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Fishing with dynamite: the big competition myth

Is it time to relinquish fantasies of winning in exchange for the greater prize of shared progress?

Illustration by Sonia Roy/

The cure for banks? Ed Miliband advocates more competition. Need to improve education? Nick Clegg urges more competition between students, between teachers, between schools. The solution to fuel poverty? David Cameron places his faith in competition between the energy companies. From TV talent contests and school rankings to the Olympics and rich lists, our religious faith in competition has promised fabulous efficiencies, miraculous economies and dazzling innovation. Instead we find ourselves gasping for air in a sea of corruption, dysfunction, environmental degradation, waste and inequality. Might there be a connection?

When I interviewed bankers for my 2011 book Wilful Blindness, the brutal pragmatism of a competitive industry was spelled out. “Sub-prime was about ripping off poor people,” one told me. “But we have to employ a sales force. And there was no way we could hire, let alone retain a single good salesperson without letting them sell these high-commission products.

“What were we supposed to do? Sit on our principles and watch as every salesperson walked out the door?”

The financial crisis proved so catastrophic because so many were selling the same toxic products. Classic economic theory may argue that competition is productive because it generates a diverse range of goods and services that benefit consumers and, by extension, society – but in this instance (and many others) it signally failed to do so. Belief in the theory underpins Cameron’s and Miliband’s touching faith that competition, and being more easily able to switch between banks or energy providers, will somehow liberate consumers from price-gouging. In fact, it seems more likely that it will just encourage companies to copy each other’s dodgy innovations at a faster rate. Competition frequently fails to deliver its theoretical promises. Intense competition inside and between institutions generates dysfunction, corruption, waste and the unwinding of the social fabric.

In organisations, competition for permanent jobs, bonuses and promotions can erode trust. Many companies formalise this through forced ranking, a system in which employees are assessed and rewarded for their position within a standard distribution. The top 10 per cent are winners, the bottom 10 are losers and are encouraged to move out, and those in the middle are (at least temporarily) safe. At Enron, this was known as “rank and yank”, at Intel “Focal” and at Microsoft “stack ranking”. The system is a crude form of social Darwinism, inspired by the hope that a need to survive will promote great work. In fact, it has just the opposite effect: people sabotage each other, appearing to be courteous while keeping back just enough information so that colleague-competitors can’t excel. Pleasers and politicians thrive, gaming a system that no one takes responsibility for; if you’re a winner, the system works for you – and if you’re a loser, it’s not your problem. Microsoft recently announced that it was abandoning the system but most large corporations still use it, and then wonder at their inability to innovate.

Competition can’t deliver the creativity these managers need because it specifically disables collaboration. If I’m being judged in comparison with my peers, why would I help them? That these executives are the products of competitive education systems only exacerbates the problem: they bring with them a lifetime of being trained to compete for class rankings, prizes and places. In the United States, where class rankings are still common, parents advise their children not to help one another, on the grounds that doing so may jeopardise their winning the top spot. Here in the UK, primary school teachers observe “competitive friending”: parents’ attempts to ensure that their kids make the right friends to enable acceptance in the right social networks.

In both the UK and the US, the emphasis on competition and ranking encapsulates the same message: everyone is a rival. This does little to teach the subtle habits of collaboration but much to focus any child’s mind on results. If grades are all that matters at school does it matter how you get them? The past decade has brought an explosion in cheating, plagiarism and the use of drugs to enhance exam performance. At the Institute for Global Ethics, the late Rushworth Kidder estimated that, by the time they reached college, 75 per cent of students had cheated – which is why many universities now run students’ essays through Turnitin software to check that they haven’t been copied or stolen.

In the world of science, a well-honed competitive mindset has produced what many leading researchers are calling a crisis: a culture in which the open exchange of ideas, data and theories has all but stopped. Crick and Watson may have considered themselves to be in a race – but their success hinged on the shared insights, data and debates of colleagues. They would find today’s labs very different: in 1966, 50 per cent of scientists said they felt safe talking about their research, but by 1998 that number had fallen to just 14. Science is a necessarily accretive process but from Harvard and Washington to London and Berlin, ambitious scientists wanting to be superstars share with no one. Rivalry and the fear of being scooped stop them from pitching in.

Progress for a scientist is measured in publications, citations and research awards – and as the competition for both has increased, so have fraud, plagiarism and what scientists call “normal misbehaviour”: secrecy, sabotage, data slicing and culling. At the University of Washington, Ferric Fang has grown particularly concerned about the increasing numbers of scientific papers that have to be retracted because they are rushed into print too fast, with inaccurate, incomplete or fabricated data. The number of articles published in the past decade has increased just 44 per cent but retractions of scientific papers have increased tenfold – and most scientists believe this represents the tip of the iceberg.

The cost of this is inestimable; flawed papers lead researchers down dead ends and deflect others from promising avenues. The fraud of the prize-winning physicist Jan Hendrik Schön (who falsely claimed spectacular advances in the field of nanotechnology between 2000 and 2002) cost numerous scientists years of fruitless work and wasted resources.


The tournament that is modern science has produced what scientists call “the Matthew effect”, according to which the well-funded scientists (winners) get more funding and those with little (losers) get less. This might be a great way to run a game show but it is an especially poor way of promoting discoveries because picking winners is so difficult. The history of science is replete with cases of stunning breakthroughs made by the least likely of people, from the Augustinian monk Gregor Mendel to the “surfer pothead” Kary Mullis, whose invention of the polymerase chain reaction (PCR) transformed the science of genetics.

The costs of competition in business are sometimes obvious – fraud, corruption, sabotage – but many are more oblique. The measure of a company’s success (or the status of its CEO) is size, and the pursuit of growth is routinely pursued with high-risk strategies whose true cost may be apparent only years later. This is what the legal scholar Lynn Stout calls “fishing with dynamite”.

The quickest way to grow a company is through mergers and acquisitions, an old headline-grabbing favourite of high-profile CEOs even though research shows a failure rate of anywhere between 40 and 80 per cent. Under John Browne, BP grew fast by buying Amoco in 1998, Atlantic Richfield in 1999 and Burmah Castrol in 2000. Theoretically this should have generated economies of scale but it created debt, which ushered in an era of cost-cutting.

Similarly, the quest to make RBS the world’s biggest bank left it with the biggest loss in British corporate history and, in 2012, with a balance sheet the size of the UK’s economic output. Many working at RBS sensed that the acquisition of the Dutch bank ABN Amro in 2007 was driven by Fred Goodwin’s desire to pull off the biggest deal in banking. The quest for scale delivers not just huge risk, but also vast complexity. Supersizing companies always comes at a cost because competitive instincts don’t stop until they fail. To this day, RBS is in a tangle that people working there don’t believe they can fix.

Competition for market share is typically pursued by lowering prices. This race to the bottom might look great to consumers – dresses for £5, cashmere jumpers for £40 – but the costs have to go somewhere and usually they are pushed down to the most vulnerable. We may imagine this is a relatively new phenomenon but it isn’t. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in New York in 1911 (146 deaths) was echoed a century later by the collapse in 2013 of the Rana Plaza factory in Bangladesh (which made clothing for brands such as Matalan, Primark and Walmart), in which 1,129 died.

Globalisation didn’t invent the race to the bottom but firms such as Li & Fung accelerate it. Acting as a broker between low-wage factories and the companies that use them, Li & Fung’s “Little John Waynes” scour the world from Vietnam to Bangladesh to sub-Saharan Africa in search of ever cheaper labour. This is no small business – in 2012 Li & Fung earned $20bn – and, in theory, the brokers monitor working conditions. But its suppliers have had several disasters, including a factory fire that killed over a hundred workers.

Whether you’re making clothes, fast food or cheap books, competing purely on price drives down labour costs, producing a casualised workforce whose greater needs are either ignored or met by the state: a form of corporate subsidy that companies rarely acknowledge but happily accept.

The true costs exacted by a harshly competitive culture can be seen in the flood plains of North Carolina, the epicentre of the global meat industry. It isn’t just the ten million hogs (concentrating in just one state waste equivalent to that produced by the entire human population of Canada) which make this region remarkable. Rapid consolidation of family farms threw people off the land with nowhere to go. Industrialisation didn’t bring in money or create jobs but left the predominantly African-American families living off food stamps, stranded in a wasteland dotted with lagoons of animal excrement, afraid to protest the high levels of ammonia, hydrogen sulfide, acetic and butyric acids emanating from the facilities.

As large meat conglomerates moved into eastern Europe, a tradition of silence made consolidation easy: within ten years, 600,000 hog farms in Poland and 90 per cent of Romania’s independent farms had vanished. Horse meat is a sideshow, compared to the damage done to the social fabric of such places.

Economists may call these “perverse outcomes” but they are the predictable outcomes of competition. If we place our faith in it, we shouldn’t be surprised by such antisocial effects. After all, if my win is secured at the cost of your failure, what connects us? In a society that believes in winner-takes-all, how can competition fail to generate increasing levels of inequality?

Competition enlivens routine with drama, but when the stakes are high, so are the costs. The ubiquitous metaphor of our age – sport – demonstrates how destructive competition is, when it comes to playing for the big prizes and huge rewards that professional athletes now pursue. Travis Tygart, the head of the US Anti-Doping Agency, and the man famed for bringing down Lance Armstrong, has long agonised over the increasing rates of doping and corruption that characterise elite sport. His research showed him that although people still valued sport for the lessons of fair play, collaboration, integrity and discipline it could teach, in reality they believed that all that really mattered was winning. “In a climate in which corporate executives fabricate financial records, citizens evade taxes, professional athletes commit felonies . . . cheating and unethical behaviour appear to pay off,” Tygart’s research concluded. “Is our nation well served by a citizenry that learns to prize winning and extrinsic rewards at any cost as the values held most dear?”

It’s a recurring question. How can we create schools, companies and communities characterised less by competition and driven instead by an intrinsic passion for innovation, problem-solving and collaboration? Crowdsourcing companies – Kickstarter, Airbnb, SnapGoods, RelayRides, TechShop and many more – start from the premise that it is pooling, not hoarding resources, that creates opportunity. These businesses are typically celebrated for their technology, but their true daring resides in their reliance on the human desire to work together.

More conventional businesses such as W L Gore and Arup have proved successful and resilient because they focus intently on building social capital – trust, reciprocity and shared values – both within the company and with all the other businesses they work with. This isn’t marginal; it is central to everything they do. W L Gore is known for producing Gore-tex but should be more famous for the way it runs its business; you succeed at Gore because people want to work with you, not because you’ve bested them in a contest.

The structural engineers at Arup have been able to build some of the most challenging structures in the world – the Bird’s Nest stadium in Beijing and the ArcelorMittal Orbit – because the firm nurtures a work environment in which people eagerly share expertise and where hierarchy and status contests are of negligible importance. That these companies are also owned by their employees isn’t the single driver of collaboration but consistent with a mindset that sees shared respect and commitment as the necessary conditions for progress.

The Business Secretary, Vince Cable, and others have been keen to champion employee ownership structures as making a difference to the way companies behave. They are right to do so but wrong to think ownership alone will immunise companies against the ills that competitiveness spreads. We have seen the Co-op mired in scandal and fiasco because its ownership structure proved insufficient to ward off the conventional allure of mergers and acquisitions, the quest for scale for its own sake.

There is a lesson here for nations also. While presidents and prime ministers posture on the world stage, comparing their standing in GDP league tables, it is the smaller countries, such as Finland and Singapore, that prove most agile. They have to be great partners because they don’t have the size or market heft to protect them. They export more, plan further ahead and learn quickly. Knowing they can’t win through dominance, smaller countries have had to develop the capacity internally to be excellent collaborators externally. Not surprisingly, their high-achieving school systems seek success for every child, because they don’t believe they can afford to waste anyone.

Larger nations find it increasingly difficult to adjust to a world in which partnerships, alliances and trust represent the best social and political capital. Britain’s agonised relationship with the European Union demonstrates just how poorly we have developed the ability to contribute the best of our talents to the best of our partners.

If we are to find new ways to live and work together, we need to develop and prize high levels of trust and give-and-take: elements that competition so subtly corrodes. We need to celebrate the individuals and institutions that produce the greatest opportunities for the largest number of contributors. Many companies around the world continue to prove the human capacity for this way of working and measuring collective success.

Yet many politicians, wedded to gladiatorial combat and the rankings mania of opinion polls, have signally lost the capacity to think beyond the narrow confines of a very short race. Our politics are stalled because our problems are complex and our means of addressing them are often crude and rigid.

In the looming face-off between business, governments and society, a competitive mindset can frame the contest, but accepting this could destroy the mental maps that might show the way towards a solution. The problem is a failure not of the imagination, but of courage: the willingness to relinquish fantasies of winning in exchange for the bigger prize of joint achievement and shared progress. l

Margaret Heffernan is the author of “A Bigger Prize: Why Competition Isn’t Everything and How We Do Better” (Simon & Schuster, £14.99)

This article first appeared in the 18 June 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Islam tears itself apart

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This Ada Lovelace Day, let’s celebrate women in tech while confronting its sexist culture

In an industry where men hold most of the jobs and write most of the code, celebrating women's contributions on one day a year isn't enough. 

Ada Lovelace wrote the world’s first computer program. In the 1840s Charles Babbage, now known as the “father of the computer”, designed (though never built) the “Analytical Engine”, a machine which could accurately and reproducibly calculate the answers to maths problems. While translating an article by an Italian mathematician about the machine, Lovelace included a written algorithm for which would allow the engine to calculate a sequence of Bernoulli numbers.

Around 170 years later, Whitney Wolfe, one of the founders of dating app Tinder, was allegedly forced to resign from the company. According to a lawsuit she later filed against the app and its parent company, she had her co-founder title removed because, the male founders argued, it would look “slutty”, and because “Facebook and Snapchat don’t have girl founders. It just makes it look like Tinder was some accident". (They settled out of court.)

Today, 13 October, is Ada Lovelace day – an international celebration of inspirational women in science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM). It’s lucky we have this day of remembrance, because, as Wolfe’s story demonstrates, we also spend a lot of time forgetting and sidelining women in tech. In the wash of pale male founders of the tech giants that rule the industry,we don't often think about the women that shaped its foundations: Judith Estrin, one of the designers of TCP/IP, for example, or Radia Perlman, inventor of the spanning-tree protocol. Both inventions sound complicated, and they are – they’re some of the vital building blocks that allow the internet to function. 

And yet David Streitfield, a Pulitzer-prize winning journalist, someow felt it accurate to write in 2012: “Men invented the internet. And not just any men. Men with pocket protectors. Men who idolised Mr Spock and cried when Steve Jobs died.”

Perhaps we forget about tech's founding women because the needle has swung so far into the other direction. A huge proportion – perhaps even 90 per cent - of the world’s code is written by men. At Google, women fill 17 per cent of technical roles. At Facebook, 15 per cent. Over 90 per cent of the code respositories on Github, an online service used throughout the industry, are owned by men. Yet it's also hard to believe that this erasure of women's role in tech is completely accidental. As Elissa Shevinsky writes in the introduction to a collection of essays on gender in tech, Lean Out: “This myth of the nerdy male founder has been perpetuated by men who found this story favourable."

Does it matter? It’s hard to believe that it doesn’t. Our society is increasingly defined and delineated by code and the things it builds. Small slip-ups, like the lack of a period tracker on the original Apple Watch, or fitness trackers too big for some women’s wrists, gesture to the fact that these technologies are built by male-dominated teams, for a male audience.

In Lean Out, one essay written by a Twitter-based “start-up dinosaur” (don’t ask) explains how dangerous it is to allow one small segment of society to built the future for the rest of us:

If you let someone else build tomorrow, tomorrow will belong to someone else. They will build a better tomorrow for everyone like them… For tomorrow to be for everyone, everyone needs to be the one [sic] that build it.

So where did all the women go? How did we get from a rash of female inventors to a situation where the major female presence at an Apple iPhone launch is a model’s face projected onto a screen and photoshopped into a smile by a male demonstrator? 

Photo: Apple.

The toxic culture of many tech workplaces could be a cause or an effect of the lack of women in the industry, but it certainly can’t make make it easy to stay. Behaviours range from the ignorant - Martha Lane-Fox, founder of, often asked “what happens if you get pregnant?” at investors' meetings - to the much more sinister. An essay in Lean Out by Katy Levinson details her experiences of sexual harassment while working in tech: 

I have had interviewers attempt to solicit sexual favors from me mid-interview and discuss in significant detail precisely what they would like to do. All of these things have happened either in Silicon Valley working in tech, in an educational institution to get me there, or in a technical internship.

Others featured in the book joined in with the low-level sexism and racism  of their male colleagues in order to "fit in" and deflect negative attention. Erica Joy writes that while working in IT at the University of Alaska as the only woman (and only black person) on her team, she laughed at colleagues' "terribly racist and sexist jokes" and "co-opted their negative attitudes”. 

The casual culture and allegedly meritocratic hierarchies of tech companies may actually be encouraging this discriminatory atmosphere. HR and the strict reporting procedures of large corporates at least give those suffering from discrimination a place to go. A casual office environment can discourage reporting or calling out prejudiced humour or remarks. Brook Shelley, a woman who transitioned while working in tech, notes: "No one wants to be the office mother". So instead, you join in and hope for the best. 

And, of course, there's no reason why people working in tech would have fewer issues with discrimination than those in other industries. A childhood spent as a "nerd" can also spawn its own brand of misogyny - Katherine Cross writes in Lean Out that “to many of these men [working in these fields] is all too easy to subconciously confound women who say ‘this is sexist’ with the young girls who said… ‘You’re gross and a creep and I’ll never date you'". During GamerGate, Anita Sarkeesian was often called a "prom queen" by trolls. 

When I spoke to Alexa Clay, entrepreneur and co-author of the Misfit Economy, she confirmed that there's a strange, low-lurking sexism in the start-up economy: “They have all very open and free, but underneath it there's still something really patriarchal.” Start-ups, after all, are a culture which celebrates risk-taking, something which women are societally discouraged from doing. As Clay says, 

“Men are allowed to fail in tech. You have these young guys who these old guys adopt and mentor. If his app doesn’t work, the mentor just shrugs it off. I would not be able ot get away with that, and I think women and minorities aren't allowed to take the same amount of risks, particularly in these communities. If you fail, no one's saying that's fine.

The conclusion of Lean Out, and of women in tech I have spoken to, isn’t that more women, over time, will enter these industries and seamlessly integrate – it’s that tech culture needs to change, or its lack of diversity will become even more severe. Shevinsky writes:

The reason why we don't have more women in tech is not because of a lack of STEM education. It's because too many high profile and influential individuals and subcultures within the tech industry have ignored or outright mistreated women applicants and employees. To be succinct—the problem isn't women, it's tech culture.

Software engineer Kate Heddleston has a wonderful and chilling metaphor about the way we treat women in STEM. Women are, she writes, the “canary in the coal mine”. If one dies, surely you should take that as a sign that the mine is uninhabitable – that there’s something toxic in the air. “Instead, the industry is looking at the canary, wondering why it can’t breathe, saying ‘Lean in, canary, lean in!’. When one canary dies they get a new one because getting more canaries is how you fix the lack of canaries, right? Except the problem is that there isn't enough oxygen in the coal mine, not that there are too few canaries.” We need more women in STEM, and, I’d argue, in tech in particular, but we need to make sure the air is breatheable first. 

Barbara Speed is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman and a staff writer at CityMetric.

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What Jeremy Corbyn can learn from Orwell

Corbyn’s ideas may echo George Orwell’s – but they’d need Orwell’s Britain to work. It’s time Corbyn accepted the British as they are today.

All Labour Party leaderships since 1900 have offered themselves as “new”, but Tony Blair’s succession in 1994 triggered a break with the past so ruthless that the Labour leadership virtually declared war on the party. Now it is party members’ turn and they, for now at any rate, think that real Labour is Jeremy.

To Keir Hardie, real Labour had been a trade union lobby expounding Fellowship. To the Webbs, real Labour was “common ownership” by the best means available. Sidney’s Clause Four (adopted 1918) left open what that might be. In the 1920s, the Christian Socialist R H Tawney stitched Equality into the banner, but during the Depression young intellectuals such as Evan Durbin and Hugh Gaitskell designated Planning as Labour’s modern mission. After the Second World War, Clement Attlee followed the miners (and the London Passenger Transport Board) into Nationalisation. Harold Wilson tried to inject Science and Technology into the mix but everything after that was an attempt to move Labour away from state-regulated markets and in the direction of market-regulated states.

What made the recent leadership contest so alarming was how broken was the intellectual tradition. None of the candidates made anything of a long history of thinking about the relationship between socialism and what the people want. Yvette Cooper wanted to go over the numbers; only they were the wrong numbers. Andy Burnham twisted and turned. Liz Kendall based her bid on two words: “Have me.” Only Jeremy Corbyn seemed to have any kind of Labour narrative to tell and, of course, ever the ­rebel, he was not responsible for any of it. His conference address in Brighton was little more than the notes of a street-corner campaigner to a small crowd.

Given the paucity of thinking, and this being an English party for now, it is only a matter of time before George Orwell is brought in to see how Jeremy measures up. In fact, it’s happened already. Rafael Behr in the Guardian and Nick Cohen in the Spectator both see him as the kind of hard-left intellectual Orwell dreaded, while Charles Cooke in the National Review and Jason Cowley in the New Statesman joined unlikely fashion forces to take a side-look at Jeremy’s dreadful dress sense – to Orwell, a sure sign of a socialist. Cooke thought he looked like a “burned-out geography teacher at a third-rate comprehensive”. Cowley thought he looked like a red-brick university sociology lecturer circa 1978. Fair enough. He does. But there is more. Being a middle-class teetotal vegetarian bicycling socialistic feministic atheistic metropolitan anti-racist republican nice guy, with allotment and “squashily pacifist” leanings to match, clearly puts him in the land of the cranks as described by Orwell in The Road to Wigan Pier (1937) – one of “that dreary tribe of high-minded women and sandal-wearers and bearded fruit-juice drinkers who come flocking towards the smell of ‘progress’ like bluebottles to a dead cat”. And though Corbyn, as “a fully fledged, fully bearded, unabashed socialist” (Huffington Post), might make all true Orwellians twitch, he really made their day when he refused to sing the National Anthem. Orwell cited precisely that (see “The Lion and the Unicorn”, 1941) as an example of the distance between left-wing intellectuals and the people. It seemed that, by standing there, mouth shut, Comrade Corbyn didn’t just cut his wrists, he lay down full length in the coffin and pulled the lid shut.


Trouble is, this line of attack not only misrepresents the Labour leader, it misrepresents Orwell. For the great man was not as unflinchingly straight and true as some people think. It is impossible, for instance, to think of Orwell singing “God Save the King”, because he, too, was one of that “dreary tribe” of London lefties, and even when he joined Labour he remained ever the rebel. As for Corbyn, for a start, he is not badly dressed. He just doesn’t look like Chuka or Tristram. He may look like a threadbare schoolteacher, but Orwell was one twice over. Orwell was never a vegetarian or a teetotaller, but, like Corbyn, neither was he interested in fancy food (or drink), he kept an allotment, drove a motorbike, bicycled, cared about the poor, cared about the environment, loathed the empire, came close to pacifism at one point, and opposed war with Germany well past the time when it was reasonable to do so.

In Orwell’s thinking about socialism, for too long his main reference point was the London Marxist left. Not only did he make speeches in favour of revolutions, he took part in one with a gun in his hand. Orwell was far more interested, as Corbyn has been far more interested, in speaking truth to power than in holding office. His loyalty was to the movement, or at least the idea of the movement, not to MPs or the front bench, which he rarely mentioned. There is nothing in Corbyn’s position that would have shocked Orwell and, should they have met, there’d have been much to talk about: belief in public ownership and non-economic values, confidence in the state’s ability to make life better, progressive taxation, national health, state education, social care, anti-socially useless banking, anti-colonialism and a whole lot of other anti-isms besides. It’s hard to be sure what Orwell’s position would have been on Trident and immigration. Not Corbyn’s, I suspect. He was not as alert to feminism as he might have been but equally, few men try to write novels from a woman’s point of view and all Orwellians recognise that Julia is the dark hero of Nineteen Eighty-Four. In truth they are both austere types, not in it for themselves and not on anyone else’s expense account either. Corbyn won the leadership because this shone through from the very beginning. He came across as unaffected and straightforward – much as Orwell tried to be in his writing.

Except, as powerfully expressed in these pages by John Gray, Corbyn’s politics were made for another world. What sort of world would he need? First off, he’d need a regulated labour market: regulated by the state in partnership with a labour movement sensitive to what people wanted and experienced in trying to provide it. He would also need capital controls, a manufacturing base capable of building the new investment with Keynesian payback, an efficient and motivated Inland Revenue, a widespread public-service ethos that sees the country as an asset, not a market, and an overwhelming democratic mandate to get things done. In other words, Corbyn needs Orwell’s Britain – not this one – and at the very least, if he can’t have that, he needs the freedom to act that the European Commission forbids.

There’s another problem. Orwell did not trust left-wing intellectuals and spent half his life trying to work out their motivations as a class who spoke for the people, went in search of the people, and praised the people, but did not know them or believe in them. True, Corbyn says he wants to be open and inclusive, but we know he can’t possibly mean it when he says it will be the party, not him or the PLP, that will decide policy, just as we knew it couldn’t possibly be true when he said he’d turn PMQs into the People’s Question Time. Jeremy hasn’t changed his mind in forty years, appears to have great difficulty (unlike Tony Benn) in fusing socialism to national identity or experience (Hardie, Ben Okri and Maya Angelou were bolted on to his Brighton speech) and seems to think that not being happy with what you are given somehow captures the historic essence of socialism (rather than its opposite).

Granted, not thinking outside the ­circle is an inherent fault of the sectarian left but some of our most prominent left-wing journalists have it, too. Working-class support for nationalisation? Good. Right answer! Working-class opposition to benefit scroungers and further mass immigration? Bad. Wrong answer! Would you like to try again? In his essay “In Defence of Comrade Zilliacus” (1947) Orwell reckoned that left-wing intellectuals saw only what they wanted to see. For all their talk of representing the people, they hated the masses. “What they are frightened of is the prevailing opinion within their own group . . . there is always an orthodoxy, a parrot-cry . . .”

The game is hard and he may go down in a welter of knives, yet Corbyn still has time. He may go on making the same speech – on the benefits of apple pie to apple growers – but at some point he will have to drop the wish-list and get on the side of the British people as they are, and live with that, and build into it. Only the nation state can even begin to do the things he wants to do. The quicker he gets that, the quicker we can see if the latest incarnation of new Labour has a future.

Robert Colls is the author of “George Orwell: English Rebel” (Oxford University Press)

This article first appeared in the 08 October 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin vs Isis