Ed Miliband delivers his speech at the Labour conference last month in Manchester. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Miliband tells Labour MPs: I won't let victory "slip away"

The Labour leader tells a private meeting of his parliamentary party that he won't allow it to fall into "the bad habits of the past". 

The task for Ed Miliband at tonight's Parliamentary Labour Party meeting, which ended a short while ago, was (in the words of one shadow cabinet minister) to "restore the morale" of MPs shaken by the near-defeat to Ukip in the Heywood and Middleton by-election. 

He told those gathered in The Gladstone Room: "Four years ago, I came to the PLP and I said I would work every day to make sure Labour was a one-term opposition. We are seven months away, and that prospect, against many people's predictions, is absolutely doable, it is within our sights. I am not going to let that opportunity slip away." That Miliband felt the need to insist he would not snatch defeat from the jaws of victory suggests he recognises that some fear that is precisely what he is doing. 

After public criticism from some MPs and figures such as John Prescott, he also issued an appeal to unity: "Normally after an election we show disunity and division. We have had four years of unity. I'm not going to let us, seven months before an election, start lapsing into the bad habits of the past." But he conceded that "Things are going to be more difficult, this is not 1997. There will be ups and downs which make the last few weeks look easy." He added: "I know that we will pass that test", and said: "There are about 200 days to go, I am going to fight with every fibre of my being to win this election. I expect every person in this room, I expect every person in this party, to do the same."

Miliband declared that Labour's central election argument - "that the country does not work for working people" - was proving successful "because it's right", and that the party had announced more policies than in 1997 (citing the party's commitment to an £8 minimum wage, 25 free hours of child care, 200,000 homes a year by 2020, and 8,000 more GPs.) That is certainly true, but many MPs believe that he has been, and remains, overfocused on policy, failing to appreciate the need to define himself and the party in less wonkish, more accessible terms (as any pollster will tell you, voters don't notice most policy announcements). 

He named the five key "battleground issues" as living standards, aspiration, the NHS, immigration, and sound economic foundations. On the party's opponents, he denounced Ukip as "more Tory than the Tories", attacked the Conservatives for only believing in an economy run for "a privileged few", and said of the Lib Dems: "You can't trust a word Nick Clegg says." 

Miliband also took questions from the floor, with 14 supportive contributions and two critical ones from Helen Jones and Frank Field. I'm told that Jones criticised the party's lack of engagement with northern working class voters, while Field criticised its approach to immigration (he later described the meeting as "hopeless" to me). That the dissent was muted will have come as a relief to the leadership after an uneasy weekend. It serves as a reminder that Labour remains far more united than the Tories, where there are warnings of David Cameron facing a vote of no confidence if the Tories lose the Rochester by-election to Ukip defector Mark Reckless.

One shadow cabinet minister told me: "Ed was good. Hard to avoid the undercurrent of anxiety but group dynamic inevitably led to the PLP rallying around. He needs to get straight out and be bold, seize the initiative." 

This is not a party at war, but it is one badly in need of inspiration. Most MPs agree with Miliband that victory is "doable", but he now needs to show that he is prepared to make the changes they believe are necessary to secure it. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue