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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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue