The biggest problem for Labour is that people don't know what it stands for

History shows that parties can win despite the unpopularity of their leaders, but to do so Labour needs to offer policy substance.

Our poll this week for the Evening Standard showed that 63% of the public don’t like Ed Miliband. It is a headline writer's dream in a difficult week for Miliband – but focusing on this finding misses the really important points from the poll. True, digging into the data and trends on that question, if anything, makes it look worse for the Labour leader.  If we see leaders as an electoral asset to attract voters from other parties, David Cameron comes out much stronger: he is liked by nearly twice as many non-Conservative voters (33%) than Miliband is liked by non-Labour voters (18%). Comparisons with Cameron in opposition are not good either: two years out, only 36% said they didn’t like Cameron, some 27 percentage points lower than Miliband’s current level of dislike.  

On satisfaction with how Miliband is doing his job as leader of the opposition, he gets his lowest ever rating in this latest poll and is now at exactly the same level as William Hague was at this point in his leadership of the Conservatives. And interestingly, satisfaction with Miliband is lower, not higher, than average among public sector workers – a key target constituency for Labour at the election.  

It is difficult to present any of that as a strong showing.  But the question is whether it matters. As has been pointed out, being liked or even highly rated as a potential PM is a poor indicator of electoral success. The races between Ted Heath and Harold Wilson, and then Jim Callaghan and Margaret Thatcher, went against the predictions you would have made based on their personal approval ratings.  

Thatcher was never widely liked – what shifted in the public mind over her premiership was an increasing dislike for her policies. And the same was true for Tony Blair: even right at the end in 2007, only 37% said they disliked him, but dislike of his policies stood at 61%, double the level the decade before. So likeability is something that you can’t change much - political leaders rarely shift from being hated to loved or vice versa - and it may not matter that much anyway.  

The much more important finding from the poll is therefore on understanding of the leaders’ policies – and again this is worrying for Labour.  Half of the public (51%) still do not know what Miliband stands for, compared with 33% for David Cameron. And the position among party supporters is just as bad. Only 23% of Conservative voters say they don’t know what Cameron stands for compared with the 40% of Labour voters who don’t know what Miliband stands for. However, this not just a problem for Miliband but for the Labour Party as a whole. Another poll for the Standard in May last year showed a very similar pattern, with a much greater understanding of what the Conservative Party stands for than what the Labour Party stands for.

This lack of policy substance is a missed opportunity for Labour as they still have a significant advantage over the Tories in attraction to the party as a whole. The Conservatives have not shifted their overall party image as much as they would have have liked. Back in 2008, they had pushed dislike for the party down to 47%, but in the latest poll it is back up to 57% - dislike of Labour is at 43%. The call from senior Labour members to hear more from diverse voices across the party seems exactly right, to emphasise the importance of the party.

But they need to have clear and distinctive things to say. The old political triangle of party, leaders and policies is still a useful frame.  It is clear to see who has the lead on two points of the triangle. Still, it is sharpening the policy point that Labour needs to focus on most. 

Bobby Duffy is managing director of Ipsos MORI

Ed Miliband attends the launch of mental health charity MindFull. Photograph: Getty Images.
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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism