Miliband's reshuffle was post-Blairite, not anti-Blairite

The changes were designed to accelerate the process of re-branding Labour as neither old nor new; neither Blair nor Brown – but wholly Milibandist.

At some point the redundancy of classifying Labour MPs into "Blairites" and "Brownites" will be complete. That point is not now, judging by much of the reaction to Ed Miliband’s shadow cabinet reshuffle. The demotions of Liam Byrne, Jim Murphy and Stephen Twigg – all usually characterised as devotees of the Tonyist creed – has been seized by Conservatives as yet more proof that the opposition has taken leave of its centrist senses.

The counter-argument from Miliband’s allies is that Blair acolytes have been promoted too. Charlie Falconer has been drafted in as a senior advisor. Tristram Hunt is the new shadow education secretary ("not exactly Len McCluskey’s idea of the best person for that job," as one very senior party figure said to me last night). Douglas Alexander has the role of chairing Labour’s election campaign – and he ran David Miliband’s leadership campaign.

But then, if you want to be all purist about political genealogy, you could say that Alexander is really a Brownite who wandered only half-way down the road to Blairite perdition/virtuous Damascene conversion (delete according to factional inclinations) by backing the ill-starred older brother in 2010.

One principal motive behind the reshuffle is to accelerate the process of re-branding Labour as neither old nor new; neither Blair nor Brown – but wholly Milibandist. A bunch of MPs from the 2010 parliamentary intake have been promoted. They now make up nearly a third of the shadow cabinet. That puts important jobs in the hands of people who can plausibly claim to be untainted by the feuds of the last administration. That is no small advantage.

The fact that Labour’s haggard slump to defeat in 2010 is so recent poses problems for Miliband both in terms of voter perception and party management. It makes it hard for him to manoeuvre in any direction without it being interpreted through the prism of ancient vendetta. Never mind left or right, the problem has been going forwards when so much media coverage – and so many of the personal dynamics around the shadow cabinet table – have been coloured by brooding recollections of who briefed against whom one rainy Wednesday afternoon in 2003. The publication of memoirs by former Brown media hit man Damian McBride on the eve of the Labour conference only reinforced the impression that some new cast members were required on stage. As one beneficiary of yesterday’s reshuffle put it, the important thing was to have more people who could say, when asked about the stories in that book, "Damian McWho?" In other words, Miliband needs more people around who can claim to be focused on the future not the past – and look as if they mean it. That, at least, is the ambition. It hasn't escaped anyone's notice that the most senior figures from Brown's days in Downing Street keep their seats at Labour's top table. Some faces from the past are more past-it than others, apparently.

One appointment that captures the complex nature of Miliband's motives is the decision to put Rachel Reeves in charge of the work and pensions brief. Reeves has spent the last couple of years pondering the fiscal challenge that Labour faces in the next parliament if it wins an election. As recently as last month she was resisting the idea of making a pre-conference commitment to scrap the coalition's "bedroom tax" on the grounds that the Tories would fling it back at the opposition as proof of spending laxity. By contrast, Byrne was the one pushing for the bedroom tax to be opposed, partly because he felt that demoralised activists urgently needed something to cheer them up. That doesn’t quite support the claim that an axe-wielding Blairite ultra has been ditched to carve out space for lefty lurches.

The big problem with Byrne wasn’t exactly his views. It was his image as the outrider for the party’s furthest right flank that made it hard for large sections of the party to swallow the message that welfare reform and benefit cuts are unavoidable. The messenger was contaminating the message for people whose consent was vital for keeping Miliband’s show on the road. I doubt we will see the opposition now suddenly promise to lavish more spending on social security. On the contrary, a central part of Reeves’s task will be to persuade voters that Labour can be trusted to manage the DWP budget prudently. But she might be able to do it in a way that doesn’t provoke cries of crypto-Tory treason from the grassroots.

Miliband doesn’t need to sack or demote "Blairites" to move left or distance himself from the New Labour legacy. The conventional reading of his leadership suggests he’s done a fair amount of that already. He does, however, want to get beyond the stage where his every action is subjected to a test of Blairism and found wanting by people who suppose that Blair had the only formula for delivering a Labour election victory. 2015 could never be a re-run of 2005 or 2001 or 1997. There must be another way.

Of course, the theoretical existence of such an alternative route to power doesn’t prove that Miliband has found it.  

Ed Miliband at the Labour conference in Brighton last month. Photograph: Getty Images.

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

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times