The controversial campaign literature. Photo: Twitter/@guardian
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"It's sad they've sunk to such depths": Tories use Ukip candidate's Turkish name on a leaflet

The Conservatives in Thurrock have been accused of "cheap" tactics by putting Ukip candidate Tim Aker's little-used full Turkish name on a campaign leaflet.

The constituency of Thurrock is going to be a tough battle in the build up to May. It has become a three-way marginal, with Ukip polling top and Labour scrabbling to beat it to unseating the Conservative MP, Jackie Doyle-Price, who has a majority of just 92 votes.

Perhaps in this messy political tangle, dirty campaigning is only to be expected. And indeed, the Conservatives in Thurrock have been accused of "incredibly cheap" tactics, by sending round a leaflet calling the Ukip candidate in the seat, Tim Aker, by his little-used full Turkish name, "Timür Aker". This is thought to be an incendiary move, considering the sensitive immigration concerns pervading the constituency.

"We feel it pretty sad that they've sunk to such depths," a Ukip source close to Aker tells me.

The Guardian has tweeted a picture of the leaflet, which also includes pictures of the radical clerics Abu Qatada and Abu Hamza:

Tim Aker, who is also an MEP for the southeast and Ukip's Policy Unit chief, is quoted in the Guardian giving his reaction to the leaflet:

I think they are just getting desperate. They will find anything. It is incredibly cheap of them. But freedom of speech is what it is and the public will judge them on it.

I am not calling on them to stop using the leaflet. They can carry on doing what they do. I am not going to try and stifle their rights to freedom of speech. But they have got to bear the responsibility for it.

Aker, whose father is Turkish, began to shorten his name to "Tim" when he was at school. His name is very rarely written in full, which is why it is thought to be a pointed move by the Tories on their campaign literature. However, Doyle-Price told the Telegraph that she does not consider this a "big deal". Although she admitted it was "childish", she said:

Frankly, I don't consider this a big deal at all . . .

If I'm honest with you I think by referring to his Turkish heritage we've actually given him credibility because frankly having roots from overseas is nothing to be ashamed of. Actually they are something to be proud of.

What we've done is actually broadcast the fact that Tim is just as much a citizen with diverse roots as anybody else in this country. It's probably going to do him a favour.

Anoosh Chakelian is deputy web editor at the New Statesman.

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What happens when a president refuses to step down?

An approaching constitutional crisis has triggered deep political unrest in the Congo.

Franck Diongo reached his party’s headquarters shortly after 10am and stepped out of a Range Rover. Staff and hangers-on rose from plastic chairs to greet the president of the Mouvement Lumumbiste Progressiste (MLP), named after the first elected leader of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Diongo, a compact and powerfully built man, was so tightly wound that his teeth ground as he talked. When agitated, he slammed his palms on the table and his speech became shrill. “We live under a dictatorial regime, so it used the security forces to kill us with live rounds to prevent our demonstration,” he said.

The MLP is part of a coalition of opposition parties known as the Rassemblement. Its aim is to ensure that the Congolese president, Joseph Kabila, who has been president since 2001, leaves office on 19 December, at the end of his second and supposedly final term.

Yet the elections that were meant to take place late last month have not been organised. The government has blamed logistical and financial difficulties, but Kabila’s opponents claim that the president has hamstrung the electoral commission in the hope that he can use his extended mandate to change the rules. “Mr Kabila doesn’t want to quit power,” said Diongo, expressing a widespread belief here.

On 19 September, the Rassemblement planned a march in Kinshasa, the capital, to protest the failure to deliver elections and to remind the president that his departure from office was imminent. But the demonstration never took place. At sunrise, clashes broke out between police and protesters in opposition strongholds. The military was deployed. By the time peace was restored 36 hours later, dozens had died. Kabila’s interior minister, claiming that the government had faced down an insurrection, acknowledged the deaths of 32 people but said that they were killed by criminals during looting.

Subsequent inquiries by the United Nations and Human Rights Watch (HRW) told a different story. They recorded more fatalities – at least 53 and 56, respectively – and said that the state had been responsible for most of the deaths. They claimed that the Congolese authorities had obstructed the investigators, and the true number of casualties was likely higher. According to HRW, security forces had seized and removed bodies “in an apparent effort to hide the evidence”.

The UN found that the lethal response was directed from a “central command centre. . . jointly managed” by officials from the police, army, presidential bodyguard and intelligence agency that “authorised the use of force, including firearms”.

The reports validated claims made by the Rassemblement that it was soldiers who had set fire to several opposition parties’ headquarters on 20 September. Six men were killed when the compound of the UDPS party was attacked.

On 1 November, their funerals took place where they fell. White coffins, each draped in a UDPS flag, were shielded from the midday sun by a gazebo, while mourners found shade inside the charred building. Pierrot Tshibangu lost his younger sibling, Evariste, in the attack. “When we arrived, we found my brother’s body covered in stab marks and bullet wounds,” he recalled.

Once the government had suppressed the demonstration, the attorney general compiled a list of influential figures in the Rassemblement – including Diongo – and forbade them from leaving the capital. Kinshasa’s governor then outlawed all political protest.

It was easy to understand why Diongo felt embattled, even paranoid. Midway through our conversation, his staff apprehended a man loitering in the courtyard. Several minutes of mayhem ensued before he was restrained and confined under suspicion of spying for the government.

Kabila is seldom seen in public and almost never addresses the nation. His long-term intentions are unclear, but the president’s chief diplomatic adviser maintains that his boss has no designs on altering the constitution or securing a third term. He insists that Kabila will happily step down once the country is ready for the polls.

Most refuse to believe such assurances. On 18 October, Kabila’s ruling alliance struck a deal with a different, smaller opposition faction. It allows Kabila to stay in office until the next election, which has been postponed until April 2018. A rickety government of national unity is being put in place but discord is already rife.

Jean-Lucien Bussa of the CDER party helped to negotiate the deal and is now a front-runner for a ministerial portfolio. At a corner table in the national assembly’s restaurant, he told me that the Rassemblement was guilty of “a lack of realism”, and that its fears were misplaced because Kabila won’t be able to prolong his presidency any further.

“On 29 April 2018, the Congolese will go to the ballot box to vote for their next president,” he said. “There is no other alternative for democrats than to find a negotiated solution, and this accord has given us one.”

Diongo was scathing of the pact (he called it “a farce intended to deceive”) and he excommunicated its adherents from his faction. “They are Mr Kabila’s collaborators, who came to divide the opposition,” he told me. “What kind of oppositionist can give Mr Kabila the power to violate the constitution beyond 19 December?”

Diongo is convinced that the president has no intention of walking away from power in April 2018. “Kabila will never organise elections if he cannot change the constitution,” he warned.

Diongo’s anger peaked at the suggestion that it will be an uphill struggle to dislodge a head of state who has control of the security forces. “What you need to consider,” he said, “is that no army can defy a people determined to take control of their destiny . . . The Congolese people will have the last word!”

A recent poll suggested that the president would win less than 8 per cent of the vote if an election were held this year. One can only assume that Kabila is hoping that the population will have no say at all.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage