MPs who voted against the Syria motion: the full list

The names of the 224 Labour MPs, 30 Conservatives 9 Liberal Democrats and others who combined to defeat the motion authorising the possible use of military force against Syria.

Below is a full list of the MPs who voted against the government motion authorising the possible use of military force against Syria. The motion was defeated by 285 votes to 272. 

Alliance Party (1) Naomi Long.

Conservatives (30) David Amess, Steve Baker, Richard Bacon, John Baron, Andrew Bingham, Crispin Blunt, Fiona Bruce, Tracey Crouch, David TC Davies, Philip Davies, David Davis, Nick de Bois, Richard Drax, Gordon Henderson, Philip Hollobone, Adam Holloway, Dr Phillip Lee, Dr Julian Lewis, Tim Loughton, Jason McCartney, Nigel Mills, Anne Marie Morris, Andrew Percy, Sir Richard Shepherd, Sir Peter Tapsell, Andrew Turner, Martin Vickers, Charles Walker, Chris White, Dr Sarah Wollaston.

Green Party (1) Caroline Lucas.

Labour (224) Diane Abbott, Debbie Abrahams, Bob Ainsworth, Douglas Alexander, Heidi Alexander, Rushanara Ali, Graham Allen, David Anderson, Jonathan Ashworth, Adrian Bailey, William Bain, Ed Balls, Gordon Banks, Kevin Barron, Hugh Bayley, Margaret Beckett, Anne Begg, Hilary Benn, Joe Benton, Luciana Berger, Clive Betts, Gordon Birtwistle, Tom Blenkinsop, David Blunkett, Kevin Brennan, Lyn Brown, Nicholas Brown, Russell Brown, Chris Bryant, Karen Buck, Andy Burnham, Liam Byrne, Alan Campbell, Ronnie Campbell, Martin Caton, Jenny Chapman, Katy Clark, Tom Clarke, Vernon Coaker, Ann Coffey, Yvette Cooper, Jeremy Corbyn, Mary Creagh, Stella Creasy, Jon Cruddas, Alex Cunningham, Jim Cunningham, Tony Cunningham, Margaret Curran, Simon Danczuk, Alistair Darling, Wayne David, Gloria De Piero, John Denham, Jim Dobbin, Frank Dobson, Thomas Docherty, Frank Doran, Stephen Doughty, Jim Dowd, Gemma Doyle, Jack Dromey, Michael Dugher, Angela Eagle, Maria Eagle, Clive Efford, Julie Elliott, Louise Ellman, Natascha Engel, Bill Esterson, Chris Evans, Paul Farrelly, Frank Field, Jim Fitzpatrick, Robert Flello, Caroline Flint, Paul Flynn, Hywel Francis, Mike Gapes, Barry Gardiner, Sheila Gilmore, Pat Glass, Mary Glindon, Roger Godsiff, Paul Goggins, Helen Goodman, Tom Greatrex, Kate Green, Nia Griffith, Andrew Gwynne, David Hamilton, Fabian Hamilton, Harriet Harman, Tom Harris, Dai Havard, John Healey, Mark Hendrick, Stephen Hepburn, Meg Hillier, Margaret Hodge, Kate Hoey, Jim Hood, Kelvin Hopkins, George Howarth, Tristram Hunt, Huw Irranca-Davies, Glenda Jackson, Sian James, Cathy Jamieson, Dan Jarvis, Alan Johnson, Graham Jones, Helen Jones, Kevan Jones, Susan Elan Jones, Tessa Jowell, Eric Joyce, Gerald Kaufman, Liz Kendall, Sadiq Khan, David Lammy, Ian Lavery, Mark Lazarowicz, Chris Leslie, Emma Lewell-Buck, Ivan Lewis, Ian Lucas, Fiona Mactaggart, Khalid Mahmood, Shabana Mahmood, Seema Malhotra, John Mann, Gordon Marsden, Steve McCabe, Michael McCann, Kerry McCarthy, Gregg McClymont, Andy McDonald, John McDonnell, Pat McFadden, Alison McGovern, Jim McGovern, Anne McGuire, Ann McKechin, Iain McKenzie, Catherine McKinnell, Michael Meacher, Alan Meale, Edward Miliband, Andrew Miller, Madeleine Moon, Jessica Morden, Graeme Morrice, Grahame M. Morris, George Mudie, Jim Murphy, Paul Murphy, Ian Murray, Lisa Nandy, Pamela Nash, Fiona O'Donnell, Chi Onwurah, Sandra Osborne, Albert Owen, Teresa Pearce, Toby Perkins, Bridget Phillipson, Stephen Pound, Lucy Powell, Nick Raynsford, Jamie Reed, Steve Reed, Rachel Reeves, Jonathan Reynolds, Linda Riordan, John Robertson, Geoffrey Robinson, Steve Rotheram, Frank Roy, Lindsay Roy, Chris Ruane, Joan Ruddock, Anas Sarwar, Andy Sawford, Alison Seabeck, Virenda Sharman, Barry Sheerman, Jim Sheridan, Gavin Shuker, Dennis Skinner, Andy Slaughter, Andrew Smith, Nick Smith, Owen Smith, Jack Straw, Graham Stringer, Gisela Stuart, Gerry Sutcliffe, Mark Tami, Gareth Thomas, Emily Thornberry, Stephen Timms, Jon Trickett, Derek Twigg, Stephen Twigg, Chuka Umunna, Keith Vaz, Valerie Vaz, Joan Walley, Tom Watson, Dave Watts, Dr Alan Whitehead, Chris Williamson, Phil Wilson, David Winnick, Rosie Winteron, Mike Wood, David Wright, Iain Wright MP.

DUP (6) Gregory Campbell, Nigel Dodds, Jeffrey Donaldson, Brian Donohoe, Jim Shannon, Sammy Wilson. 

Independent (1) Lady Hermon.

Liberal Democrats (9) Paul Burstow, Mike Crockart, Andrew George, Mike Hancock, Julian Huppert, Dan Rogerson, Andrew Stunell, Ian Swales, Sarah Teather, Roger Williams. 

Plaid Cymru Jonathan Edwards, Elfyn Llwyd, Hywel Williams.

Respect (1) George Galloway.

SDLP (3) Mark Durkan, Dr Alasdair McDonnell, Margaret Ritchie.

SNP (6) Stewart Hosie, Angus MacNeil, Angus Robertson, Mike Weir, Dr Eilidh Whiteford, Pete Wishart.

A Stop the War campaigner holds up a placard outside Parliament on August 29, 2013. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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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