David Cameron delivers a speech on welfare in Hove, East Sussex, on February 17, 2015. Photograph: Getty Images.
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It may take defeat to an “unelectable” Labour Party to force the Tories to modernise

The shock of losing to Miliband could awake the Conservatives from their dogmatic slumber.

The Conservatives are struggling to win this election because they failed to win the last one. Most governments endure by managing decline, rather than gaining support. Both John Major and Barack Obama, two leaders whose electoral success Tory strategists study obsessively, retained power with reduced majorities. Because of David Cameron’s failure to win outright in 2010, he will almost certainly fail to do so on 7 May. Indeed, the Tories face a fight to remain the single largest party: Labour needs to make net gains of just 24 seats to supplant them. There is increasing confidence among Ed Miliband’s inner circle that it will.

To win again, the Tories must understand why they fell short in 2010. Their problem is that many still do not. It was a dearth, not a surfeit, of modernisation that denied them outright victory. This is not an ideological assertion but a matter of empirical record. The Conservative pollster Lord Ashcroft’s audit of that election, Minority Verdict, found that too few voters trusted them to manage public services and to govern in the interests of all. In the months that followed, the myth developed that the Tories’ failure derived from the insufficient toughness of their policies on immigration, welfare and Europe. It was one that the party’s becalmed modernisers struggled to contest. After this, the Tories’ rightwards trajectory became inevitable. The “backfire effect”, the term coined by the US political scientist Brendan Nyhan to describe how individuals’ convictions grow stronger in the face of contradictory evidence, took hold.

After failing to decontaminate their brand in opposition, the Tories poisoned it in office. The abolition of the 50p tax rate, the reorganisation of the NHS and the bedroom tax were self-inflicted wounds that have yet to heal. More recent missteps have displayed a remarkable lack of self-awareness for a party that has had 18 years to reflect on its inability to win a majority. For example, this month’s announcement of further welfare cuts was masochistically scheduled to follow an opulent black-and-white ball, a sequence of events more suited to an Evelyn Waugh satire than the campaign of a modern political party.

It is in this context that Tim Montgom­erie, the founder of ConservativeHome, and Stephan Shakespeare, the chief executive of YouGov, have launched “the Good Right”, a new project to regenerate conservatism. They prescribe 12 initial policies for a “One-Nation Conservative Party”, including higher taxes on expensive properties and luxury goods, increased housebuilding, above-inflation rises in the minimum wage, greater infrastructure investment and limits on political donations. It is a programme of precisely the kind that the Tories need to embrace if they are to attract new supporters, most notably the blue-collar voters who have gravitated towards Ukip and who enabled their past majorities. Through a combination of ignorance and arrogance, too many Conservatives have convinced themselves that the economically insecure, interventionist-minded groups attracted to the “people’s army” will be appeased by the promise of an EU referendum, restrictions on migrant benefits and a relentless focus on austerity.

The Good Right has emerged too late in the political cycle to have much influence on the Conservative manifesto currently being assembled by Jo Johnson, Boris’s younger brother and the head of the No 10 policy unit. If its vision is ever adopted, it will more likely follow defeat than victory for the Tories. Referring to Labour’s poll deficit on leadership and economic management, George Osborne has declared that “water would have to start flowing uphill” for the opposition to win. Should the supposedly “unelectable” Miliband nevertheless enter Downing Street, the Conservatives may finally be forced to confront the question of why they are so disliked.

Alternatively, should they scrape over the line, many Tories will greet their victory as a vindication of their ideological prejudices. They will draw comfort from the rejection of Labour’s “socialist” programme, disregarding the individual popularity of many of Miliband’s policies. By again making too little effort to dispel their reputation as the party of the privileged, they will expose themselves to attack from a revived opposition and an economically populist Ukip.

The Conservatives’ historic strength has been their willingness to change according to circumstance. After their landslide defeat to Labour in 1945, they embraced the NHS, the mixed economy and the welfare state and were rewarded with 13 years in office from 1951. Confronted by the exhaustion of the postwar consensus at the end of the 1970s, they produced the transformative philosophy of Thatcherism.

It was in the 1990s that their beliefs ossified into dogma. The doctrine of free-market economics, one not inevitably tied to conservatism, was elevated to the status of a secular religion. Intelligent and practical policies of the kind advocated by the Good Right are now rejected as ideologically impure. A more politically adroit Conservative Party would harness the public discontent against the corporate sector, championing the “little man” in the manner of the trust-busting Republican president Theodore Roosevelt. The current one has rejected a “mansion tax” on the grounds that: “Our donors will never put up with it.”

Should they lose in May, the Tories may yet again draw the wrong conclusions, marching even further into the wilderness of Europhobia. But the party’s economic modernisers would at least have a window of opportunity to shape its future. Defeat to Miliband, a man they will remorselessly ridicule between now and polling day, could be the jolt the Tories need to awake from their dogmatic slumber.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 20 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Still hanging

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Meet the ex-footballers launching a support network for victims of sexual abuse in the sport

The Offside Trust is set up after hundreds have come forward, and 55 football clubs have been linked to allegations of abuse.

In a sumptuous room inside a luxurious hotel in the centre of Manchester, the country’s media anxiously await the arrival of a man whose story has rocked English football to its very foundations.

Since Andy Woodward went public with allegations that he experienced sexual abuse as a young footballer in the 1980s, the nation’s favourite sport has been left in crisis and, in the process, forced to do some soul-searching.

Following Woodward’s story, a number of his peers have also come forward with tales of unimaginable suffering.

This week, some of those men have joined together to launch the Offside Trust, an independently-run body aiming to provide support to players and the families of those who have suffered sexual abuse in football and other sports.

According to Woodward and his colleagues, the Trust won’t just be a way to help those who have been abused while playing the sport they love, but also represents a direct response to institutions that, in their view, have failed to protect them.

“A number of people who have come forward have indicated that they don’t have trust in the establishment,” says Edward Smethurst from Prosperity Law LLP, a Manchester law firm in charge of administering the trust.

“We are not here to criticise any of the establishment bodies, but we do have to respect the sensibilities and the opinions of the victims.” 

Wearing a crisp blue suit, hair combed neatly into place, Woodward’s composed demeanour masks the tremendous emotional stress he has revealed to the world he had to endure for decades, in silence until now.

Hearing him retell his story time and again, it is evident that, although exhausting, this process of letting the world know the horrors he says he experienced as a boy is both cathartic and a way to help others.

“I’m totally overwhelmed, the emotions are just unreal,” he says. “I can’t believe how many [people] have come forward, but I just encourage more and more [people] to have that strength and have that belief to do it.”

Sitting beside Woodward is Steve Walters – a former football prodigy whose career was cut short due to a blood disorder – who says he fell prey to the same serial child molester as Woodard. The person in question can no longer be named for legal reasons.

Walters tells me how his story has affected every aspect of his life. “It has ruined marriages, the relationship with my children, flashbacks, lack of sleep, panic attacks,” he tells me.

Walters speaks of “injustices” done to him for the past 20 years by those in charge of the sport he once loved. But he also knows how he would like to start turning the page and move on with his life.

“An apology [from Crewe Football Club] would be a start,” he says. “For them to not even put out one small apology, it does hurt.”

Since Woodward’s allegations were first made public on 16 November, 18 police forces across the country are now investigating claims of historic sexual abuse in football.

Every player I speak to at the Offside Trust launch in Manchester describes this as an epidemic, and that, in modern Britain, some children are still at the mercy of paedophiles operating within the sport. 

“I do believe it’s happening,” says Jason Dunford, who also claims to have been abused at Crewe Alexandra. “I believe it’s happening on a lower scale than when we were children, but as a father of a young boy who is around the football industry at the moment, I still have worries.”

Woodward coming forward has had worldwide implications. Walters and Dunford tell me they have been contacted by players as far-flung as South America and Australia who say they have been through the same ordeal as young footballers. The men are adamant this is not a UK problem, but a football one – wherever the game is played.

Woodward is mentally drained. Prior to the interview, he repeatedly tells me how the whirlwind of the last few weeks has affected his health. But he knows that this is his chance, perhaps the only one he’ll get, to help those like him.

“The closure will be when I feel like I’m satisfied that I have done everything I can to help as many people out there as possible,” he says. “People with children in football need protecting.” 

Felipe Araujo is a freelance journalist based in London. He writes about race, culture and sports. He covered the Rio Olympics and Paralympics on the ground for the New Statesman. He tweets @felipethejourno.