The cultural imperative for us to hate everyone and everything is damaging. Photo: Getty
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Westminster might be nerdy, but we should stop pouring juvenile scorn on people trying to make a difference

Defend the mouthbreathers!

“Well, there’s the goofy bastard, the posh bastard, the treacherous bastard and the racist bastard. And they’re all the same,” goes pretty much any given twentysomething’s analysis of the lead-up to this godforsaken election happening in weeks.

I’d know because, for at least the past month, most conversations with my friends have involved me trying to persuade them not to draw dicks all over their ballots. Whenever politics happen, the pressure on my generation to hate builds and builds. And the more political the politics, the more pressure there is to hate. And a general election is about as political as politics get.

So, in a strange contraption that defies the laws of physics, we spur each other on to be as jaded as possible. It isn’t hard to understand why we do this. We’re just about creeping out of a recession that’s left so many of us fearing for our futures and Ed Miliband is hardly The Answer.

But he’s also not not the answer. And that’s so hard for us to admit because of this post-adolescent cultural imperative for us to hate everyone and everything. I’ve been obedient to that imperative for too long. Hating is just so easy. “Haters gonna hate,” says Taylor Swift (and about a billion rappers well before she made that a thing that white people say). Scroll through your Twitter feed right now and count the number of positive sentiments. Especially if you follow a lot of people in their twenties, I can almost guarantee that they’ll be rare. And I’m not talking about inspirational quotes superimposed on a picture of a lake. Those don’t count. That’s just stolen positivity regurgitated by people who’ve been dead inside since Gordon Brown’s premiership at the latest.

Similarly, I’m not talking about hype. It seems that the only things we’re allowed to like publicly are those that have been deemed worthy by Guardian reading Twitter. Last year it was Serial and Kate Bush and ramen. Those were the only things we were permitted to endorse. And they’re all perfectly nice things, but they’re apolitical. For me, and so many others around my age, the fear attached to having anything other than “Ugh” to say about politics is huge. The problem is that showing anything other than the utmost disdain for Westminster is just so nerdy. And not the good kind of “I like graphic novels and David Attenborough” nerdy. I mean, straight-up mouthbreather nerdy.

In the realm of millennial Twitter, you’d be hard-pressed to find a good solid, “You know what? Labour aren’t perfect but they have some legitimately good ideas and Ed is an OK guy. And it’s not his fault he seems like he probably has a lot of allergies.” I mean, that would make a shit tweet and posting Vines of Miliband being a thundering dork is way more fun. But in an electoral race that’s consisted almost entirely of negging the other guy, I wish that more people could be brave enough to talk about the positives. I’m definitely not one of those brave people. I’m just as addicted to hating as nearly everyone I know. It’s a disease. I can barely look at a tree without being all, “nice branches, fuckhead. Where did you get them, Rubbish Branches ‘R’ Us?”

Just for once, I wish we could channel all of our angst into hating something that truly deserves to be hated. Like Sambuca or George Galloway. Only then can we begin to admit that some stuff is actually, sort of, slightly a little bit OK. And only then can we stop pouring juvenile scorn on people who are actually trying to make a difference.

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.

Photo: Getty
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Commons Confidential: Herod in the House

Your weekly dose of gossip from around Westminster.

The spell cast over Theresa May by the youthful Gavin Williamson and Cronus, his pet tarantula, leaves envious Tory rivals accusing him of plotting to succeed the Stand-In Prime Minister. The wily Chief Whip is eyed suspiciously as a baby-faced assassin waiting to pounce.

My tearoom snout whispers that May is more dependent on the fresh-faced schemer (he also served as David Cameron’s PPS) who signed a survival deal bunging the DUP £1bn protection money than she is on David Davis, Philip Hammond, Amber Rudd or Boris Johnson. She delegated the reshuffle’s middle and lower ranks to Williamson, but his nous is questioned after he appointed Pudsey’s Stuart Andrew (majority: 331) and Calder Valley’s Craig Whittaker (609) as henchmen. Vulnerable seats are dangerously unprotected when whips don’t speak in the House of Commons.

Left-wing Labour MPs mutter that Jeremy Corbyn is implementing a “King Herod strategy” to prevent the birth of rival messiahs. A former shadow cabinet member insisted that any display of ambition would be fatal. The punishment snubbings of Yvette Cooper and Chuka Umunna, who had expressed a willingness to serve, were intended to intimidate others into obedience. The assertion was reinforced by an influential apparatchik musing: “John [McDonnell] is looking for a bag carrier, so Chuka could apply for that.” The election has laced the boot tightly on the left foot.

The military career of Barnsley’s Major Dan Jarvis included service in Northern Ireland. Perhaps old acquaintances will be renewed with the allocation to Sinn Fein’s seven MPs of a meeting room next to the Labour squaddie’s office.

Ian Lavery, the burly ex-miner appointed as Labour’s new chair by Jeremy Corbyn, disclosed that he was bombarded with messages urging him to “nut” – that is, headbutt – Boris Johnson when he faced down the Foreign Secretary on TV during the election. I suspect that even Trembling BoJo’s money would be on the Ashington lad in a class war with the Old Etonian.

Campaign tales continue to be swapped. Labour’s victorious Sharon Hodgson helped a family put up a tent. The defeated Lib Dem Sarah Olney was heckled through a letter box by a senior Labour adviser’s five-year-old son: “What’s that silly woman saying? Vote Labour!” Oddest of all was the Tory minister James Wharton informing his opponent Paul Williams that he’d put in a good word for him with Labour HQ. There was no need – Williams won.

The Tory injustice minister Dominic Raab is advertising for an unpaid Westminster “volunteer”, covering only “commuting expenses”. Does he expect them to eat at food banks?

Kevin Maguire is Associate Editor (Politics) on the Daily Mirror and author of our Commons Confidential column on the high politics and low life in Westminster. An award-winning journalist, he is in frequent demand on television and radio and co-authored a book on great parliamentary scandals. He was formerly Chief Reporter on the Guardian and Labour Correspondent on the Daily Telegraph.

This article first appeared in the 29 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit plague

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