform and freedom of information. Pluralism here also entails an idea of cohesion and the common good. The individual citizen should be able to argue their case in dialogue with other citizens both in the workplace and in the wider public sphere.

The third key element of The New Labour That Wasn't lies in the claim that economic and political reform are necessarily connected. Power is shared across parties: industry and finance, labour and capital. But it is difficult to create the framework for this kind of pluralism to flourish when the state itself is so centralised and majoritarian.

Actual New Labour was partly inspired by this current of thought. But it was also defined, in some important ways, by a strong rejection of it. On the economy, New Labour briefly, and somewhat superficially, adopted the language of stakeholding. However, Hutton's relational idea of stakeholding gave way to a much more individualistic understanding of the term, a matter of individuals holding assets which increase their options in the marketplace. This reflected a key strategic decision on Labour's part to accept the existing financial system and (to a large extent) the rules of corporate governance.

While New Labour took a much weaker line on reforming the economy, on the side of political reform, New Labour of course adopted and delivered on a number of the pluralists' commitments. There were, however, also some major elements of the pluralists' agenda that Labour did not deliver on: while most hereditary peers were removed from the House of Lords, Labour did not go further in reform of the second chamber. The Jenkins Commission on the voting system reported in 1998 only to be politely but emphatically shelved. This was not accidental. Labour’s attitude to Charter 88 was marked at the outset by wariness and a degree of hostility. The pluralist republicans saw political process not simply as a means to an end but as valuable in itself. By contrast, New Labour adopted a decidedly more instrumentalist view, and took a significantly more managerialist approach.

This offers an interesting way of looking at the emerging perspective of ‘one nation’ Labour. On the one hand, there are some clear similarities between one nation Labour and the New Labour That Wasn’t. This is particularly true around the economy. First, there is the judgment that economic revival must involve industrial renewal. Second, there is an interest in exploring what lessons the German and Nordic economies might have for achieving industrial renewal. But the similarities are much less marked with the political pluralist dimension of the New Labour That Wasn’t. There are, however, important ways in which Labour’s politics could be usefully informed by this spirit. For example, if Labour is serious about radical economic change then it needs to consider how it can build an alliance of social and political forces to support it. Of course it will call on people to join and vote Labour. But it must recognise that many people whose support and energy it needs will belong to other parties or to none.

Positive economic change requires a broad movement and Labour cannot credibly claim simply to be this movement. Nor can it just demand that others follow. It must try to earn leadership through argument in open debate with others – including trade unions, religious groups, community organising initiatives and anti-cuts campaigners.It is encouraging to see that Labour is starting to grapple with the need for serious economic reform. But if there is a lesson to be learned from turning back to the insights of New Labour’s road not taken, it is in seeing that economic reform and political reform are closely intertwined.

This piece originally appeared in Fabian Review

Stuart White teaches political theory at the University of Oxford; Martin O'Neill teaches political theory at the University of York

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

Stuart White teaches political theory at the University of Oxford; Martin O'Neill teaches political theory at the University of York

Getty
Show Hide image

For the Ukip press officer I slept with, the European Union was Daddy

My Ukip lover just wanted to kick against authority. I do not know how he would have coped with the reality of Brexit.

I was a journalist for a progressive newspaper.

He was the press officer for the UK Independence Party.

He was smoking a cigarette on the pavement outside the Ukip conference in Bristol.

I sat beside him. It was a scene from a terrible film. 

He wore a tweed Sherlock Holmes coat. The general impression was of a seedy-posh bat who had learned to talk like Shere Khan. He was a construct: a press officer so ridiculous that, by comparison, Ukip supporters seemed almost normal. He could have impersonated the Queen Mother, or a morris dancer, or a British bulldog. It was all bravado and I loved him for that.

He slept in my hotel room, and the next day we held hands in the public gallery while people wearing Union Jack badges ranted about the pound. This was before I learned not to choose men with my neurosis alone. If I was literally embedded in Ukip, I was oblivious, and I was no kinder to the party in print than I would have been had I not slept with its bat-like press officer. How could I be? On the last day of the conference, a young, black, female supporter was introduced to the audience with the words – after a white male had rubbed the skin on her hand – “It doesn’t come off.” Another announcement was: “The Ukip Mondeo is about to be towed away.” I didn’t take these people seriously. He laughed at me for that.

After conference, I moved into his seedy-posh 18th-century house in Totnes, which is the counterculture capital of Devon. It was filled with crystal healers and water diviners. I suspect now that his dedication to Ukip was part of his desire to thwart authority, although this may be my denial about lusting after a Brexiteer who dressed like Sherlock Holmes. But I prefer to believe that, for him, the European Union was Daddy, and this compulsion leaked into his work for Ukip – the nearest form of authority and the smaller Daddy.

He used to telephone someone called Roger from in front of a computer with a screen saver of two naked women kissing, lying about what he had done to promote Ukip. He also told me, a journalist, disgusting stories about Nigel Farage that I cannot publish because they are libellous.

When I complained about the pornographic screen saver and said it was damaging to his small son, he apologised with damp eyes and replaced it with a photo of a topless woman with her hand down her pants.

It was sex, not politics, that broke us. I arrived on Christmas Eve to find a photograph of a woman lying on our bed, on sheets I had bought for him. That was my Christmas present. He died last year and I do not know how he would have coped with the reality of Brexit, of Daddy dying, too – for what would be left to desire?

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era