Je ne regrette rien: Ed Miliband's definitive statement on Desert Island Discs

The Labour leader spoke openly to Kirsty Young about his relationship with his brother and the "the only time" he ever prayed.

It’s hard to imagine anyone in Westminster listening to music. The place just doesn’t swing. Tony Blair, as we all know, liked to play a bit of guitar. “Dave” used to listen to The Smiths until he was banned. But what does Ed Miliband, leader of the Labour Party, put on to unwind after a hard day defending his family and his party from the latest smears by the conservative press: Pete Seeger? “The Internationale”? Drenge?

Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs presents politicians with an opportunity to reveal a little character. To point in the direction of a hinterland, a “real me”, apart from the persona which boots up every morning between waking and arriving in SW1.

For some, the melodies that animate the inner life are alarmingly in tune with the ideas that feed the outer one. When Enoch Powell was asked to appear on the show in 1989, he told the producer: “Well, it’s bound to be Wagner.” And indeed it was. Powell chose four Wagner pieces: “Entrance of the Gods into Valhalla” from Das Rheingold, “Winterstürme” from Die Walküre, “Forging Song” from Siegfried and “The Renunciation of Siegfried” from Götterdämmerung (plus three Beethovens and a Haydn).

At least he refused to allow his list to become an instrument for populism: a focus-grouped stunt in which all boxes must be ticked to please voters. He told the truth. But over the years truth-telling has become de rigueur, developing into a fetish for guilty pleasure-ism. It’s hard to shake the image of the Iron Lady grinning senselessly to Rolf Harris’s “Two Little Boys” (which she chose as her favourite record of all time) in 1979. Likewise, it's hard to forgive Jim Al-Khalili, who ought to know better, for grinning senselessly to Rolf Harris’s “Two Little Boys” in 2010. I have little to say about “Dave” picking “Ernie: The Fastest Milkman In The West” as one of eight pieces of music he would hear repeatedly for the rest of his life if he were cast away on an island, other than the choice itself would be the only adequate punishment to suit the charge.

“Be honest” is what Sue Lawley, who presented the programme from 1986 to 2006, used to say to her guests. In 2010 LabourList asked Ed Miliband what he would pick if he were chosen for the show. His list, described as “recherche camp trendy” included a few lefty cap tips such as Paul Robeson’s (genuinely potent) “Ballad of Joe Hill” and Billy Bragg’s “A New England”, plus a couple of contemporary-ish numbers, Robbie Williams’s “Angels” (urgh) and Hard Fi’s “Stars of CCTV” (poseur bloke pop - where did they go?) He decided to take Ulysses in the hope of reading it, the trial thriller 12 Angry Men with Henry Fonda and an iPhone (with no signal, or charger) as his non-musical extras.

So what has three years as chief babysitter at the Labour funhouse done for Miliband’s tastes? Here are those choices in full from this morning’s Desert Island Discs, presented by Kirsty Young:

  1. Nkosi Sikelel iAfrika - From Cry Freedom arr. George Fenton
  2. Jerusalem - Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, words by William Blake
  3. The Ballad of Joe Hill - Paul Robeson
  4. Take on Me - A-ha
  5. Sweet Caroline - Neil Diamond
  6. Angels - Robbie Williams
  7. Josh Ritter - Change of Time
  8. Non, Je ne regrette rien - Edith Piaf

His book was The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, his luxury was an Indian takeaway once a week from his favourite Balti house, and the one record he’d keep, if he had to lose seven, would be “Angels”, to remind him of his wife Justine.

Early on in the programme Young asked whether Miliband regretted including his family (mainly his father) in his campaign speeches. The following half hour seemed to be an intensification of that decision, capped with the assertion that he does not regret it at all. “You can’t understand me without understanding where I come from,” he said. “My dad thought you could abolish capitalism - I don’t.”

He spoke movingly about Ralph Miliband's illness, when Ed was only 24. He recalled driving to the hospital, two days before his father died, as “the only time” he'd ever prayed. “If there’s a God, please don’t let this happen,” he said. “He was a lodestar. He was my father ... It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my life.” His choice of the hymn “Jerusalem” (from Blake's great poem Milton) was dedicated to his parents, a canny assertion that they loved the country which granted them sanctuary from the Nazis.

Miliband discussed his failed experiments with a violin (“screech city”), was grilled on Falkirk, trade unions and the Blair years, retold the story of his parents’ arrival in Britain, and even admitted to - shall we call it a dry spell? - being unable to find a girlfriend in university. After introducing his fourth choice, he said, “I was pretty square at university ... it’s no wonder I didn’t pull.”

Neil Diamond's “Sweet Caroline” was chosen because of his long-running passion for the Boston Red Sox, who recently won the World Series (“I stayed up until 4 in the morning to watch it!”), Robbie Williams’s “Angels” and Josh Ritter’s “Change of Time” were dedications to his wife, Justine, and the finale, Edith Piaf's “Non, Je ne regrette rien” fed directly into Kirsty's final line of questioning - on his relationship with David.

Young asked how Miliband’s mother, Marion Kozak, reacted to his choice to stand against his brother for the Labour leadership. “She was scrupulously neutral,” he replied. As for that central relationship with the king across the sea, are things now healed? “Healing,” he said.

Ed Miliband tried to play the violin in his youth. The result? "Screech city". Photograph: Getty Images.

Philip Maughan is a freelance writer in Berlin and a former Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

Gage Skidmore via Creative Commons
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Donald Trump brings home his dark vision of America at the Republican convention

The Presidential nominee pledged: "Safety must be restored."

Donald Trump brought home the Republican convention Thursday night with a dark vision of contemporary America – a darkness he claimed only his leadership could lift. It was a lengthy, tightly-scripted speech framed around polarities – insiders and outsiders, criminals and victims, the United States and the rest of the world – and infused with righteous anger. And yet against the darkness, he offered not lightness but “greatness” – a bombastic, personalistic vision of how through sheer force of will he could right the American ship before it plunged irretrievably into the depths. “I alone can solve,” he famously tweeted earlier in the campaign. This was the 80-minute version.

Any presidential challenger, of course, has to lay out a set of problems they believe need fixing and a case for why their leadership might make a difference. It was the breathtaking scale and intensity of Trump’s diagnosis, and the lack of optimistic alternative to counterbalance it, that was notable compared to other acceptance speeches. He portrayed the United States as a country riddled with crime and corruption, a “rigged system” in which politicians like Hillary Clinton can evade justice, while police officers trying to protect its citizens become targets; a fearful country, its economy sluggish, its infrastructure crumbling, its security an illusion, and its international stature in freefall

For a candidate who has mocked the soaring rhetoric of President Obama (the “hopey-changey stuff,” as Sarah Palin once called it), it was perhaps not surprising that Trump’s speech would be short on uplift. It was at least more disciplined than his other campaign speeches, if in keeping with their tone and content – the much-maligned teleprompter rolling a script to which he largely stuck. (“He sounds presidential,” a lady behind me remarked, though his press conference Friday morning marked a reversion to free-wheeling form).

It was short on substance too, though acceptance speeches aren’t designed to be policy laundry lists like a State of the Union. Still, there were few specifics, beyond a pledge to revise tax laws which inhibit religious groups from political advocacy, and a newfound concern with student loans. It was daughter Ivanka’s speech that had the greater substantive heft, promising her father would push for new labour laws to help working mothers, and for affordable childcare in the US. Neither are traditional Republican positions, but the crowd seemed on board for anything Trump might offer.

He even had them cheering for LGBTQ rights, after recalling the tragedy in Florida last month, and the need to protect gay Americans from a “hateful foreign ideology” in radical Islam. “It is so nice as a Republican to hear you cheering for what I just said,” he commended the delegates in an unscripted moment. But whether they had really embraced this unexpected message – or if it was the anti-terror chaser that really got them on their feet – remains to be seen. In either case, it was a rare grace note in an otherwise bruising speech.

Presenting himself repeatedly as the candidate of “law and order,” Trump evoked Richard Nixon’s 1968 presidential campaign. At a time when American cities were erupting in race riots and protests over the Vietnam War, Nixon had pitched himself as the face of stability and security. Likewise Trump has reacted to the simmering racial tensions and terrorist attacks this summer with a hard-line stance on “lawlessness.” “Safety must be restored,” Trump said, in one of the eerier lines he delivered. Yet in his convention speech, Nixon had balanced his tough talk with a positive message – speaking of love, courage, and lighting a “lamp of hope” in partnership with the American people. 

Trump channeled another president in his speech, too, when he promised to give voice to “the forgotten men and women of our country” – drawing on the language of Franklin Roosevelt. Roosevelt had promised to aid “the forgotten man at the bottom of the economic pyramid” during the 1932 campaign. But Roosevelt’s solution to the forgotten man’s distress was economic internationalism – tearing down tariff walls and trading freely with the world – which the Republican Party then opposed. Trump’s solution is the protectionist policies Roosevelt had railed against.

Trump’s economic and security philosophy is encapsulated in another, more notorious phrase associated with that era: “America First.” A rallying cry for isolationists seeking to avoid US entanglement in World War II, it acquired an anti-Semitic taint. But Trump has employed it nonetheless, capturing as it does his core argument that America must do more to protect its own citizens against threats from within and without – from illegal immigrants, from radicalized Islamic terrorists, from the downsides of free international trade. Little wonder that former George W.

Bush staffer Nicolle Wallace announced that the Republican party she knew “died in this room tonight.” In embracing elements of isolationism, protectionism, and nativism, however, it is perhaps truer to say that Trump’s Republican party reverted to an earlier form.

Often disconcerting, at times mesmerizing, the question remains how effective this speech will be. The delegates responded enthusiastically to Trump’s fierce rhetoric, but many prominent Republicans had stayed away from the convention altogether. Combined with Senator Ted Cruz’s non-endorsement, Trump goes into the general election campaign without a fully united party behind him. For both partisans and the public, Trump’s speech offered a cast of villains to rally against, but no positive, unifying vision to rally behind – beyond the much-touted yet elusive “greatness,” of course. In a typical election year, that would seem a critical flaw in a campaign – but Trump loves to confound the naysayers. As his convention speech showed, he thinks the formula that got him this far - showcasing his fame and fanning Americans’ fears – can land him in the White House.