Labour is still pre-occupied with the 1992 defeat of Neil Kinnock. Photo: GERRY PENNY/AFP/Getty Images
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Labour’s past spectres, bringing on the Brexit, and the wisdom of the shoeless guru

Labour’s abiding problem is that it doesn’t think it really belongs in office and must therefore apologise for occasions when it was.

Were the Conservatives still talking in 2000 about 1992, when the Tory chancellor Norman Lamont, in a vain attempt to keep Britain in the Exchange Rate Mechanism (a precursor to the euro), raised interest rates from 10 per cent to 12 per cent and then to 15 per cent and finally back to 10 per cent within barely 24 hours? Not that I recall. Were they talking in 1982 about 1974, when Edward Heath, in an equally vain attempt to see off a miners’ strike, put the country on a three-day working week? I think not.

Yet here is a Labour leadership contest in which the contenders have begun by discussing whether Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling were guilty of overspending before the world financial crisis struck. The party should have buried this argument long ago. Lest we forget, public services were then so popular that the Tories promised to match Labour’s spending plans. And unlike Lamont and Heath, Labour ministers successfully dealt with the crisis that they confronted, not only rescuing British banking from collapse but persuading other countries to take similar action and then ­restoring economic growth by 2010.

It is, however, Labour’s fate always to be reliving the past: the “great betrayal” of 1931, the devaluations of 1949 and 1967, the 1978-79 Winter of Discontent, the 1983 “suicide note”, Liam Byrne’s “no money left” note in 2010. The Tories treat their disasters as mere aberrations. The message of the departing Tory chancellor Reginald Maudling to his Labour successor in 1964 – “Good luck, old cock. Sorry to leave it in such a mess” – was forgotten within a year. To listen to the Tories, you would think that Heath had nothing to do with them. A highly intelligent and politically aware young man once told me that he was 30 before he realised that the three-day week didn’t happen under Labour.

Labour’s abiding problem is that it doesn’t think it really belongs in office and must therefore apologise for occasions when it was. Tony Blair’s ambition was to turn it into the “natural governing party”. The test of that was whether it could bounce back quickly from the defeat it would inevitably suffer eventually. This uninspiring leadership contest, combined with the defeat that prompted it, shows how badly he failed.

 

Mr Blue Sky

For examples of what prospective Labour leaders should talk about, turn to Steve Hilton. Yes, that Steve Hilton, the shaven-headed, bicycling former provider of “blue-sky thinking” to David Cameron. He ­supported £25bn in welfare cuts and an end to unfair dismissal laws before, frustrated by Whitehall, he fled to California in 2012. Now, in a Sunday Times interview alongside an extract from his new book, More Human, he says: “Our democracies are increasingly captured by a ruling class that seeks to perpetuate its privileges”; governments listen only to those who have money; and it is “outrageous that we should tolerate a situation where people work incredibly hard yet can’t earn enough to live on”. He argues that, in return for a cut in business taxes, companies should pay the living wage. (Why didn’t Labour propose that?) He says that supermarkets and other big companies (he seems to hate Tesco particularly) should pay for the social and environmental damage they cause. He rails against “vast corporate machines that treat people as an afterthought whether they work for them, supply them or buy from them”.

I don’t agree with everything he says or even most of it. But this is the territory that Labour’s prospective leaders should explore.

 

Dead man’s shoes

Some Labour insiders suggest that the winner of this year’s contest should face a new leadership election in three years’ time. This sounds like a desperate device to insert
David Miliband, the “right” brother but not currently an MP. It occurs to me, however, that, since 1945, Labour has twice changed its leader in the middle of a parliament while in opposition. On both occasions, 1963 and 1994, the incumbent leader died (Hugh Gaitskell and John Smith). In both cases, Labour had performed below pre-poll expectations in the previous election, then went on to win a majority in the next. This little history lesson may be a bit of a downer for current leadership hopefuls but, in these challenging times, we must cling to those straws we can find.

 

From free trade to free-for-all

I was planning to vote in favour of Britain’s continuing EU membership, as I did (when it wasn’t the EU) in 1975. But I now think that, if Cameron recommends staying in, I shall vote against. With his small majority, he will make a pro-EU case only if he is sure that his Eurosceptic backbenchers won’t rebel. They want a deregulated Europe, in which countries compete to cut wages and taxes, reduce employees’ and consumers’ rights and abolish health, safety and environmental safeguards. That is what they mean by a pure free-trade area with no “interference” from Brussels. If an EU like that is in prospect, we should leave immediately.

 

Mansions of menace

Released from the terrors of Red Ed’s mansion tax, London’s high-end property market booms again. The Qatari ruling family, it is reported, has snapped up a six-storey Victorian town house in Mayfair for £40m and is close to creating a “Qatari quarter” in the area. As thrilling as it is to welcome such distinguished guests, instead of having Labour spurn them with its inhospitable taxes, I am just a little worried. The press is exercised about Islamist militants possibly being smuggled into Europe on flimsy refugee boats crossing the Mediterranean. But Qatar has been criticised for tolerating jihadist fundraisers and providing support, including weapons, to Middle Eastern militant groups. I am sure that Qatar’s rulers mean us no more harm than do the many genuine refugees trying to reach safety but are we quite sure that there’s no danger of an Islamist terrorist finding a safe haven in some corner of a Mayfair basement? Just asking.

Peter Wilby was editor of the Independent on Sunday from 1995 to 1996 and of the New Statesman from 1998 to 2005. He writes the weekly First Thoughts column for the NS.

This article first appeared in the 21 May 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The real opposition

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Why Nigel Farage is hoovering up all the women I know

Beware young fogeys.

I can’t remember where I was when I first worked out that I was older than Nigel Farage. You’d think after that bombshell went off, you’d still be able to locate the crater. Anyway, there it is: the cut-price little Oswald Mosley is about a year younger than me.

I mention this not because I want to dwell on the nasty piece of shit, but because I’ve been having to face, at one remove, so to speak, the problem of young fogeyism. It seems to be all around. And not only that, it’s hoovering up women I know.

The first time it happened was with B——. She was going to come round last weekend, but then emailed to cancel the day before, because she was going to watch rugby – apparently there’s some kind of tournament on, but it never seems to end – with her boyfriend. How ghastly, I said, or words to that effect; I’d rather die.

She then made the Category One mistake of saying, “Rugby, cricket, all the same to me,” with a cheeky little “x” at the end of it.

I replied thus: Rugby is a violent and brutal game (the coy term is “contact sport”, which means you get to – indeed, are encouraged to – injure the opposing team as often as you can, in the absence of any other tactic) loved by fascists, or, at best, those with suspicious ideas about the order of society with which I doubt you, B——, would wish to be aligned. Also, only people of immense bulk and limited intelligence can play it. Cricket is a game of deep and subtle strategy, capable of extraordinary variation, which is appreciated across the class spectrum, and is also so democratically designed that even the less athletic – such as I – can play it. [I delete here, for your comfort, a rant of 800 or so words in which I develop my theory that cricket is a bulwark against racism, and rugby, er, isn’t.] Both are dismayingly over-represented at the national level by ex-public-school boys; cricket as a matter of historical accident (the selling-off of school playing fields under Thatcher and Major), rugby as a matter of policy. Have a lovely day watching it.

Two things to note. 1) This woman is not, by either birth or ancestry, from a part of the world where rugby is played. 2) You wouldn’t have thought she was one of nature’s rugby fans, as she considers that Jeremy Corbyn is a good person to be leading the Labour Party. (True, thousands of Tories think the same thing, but for completely different reasons.)

That’s Exhibit A. Exhibit B is my old friend C——, whom I haven’t seen for about five years or so but suddenly pops up from the past to say hello, how about a drink? I always liked C—— very much, largely because she’s very funny and, let’s be frank about this, something of a sexpot. She seems keen to bring someone over with her who, reading between the lines like a modern-day Sherlock Holmes, I deduce to be her latest partner. The thing is, she says, she’s not sure he can come, because he might be going beagling.

Beagling?

Well, she does come round (alone, thank goodness) and she’s looking even better than I remember, and is even funnier, too, and she shows me some of the pictures she has put up on her profile page on some dating site, and they’re not the kind of photographs this magazine will ever publish, let’s leave it at that. (One of them even moves.) And, as it turns out – and it doesn’t really surprise me that much – the young beagler she is seeing is a good thirty years-plus younger than she, and his photograph shows him to be all ears and curls, like a transporter mix-up between Prince Charles and the young David Gower. Like B——’s young man, he is not called Gervaise or Peregrine but may as well be.

What on Earth is going on here? Can we blame Farage? I can understand the pull of the void, but this is getting ridiculous. Do they not quite understand what they’re doing? Actually, C—— does, because she’s had her eyes open all her life, and B——, her youth and political idealism notwithstanding, didn’t exactly come down in the last shower, either.

So what is it with these young wannabe toffs – one of whom isn’t even rich? “You’d like him,” C—— says, but I’m not so sure. People who go beagling sure as hell don’t like me, and I see no reason not to return the favour.

Well, I can’t thrash this out here. C—— leaves, but not before giving me the kind of kiss that makes me wish Binkie Beagley, or whatever his name is, would just wink out of existence.

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times