Liberal Democrat president Tim Farron at the party's spring conference in Brighton last year. Photograph: Getty Images.
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The next Lib Dem leader must come from the party's left

Rather than Jeremy Browne, the party needs a centre-left figurehead, such as Tim Farron, to revive its fortunes.

You can tell a series of elections are on the way, as speculation abounds again about the leadership of Nick Clegg and the future direction of the Liberal Democrats. I once, famously, and I admit wrongly, speculated about it myself on this very blog site when I wrote a post in anger (never a good thing to do) about Clegg.

Although I’m undoubtedly from a different wing of the party to him, I respect the leadership he’s shown on issues including our membership of the European Union and equal marriage. I accept that Clegg will likely lead our party into the 2015 general election and, possibly, beyond. But it’s a plain fact that one day he will stand down and a new leader will be elected. So, it’s on that basis that I suggest that the next leader of the party should come from its centre-left.

There’s no doubt that many people who consider themselves on the centre-left of the party- social liberals and social democrats -have left to join other parties or to be a member of no party because they couldn’t stand some of the things Lib Dem ministers were signing up to as part of the coalition.

But I’d still argue that the majority of the party’s membership remains - broadly speaking - on the centre-left of the political spectrum. Given some of what we’ve had to swallow, we’ve remained very disciplined, far more so than the disgruntled elements of the Tory party have.

I hope that whenever Clegg decides to stand down (and that could be years away) it’s an MP from the party’s centre-left who takes over. My personal choice for our next leader would be Tim Farron. His profile has slowly risen during his exemplary presidency of the party where he’s taken on the task of being the representative of the party’s left on a number of issues, from opposing the bedroom tax to always speaking up for the poorest and most vulnerable in our society.

We also shouldn’t count out Vince Cable. The argument that he’s “too old” is spurious and offensive. A more reasonable argument for him not succeeding Clegg is that, as Business Secretary in this coalition government, he’s just as responsible as the current Lib Dem leader for the bad bits of this administration’s record. But he certainly shouldn’t be ruled out.

Then there's Steve Webb, not much known outside Westminster yet but making a big name for himself and forcing through a number of significant Lib Dem wins in a notoriously difficult department.

As for potential candidates from the right of the party, my view is that Jeremy Browne has shot himself in the foot with his statements on various media platforms whilst promoting his book over the past week.  If what he’s espousing is “authentic liberalism” then I’d gladly be called an inauthentic liberal. I will never agree to further privatisation of our National Health Service or to an expansion of Free Schools.

I believe in an enabling state, which gives people opportunities, whatever their background or present circumstances, which provides certain services not for profit but because they’re basic fundamental services and which people already pay for in general taxation. Yes, I’m a social democrat and a social liberal and proud of it; two fine traditions in our party and flames which burn brightly despite the knocks they’ve taken in recent years.

I believe we, as a party, need to remember our founding beliefs and begin to live up to them. The preamble to our constitution states: “The Liberal Democrats exist to build and safeguard a fair, free and open society, in which we seek to balance the fundamental values of liberty, equality and community and in which no one shall be enslaved by poverty, ignorance or conformity.”

A party living up to those values is not ‘pointless,’ Mr Browne. It is vitally needed in a country where both of the two major parties prove time and again that they are far from liberal.

Mathew Hulbert is a Liberal Democrat Borough and Parish Councillor in Leicestershire

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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