Leader: Ed Miliband has shown leadership and courage

With a mixture of high-minded principle and political cunning, he has reimagined the Labour-unions link for a less collectivist age.

The art of political leadership lies in turning crisis into advantage and misfortune into gain. In his deft response to the Labour parliamentary selection scandal in Falkirk, Ed Miliband succeeded in doing both. It was not a fight he chose. Ever since his election in 2010, the Labour leader had resisted defining himself against his own party, shunning tiresome demands for a “Clause Four moment” and prizing unity above all else. But confronted by the imperial ambitions of Unite’s general secretary, Len McCluskey, and the insistent question “Who runs Labour?”, he has taken a path more radical than any of his recent predecessors.

His plan to require trade union members to opt in to donating to the party, rather than being automatically enrolled by general secretaries, would be the most significant change to the Labour-unions relationship since the party’s formation in 1900. If Mr Miliband’s support for democracy and transparency is to be consistent, it is also an entirely necessary one.

At present, of the 15 unions affiliated to Labour, only Unison allows new members to choose whether or not they contribute to the party when they sign up. Just two others, the Musicians’ Union and Usdaw, mention the existence of a political fund (but do not mention Labour) and six affiliated unions, including Unite and the GMB, do not mention Labour at all in the membership sections of their websites. As a result, even though all members have the formal right to opt out of paying the levy, just 10 per cent do so in practice, and many are not even aware of the fund’s existence. It is this arrangement that allows the Conservatives to argue, with some justification, that unions such as Unite (just 37.5 per cent of whose members vote Labour) dupe workers into subsidising the Labour Party.

By turning his back on such machine politics and declaring that no individual will donate to the party “unless they have deliberately chosen to do so”, Mr Miliband has confronted this charge head-on. No longer will Labour and the unions’ relationship be defined by backroom meetings between the leader and his or her representatives and the general secretaries. Instead, Mr Miliband will reach out to the three million workers who now pay the political levy and seek to rebuild Labour as a mass-membership party. At a time of corrosive cynicism with politics, his vision of a party “truly rooted in every community and every walk of life”, a party of “shopworkers, nurses, engineers, bus drivers, construction workers, people from the public and private sector”, is an inspiring one.

Comparisons with Tony Blair’s decision to rewrite Clause Four understate the boldness of the move. Mr Blair’s revision of that hallowed section of Labour’s constitution, which committed the party to “col - lective ownership of the means of production, distribution and exchange”, was of largely symbolic significance. The party had long abandoned its support for wholesale nationalisation. By contrast, the reforms announced by Mr Miliband on 9 July will have profound consequences for Labour. Party officials privately estimate that the introduction of an opt-in system would result in the loss of at least £5m of the £8m it currently receives each year in union affiliation fees. For a party with existing debts of £9.9m – more than every other party put together – the act is almost masochistic.

Worse, should relatively few trade unionists choose to join the party, it will be hard for the unions to justify remaining affiliated at all. The events set in motion by Mr Miliband could lead to the severing of all ties between Labour and its founders. It is the immensity of this gamble that prompted the rare praise for Mr Miliband from Mr Blair, who declared: “This is big stuff and it takes a real act of leadership to do it.”

If the risks are great, then so, too, are the potential rewards. Having abandoned his previous opposition to the introduction of an opt-in system, at potentially great cost to his party, he has earned the right to challenge the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats to reopen the stalled talks on party funding. Should the Tories continue to resist his proposal of a cap of £5,000 on all donations, he will be able to present them as a party too much in hock to vested interests to reform a system that verges on corruption. The Conservatives will insist that Mr Miliband’s position contradicts past statements and that he has acted under duress. That still leaves unanswered the question of how they will respond now.

The Labour leader showed similar astuteness in calling for a limit on MPs’ outside earnings, as we did in a leader last week. He was right to recognise the public disdain for those whose second jobs often pay “higher salaries than the job of an MP itself”. As we argued, restrictions on outside earnings would also make it easier to justify any future increase in MPs’ pay. The Conservatives’ decision to respond by describing Mr Miliband’s proposal as a “smokescreen” represented a profound misreading of the public mood. As in the case of big-money donations, David Cameron has exposed himself to the charge he is defending the interests of his own side. In the 2012-2013 parliamentary session, Tory MPs declared more than £4.3m in earnings from outside directorships or jobs, compared to £2.4m by their Labour counterparts, £1.37m of which was accounted for by Gordon Brown, who did not personally benefit from any of the money.

Mr Miliband’s promise to introduce a new code of conduct for those seeking parliamentary selection, a cap on spending by candidates and organisations operating on their behalf (including trade unions) and standard constituency agreements with the unions so that no one can be subjected to undue local pressure was the minimum required to restore trust in the selection process after the Falkirk debacle.

Far bolder was his announcement that primaries will be held to select Labour’s 2016 London mayoral candidate and to choose parliamentary candidates in seats where the local party has few members or, in effect, is moribund. While seeking to recruit as many members as possible to Labour, he is also right to recognise the need to engage with those who will never be persuaded to join by allowing them to register as supporters and vote in selection contests.

Faced with his biggest crisis as leader, Mr Miliband demonstrated the ambition and idealism that were the most attractive features of his campaign in 2010. With a mixture of high-minded principle and political cunning, he has reimagined the Labour-unions link for a less collectivist age.

This past week, Mr Cameron derided him as “too weak to run Labour and certainly too weak to run the country”. The reverse may now apply. If Mr Miliband can sustain the moral courage and the stamina that will be required in order to transform his party into something that looks more like a mass movement for economic and social change, he will have proved his credentials to serve as the nation’s prime minister.

Ed Miliband delivers his speech on the Labour-trade union link at The St Bridge Foundation in London yesterday. Photograph: Getty Images.

This article first appeared in the 15 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The New Machiavelli

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The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era