Tessa Jowell publicly criticises Labour party for publicly criticising itself

An impression of "toxic disunity".

Tessa Jowell has warned that attacks on Ed Milliband from inside the Labour party are creating an impression of "toxic disunity".  In a piece for the Observer today she writes that Labour's "so-called summer crisis" had been helped a great deal by Labour's own members, too open in attacking their leader. These were people, she says, "who should know better", as "publicly offered criticism is only ever destructive". It remains to be seen whether Jowell's own publicly offered criticism will do the trick. She writes:

There are complementary rights and obligations when it comes to the leadership of the Labour party: anyone may stand for the leadership, but once the winner is chosen, he or she is entitled to the loyalty and support of the party at every level. "Loyalty is what keeps the boat afloat; disloyalty the rock against which it breaks. And disloyalty comes in many shapes, most of which artfully ape the gestures of friendship. There is, however, nothing constructive in publicly delivering "helpful advice" which could be much better delivered quietly in private. For the public it creates an unappealing sense of toxic disunity.

She draws a distinction between Westminster's media coverage and the business of politics, suggesting, in her piece for a national broadsheet, that the party stay away from the former:

We are not commentators on a Westminster game of who is up and who is down, of who has coined the best soundbite or delivered the sharpest put-down. We are, rather, participants in a political contest whose outcome will affect the lives of millions of people. It is not the political class but our constituents who will pay the price if we allow David Cameron and the Conservatives another term in office – to squeeze living standards as prices rise faster than wages, to abandon families with elderly relatives and children waiting on trolleys in hospitals, or to take no responsibility towards our those of our young people who are without jobs or hope of a home of their own.

This comes as Meg Hillier, a senior Labour party backbencher, criticises the Labour party for its lack of an "Alistair Campbell-style figure", in senior advisory circles.

Tessa Jowell. Photograph: Getty Images

Martha Gill writes the weekly Irrational Animals column. You can follow her on Twitter here: @Martha_Gill.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood