Stuart Wheeler, Ukip's paymaster, on Tories he fancies poaching, Boris and the danger of Farage overdose

Stuart Wheeler, who made his fortune in spread betting, is staking his chips on Ukip. Over dinner in west London, he tells Rafael Behr which Tory MPs he’d like to snatch from David Cameron’s grasp and why Nigel Farage should steer clear of the TV studios.

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Stuart Wheeler is heading for Las Vegas. The multimillionaire businessman is taking a week off from his duties raising money for Ukip to compete in the world poker championships. He doesn’t expect to win, he tells me over dinner at a sleek restaurant in west London. He plays for the fun of it.

For Wheeler to be a committed gambler while remaining very rich suggests a wellcalibrated feel for risk. But when it comes to politics, as with professional poker, he is a dabbler. He broke records by making the single largest donation ever to a UK party when he gave £5m to the Conservatives for their 2001 general election campaign, although he says he wasn’t much involved before then. “I didn’t become interested in politics until I was already an old man, in 2000. I was 65.”

Most of Wheeler’s life has been spent in business. He qualified as a barrister after graduating from Oxford but promptly moved into the City. Much of his fortune was made developing systems for spread betting on commodities. (Gambling is a persistent feature in his biography.) “My really close old friends are not politicians,” he tells me. “I’m interested in it, and it’s not my whole life.”

His voice is jovial and plummy, his complexion vivid pink under snow-white hair. He would be the very portrait of a Tory grandee, except he was expelled from the party in 2009 after donating £100,000 to Ukip. “It was quite reasonable of them to expel me,” says Wheeler. I detect disappointment but no rancour.

Ukip has a complex relationship with the Conservative Party: the antagonism laced with dependency that a rebellious teenager might feel towards a dismayed parent. While the newer party’s leadership insists it appeals across the political spectrum, much of its apparatus is staffed with Tory defectors – and it is disillusioned Tories whom Wheeler taps for donations.

“When I’m trying to raise money for Ukip the objection I get frequently is: ‘Well, you’re quite right, we ought to be out of the EU, and you’re quite right that [David] Cameron is being rather pathetic, but we can’t support you because you’ll let Labour in.’”

This is the line that Tory MPs say is most effective with their local activists – vote Farage, get Miliband. The system Wheeler has developed for overcoming this objection is to promise that money will be cordoned off in a special account for use only in the European elections in May 2014, thus allowing Tory donors to exert maximum pressure on Cameron next year without feeling treasonous come the 2015 general election. Do Tory donors take that deal? “Not all of them, some of them.” The maximum donation that can be made without a public declaration is £7,500, which means that “there are quite a few people who donate exactly £7,500”.

There is now an assumption around Westminster that Ukip will do very well in next May’s European poll, and could quite possibly win the highest share of the national vote. It says something about the surge in support that the party feels the need to manage expectations downwards. “I’m getting slightly nervous,” Wheeler says, “because people seem to be so confident we’ll win, it will almost look like a failure if we don’t.”

The other subject of Wheeler’s solicitude is Ukip’s dependency on Nigel Farage. The party’s recent growth is largely attributable to the efforts of its leader, who relentlessly hawks his plain-speaking affability around TV studios and public meetings. The frenetic pace is taking its toll. “Now we’re much bigger, he’s got to change a bit and allow other people to do some of it,” argues Wheeler. “Partly so he doesn’t get exhausted, although he’s got more energy than anyone I’ve ever met, and also we don’t want to be painted as a one-man band.”

Wheeler says that the rest of the Ukip high command are “bullying” Farage into taking things easier, dropping perhaps a quarter of his media appearances and concentrating more on building party structures and developing policy. “He’s got to have some time to do other things leaders have to do. He’ll drive himself into the ground if he’s not careful.”

The reliance on Farage’s personality expresses a curious contradiction about Ukip. The leader is a well-spoken, public-schooleducated former stockbroker. Wheeler is an Old Etonian. He lives in a Jacobean castle in Kent with his wife, the photographer Tessa Codrington. One of their three daughters, the model Jacquetta Wheeler, had her wedding photographs in Vogue.

It is a pedigree that does not sit obviously with the party’s depiction as a kind of anti-Westminster, anti-establishment, commonman insurgency. Does Wheeler feel the disparity? He is baffled by the question, choosing instead to address the related, but different charge that Ukip is a vehicle for protest votes.

“It’s not just protest. We genuinely think we should be out of the EU and genuinely think we should cut immigration.” There follows an exposition of party policy towards foreigners, encapsulated in the peroration: “If you want to come and live here, you’re very sensible because it’s a nice place but sorry, we’re full, and over the next five years, with very few exceptions – I can’t even remember what they are – you can’t.”

Is it not worrying when that message attracts extreme elements? Ukip may not see itself as a racist party, but there are racists and far-right ideologues who vote for the party and join it. “Commentators, journalists and so on regard us as far . . .” – here Wheeler stops himself – “. . . as right-wing, but our voters, I’m told, don’t think that at all. Some think we’re left-wing.”

Really? In what way? “I don’t know, to be honest. But we’re going flat out – I suppose I’m changing the subject here – over the next six months for a Labour vote. We think we can do well in Labour areas.”

This is the strategic point that he wants to get into the conversation, although the digression is executed with a crunching of gears. Ukip is keen to show that it is not just a renegade army of excommunicated Tories, but an autonomous party that might one day end up in government. Yet Wheeler is realistic about what can be achieved at the next general election. “It’s perfectly possible we’ll get no seats in a Westminster election at all. It’s also possible we’ll get a few . . . but look what happened to the Scottish Nationalists. They got a few seats and suddenly they’re in control in Scotland.”

Yet, for all the talk of spanning the political spectrum, Wheeler embodies the strain of Ukip feeling that is essentially the outraged anti-Cameron Tory party-in-exile. The Conservatives would love to have him back. “I go to a lot of events and very often there’s a Conservative minister speaking and they’re always very polite and say, ‘Oh, we’ve got to get you back in the fold,’ and all that kind of thing. I don’t think it’s very likely.”

The official Ukip line is that there is no truck to be had with the Tories while David Cameron is in charge. Wheeler dismisses the Prime Minister as someone who lacks vision and whose “main objective is to live in 10 Downing Street”.

So who does he rate in the Tory party? Liam Fox, whom Wheeler backed in the 2005 leadership contest, gets an honourable mention. So does Owen Paterson, the Environment Secretary, who is the most outspoken Eurosceptic in the cabinet. He likes David Davis (but describes him as “probably on the way down”) and, “at the other end of the spectrum”, Jesse Norman, the MP who organised the rebellion against House of Lords reform. Norman, I note, is sometimes spoken of as a future Conservative leader. Wheeler ponders, then agrees. “Yes, yes . . . I’d have thought he was a possible leader.”

The name that always comes up in this kind of political dinner-table speculation – and by this stage we are on coffee and dessert – is Boris Johnson. Wheeler is a fan. “He’s a very possible alternative leader. He does flipflop a bit about the EU but he’s very bright.”

So, could the Mayor of London take vital votes back from Ukip? “I think that’s right. And maybe not only Ukip . . . I think he probably would do quite a good job, actually. But it’s difficult to know – as prime minister, I mean. As for winning the vote, he’d do a good job there.”

Ukip’s fortunes, it seems, are closely pegged to Cameron’s leadership of the Tories, because he inspires a particular animus among disaffected Conservatives – including some MPs. One of Wheeler’s functions has been discreetly dining with potential defectors. There has been interest but no deals have been closed. He is sworn to secrecy on the identities of those who have taken up his dinner invitations but that doesn’t preclude naming dream candidates. One is Douglas Carswell, the MP for Clacton, who is a vocal advocate of Britain leaving the EU. “We’d love Douglas Carswell to defect. Or Dan Han - nan [a fiercely Eurosceptic Tory MEP]. Those are two very good ones.”

Why, I wonder, when these people seem such a natural fit with Ukip, have they not made the leap? “Even in Douglas Carswell’s case, he might lose his seat if he defected to us, and in Dan Hannan’s case, I don’t know,” Wheeler muses. “He must be thinking about it all the time.”

Though there is no doubting the disorientating effect Ukip has had on the Tories, there is also a feeling around Westminster that the mood has stabilised and that, with the exception of a few irreconcilable troublemakers, Conservative MPs are passing through a loyal phase. Cameron’s promise of an EU referendum and his support for a symbolic backbench bill in parliament reaffirming that pledge have soothed Tory nerves. Is it possible, I ask Wheeler, that the Prime Minister’s strategy of renegotiating the terms of EU membership and putting the result to a referendum might in fact be quite popular?

“Oh yes. Well, there are two very different kinds of Eurosceptic attitudes. One is ours: we say it’s ridiculous to renegotiate if you plainly won’t get anything . . . the others, who are probably almost as keen to get out as we are, say we should renegotiate. They say the reason is that it might get some very substantial changes, which would make it worth staying in, but I think possibly that’s not the real position. The real attitude is: let’s get out and the best way to get out is to show that renegotiation is useless and that we can’t get anything. And then voters will be much more inclined to vote to come out. And I understand that point of view.”

He suggests this strategy of ushering the public to the EU exit with a charade of seeking concessions is what motivates not only Tory MPs but senior figures in Business for Britain, a group of business leaders calling for the return of powers from Brussels. It is quite an allegation. Does he know that’s what they think? “They don’t put it that way.”

Sometimes Wheeler remembers that Ukip has evolved beyond demanding only that Britain quit the EU. He points me to polling by Michael Ashcroft, another disappointed Tory financier, that mined the attitudes of Ukip voters and found them far more preoccupied with immigration, crime and general contempt for politics.

And yet, when Wheeler talks about those other topics, his dilettantish side is most on show. As we discuss welfare he seems not to recognise the term “universal credit” (the government’s flagship policy in the area). On other areas of social policy he demurs, saying he has views but they are not Ukip policy. When we talk about the economy he reminds me often that he is not an economist. Even when I ask him about the Labour Party and Ed Miliband, he concedes that his knowledge base is thin.

“I’d say that question brings out the point that there’s a lot in common with the Conservatives that we have.” For all that Ukip’s officially declared strategy is to stand equidistant from Labour and the Tories – mopping up the disaffected voters of each – I sense that at a deep institutional and cultural level the party is a prodigal son of the Conservative family. When Wheeler considers the prospects of a Tory majority at the next election, it is not through the eyes of an ideological enemy but as a semi-professional gambler.

“Last time I looked, the bookmakers were laying 4-1 against that. Actually, I think that’s too much. I think they’re unlikely to do it, but I don’t think it’s 4-1.”

It sounds as if he might yet be persuaded to take a punt on his old party.

A marching band of Nigel Farages. Illustration: Nick Hayes for the New Statesman

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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

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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.