McCluskey's warning to Miliband: if you want Unite's money, change your policies

The Unite general secretary signalled that he would no longer tolerate those who "welcome our money but don't want our policy input".

Those who watched the webcast of Len McCluskey's speech to Unite's executive and rank and file members this lunchtime were not left disappointed. The Unite general secretary turned his guns back on Labour over the Falkirk selection row, declaring that the union had "done nothing wrong", that the party's report into the contest was a "shoddy farce" and that he would ensure that "the truth" came out. He went on to denounce the "unelected millionaires" (in this case, Lord Sainsbury) who wanted to "stuff the Parliamentary Labour Party with Oxbridge Blairites" and "the Tory media and New Labour spin doctors" who would "never understand the solidarity of working people". 

But far more significant was the clear signal that he intends to use Ed Miliband's planned reforms to the Labour-union link to maximise Unite's influence over policy and shift Labour to the left. The introduction of a new opt-in system for trade union members will cost the party millions in individual affiliation fees, leaving it even more dependent on one-off donations from unions' political funds. But rather than casually doling out the cash as in the past, McCluskey intends to extract a price. He will longer tolerate those who "welcome our money but don't want our policy input" and expects "enhanced" influence under the new system because "our voice and our votes are looked as legitimate". 

This would not mean a party "that is a pinkish shadow of the present coalition" and that "embraces the austerity agenda" but one that "offers real hope, that stands up for the poor and vulnerable, that puts growth at the heart of its agenda, that confronts privilege." McCluskey's speech was short on specifics but his wishlist has previously included a break with "austerity spending" (defined as no further cuts in public spending), the repeal of the benefit cap, a million extra houses and a £1.50 increase in the minimum wage. 

The question now is how far Miliband will go to appease McCluskey's demands (most of which are worthy of support) and how the Unite head will respond if the party falls short. It's important to remember that Miliband has called for a cap of £5,000 on all political donations precisely so trade unions and others can no longer buy influence. But with no sign of a cross-party deal in sight, he will be forced to go cap in hand to the unions unless he wants to gift the Tories an ever bigger advantage in the funding race. 

For Miliband, whose planned reforms to the Labour-union link have been spun as a move to reduce the power of the general secretaries, it is a perilous situation. If he does shift policy in line with McCluskey's wishes, he will be accused by the Tories of caving in to the Unite "baron" and of undermining his own pledge to take big money out of politics (regardless of the the obvious hypocrisy of this charge). If he doesn't, the danger is that Unite, by far Labour's biggest financial backer, will respond by curtailing its funding.

In this game of chicken, who will blink first? 

Unite general secretary Len McCluskey. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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A swimming pool and a bleeding toe put my medical competency in doubt

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Sometimes the search engine wins. 

The brutal heatwave affecting southern Europe this summer has become known among locals as “Lucifer”. Having just returned from Italy, I fully understand the nickname. An early excursion caused the beginnings of sunstroke, so we abandoned plans to explore the cultural heritage of the Amalfi region and strayed no further than five metres from the hotel pool for the rest of the week.

The children were delighted, particularly my 12-year-old stepdaughter, Gracie, who proceeded to spend hours at a time playing in the water. Towelling herself after one long session, she noticed something odd.

“What’s happened there?” she asked, holding her foot aloft in front of my face.

I inspected the proffered appendage: on the underside of her big toe was an oblong area of glistening red flesh that looked like a chunk of raw steak.

“Did you injure it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

I shrugged and said she must have grazed it. She wasn’t convinced, pointing out that she would remember if she had done that. She has great faith in plasters, though, and once it was dressed she forgot all about it. I dismissed it, too, assuming it was one of those things.

By the end of the next day, the pulp on the underside of all of her toes looked the same. As the doctor in the family, I felt under some pressure to come up with an explanation. I made up something about burns from the hot paving slabs around the pool. Gracie didn’t say as much, but her look suggested a dawning scepticism over my claims to hold a medical degree.

The next day, Gracie and her new-found holiday playmate, Eve, abruptly terminated a marathon piggy-in-the-middle session in the pool with Eve’s dad. “Our feet are bleeding,” they announced, somewhat incredulously. Sure enough, bright-red blood was flowing, apparently painlessly, from the bottoms of their big toes.

Doctors are used to contending with Google. Often, what patients discover on the internet causes them undue alarm, and our role is to provide context and reassurance. But not infrequently, people come across information that outstrips our knowledge. On my return from our room with fresh supplies of plasters, my wife looked up from her sun lounger with an air of quiet amusement.

“It’s called ‘pool toe’,” she said, handing me her iPhone. The page she had tracked down described the girls’ situation exactly: friction burns, most commonly seen in children, caused by repetitive hopping about on the abrasive floors of swimming pools. Doctors practising in hot countries must see it all the time. I doubt it presents often to British GPs.

I remained puzzled about the lack of pain. The injuries looked bad, but neither Gracie nor Eve was particularly bothered. Here the internet drew a blank, but I suspect it has to do with the “pruning” of our skin that we’re all familiar with after a soak in the bath. This only occurs over the pulps of our fingers and toes. It was once thought to be caused by water diffusing into skin cells, making them swell, but the truth is far more fascinating.

The wrinkling is an active process, triggered by immersion, in which the blood supply to the pulp regions is switched off, causing the skin there to shrink and pucker. This creates the biological equivalent of tyre treads on our fingers and toes and markedly improves our grip – of great evolutionary advantage when grasping slippery fish in a river, or if trying to maintain balance on slick wet rocks.

The flip side of this is much greater friction, leading to abrasion of the skin through repeated micro-trauma. And the lack of blood flow causes nerves to shut down, depriving us of the pain that would otherwise alert us to the ongoing tissue damage. An adaptation that helped our ancestors hunt in rivers proves considerably less use on a modern summer holiday.

I may not have seen much of the local heritage, but the trip to Italy taught me something new all the same. 

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear