Clegg deserves the chance to finish what he's started

Despite what some on the left of the Lib Dems claim, we’re living out our principles in government.

Mathew Hulbert's piece calling for Nick Clegg to stand down is as wrong as I've ever seen any Lib Dem be. Mathew has badly interpreted the party and shown ignorance about its history and politics.

He states that that he is "in mourning" for a party that "believes in very little that it once held dear" but his examples aren’t just weak, they’re plain wrong. He mourns that the party did not vote for the 50p tax rate at conference, which present as totemic of our history. But while Mathew is technically correct that we have never believed in a 45p rate, the 50p rate hasn’t been in a manifesto for nearly 10 years. Our policy has traditionally been maintaining a 40p top rate, whilst shifting taxes to wealth. He also rails against the party for supporting a replacement for Trident. Except Lib Dem policy in 2010 was to find a smaller, cheaper Trident – we've never been anti-nuclear weapons.

Next, Hulbert argues that Nick Clegg wants to turn us into a British version of the German FDP, who he describes as a "parasitical attachment" to Merkel's CDU. He goes on to say that this must not be the aim of the Lib Dems. But this is a straw man; I don’t know a single Lib Dem who’d agree with him. Yes, we’re pitching for another term in government but we’ve said we’ll talk to whoever the public wants us to. If we aren’t aiming for government, there’s even less point to our existence than many of the commentators on the piece will claim.

Finally, Hulbert cites Clegg’s answer to Linda Jack during his Q&A at conference. Jack is one of the awkward squad, a lady for whom I have much respect, but we agree on little. Her group, Liberal Left, of which Mathew is a member, seeks permanent realignment of the Lib Dems with the left. Put simply, they want to be a "parasitical attachment" to Labour.

Every day we’re living out our principles in government. We’ve curtailed the worst of Tory excesses whilst lowering tax on the poor, introducing the pupil premium, attempting to reform our broken political system and so much more. We haven’t got everything, but that’s because we only have 57 MPs. We’ve accepted some bitter pills, but then so have the Conservatives.

What stands as a testament to Clegg’s character is his continuing leadership. He has lead us into government for the first time in decades and withstood the barrage of hatred directed at him from both left and right. His value is again growing with many recognising the strength he has shown throughout his leadership.

We have achieved so much so far, whether it's the fantastic free school meals policy, or raising the tax threshold for the poorest workers in society. There’s so much more still to push for. 

Clegg has some of the sharpest liberal instincts in politics, there’s no one ready to replace him yet and to do so would be foolhardy. He deserves the chance to finish what he’s started.

Andrew Emmerson is a Liberal Democrat activist and Liberal Youth Non-Portfolio Officer

Nick Clegg delivers his speech at the Liberal Democrat conference in Glasgow. Photograph: Getty Images.

Andrew Emmerson is a Liberal Democrat activist and Liberal Youth Non-Portfolio Officer

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Wrists, knees, terrible rages – I felt overwhelmed when Barry came to see me

I teach my registrars to be aware how a consultation is making them feel: that can give valuable clues to the patient’s own emotional state.

To begin with, it seemed that Barry’s wrists were the problem. He told me about the pain he was experiencing, the pins and needles that came and went in his hands. I started to examine him. His palms were calloused, his fingers thick and stubby, veterans of the heavy work he’d undertaken throughout his 57 years. Even as I assessed this first problem, he mentioned his knees. I moved on to look at those. Then it was his back. I couldn’t get to grips with one thing before he veered to the next.

I teach my registrars to be aware how a consultation is making them feel: that can give valuable clues to the patient’s own emotional state. Barry was making me feel overwhelmed, the more so as I learned that he’d been experiencing all these problems for years.

“Why are you coming to see me about them now,” I asked, “rather than six months ago – or in six months’ time?”

“I need some time off, doc.”

There was something about the way he wouldn’t meet my gaze. And again, that feeling of being overwhelmed.

“What’s going on at work?” I asked him.

His tone hardened as he told me how he’d lost his temper a couple of days earlier. How one of the others had been winding him up, and something inside him had snapped, and he’d taken a swing at his workmate and landed a punch.

Barry had walked out and hadn’t been back. I tried to find out if he’d heard from his boss about the incident, if he knew what was likely to happen next.

He told me he didn’t care.

We talked some more. I learned that he’d been uncharacteristically short-tempered for months; his partner was fed up with being shouted at. Sleep had gone to pot, and Barry had taken to drinking heavily to knock himself out at night. He was smoking twice his usual amount. Men like Barry often don’t experience depression as classic low mood and tearfulness; they become filled with rage and turn in on themselves, repelling those closest to them in the process.

Depression is a complex condition, with roots that can frequently be traced right back to childhood experiences, but bouts are often precipitated by problems with relationships, work, money, or health. In Barry’s case, the main factor turned out to be his job. He’d been an HGV driver but at the start of the year his company had lost its operator’s licence. To keep the business afloat, his boss had diversified. Barry hated what he now had to do. He was now a “catcher”.

I didn’t know what that meant. Getting up at the crack of dawn, he told me, driving to some factory farm somewhere, entering huge sheds and spending hours catching chickens, thousands upon thousands of them, shoving them into crates, stashing the crates on a lorry, working under relentless pressure to get the sheds cleared and the birds off to the next stage of the food production chain.

“It’s a young man’s game,” he told me. “It’s crippling me, all that bending and catching.”

It wasn’t really his joints, though. Men like Barry can find it hard to talk about difficult emotion, but it was there in his eyes. I had a sudden understanding: Barry, capturing bird after panicking bird, stuffing them into the transport containers, the air full of alarmed clucking and dislodged feathers. Hour after hour of it. It was traumatising him, but he couldn’t admit anything so poncey.

“I just want to get back to driving.”

That would mean landing a new job, and he doubted he would be able to do so, not at his age. He couldn’t take just any old work, either: he had to earn a decent wage to keep up with a still sizeable mortgage.

We talked about how antidepressants might improve his symptoms, and made a plan to tackle the alcohol. I signed him off to give him some respite and a chance to look for new work – the one thing that was going to resolve his depression. But in the meantime, he felt as trapped as the chickens that he cornered, day after soul-destroying day.

Phil Whitaker’s novel “Sister Sebastian’s Library” will be published by Salt in September

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt