Jo Swinson with Nick Clegg on the last day of the campaign. Photo: Getty
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Ex-Lib Dem minister Jo Swinson: “When we went into coalition, I knew it might be impossible to win my seat”

The coalition minister who lost her Scottish seat at the election reflects on her party’s defeat.

Jo Swinson looks relaxed. When I meet her at a brasserie that recently opened under the arches in Vauxhall, she is chatting merrily to its owner, a friend of hers.

It is three weeks after she lost her seat in Scotland to the SNP. Swinson had represented East Dunbartonshire for the Lib Dems since 2005. She was a key member of the Lib Dems in government, promoted by Nick Clegg further than the other, very few, female Lib Dem MPs, to the position of Business and Women and Equalities Minister.

She was often touted as a future Secretary of State for Scotland, and even as a successor to Clegg. A future that has slipped through her fingers – at least momentarily. But she is straightforward about her desire to return to politics.

“I loved the job of being an MP for East Dunbartonshire, and so I can certainly envisage circumstances where I stand again,” she says. “But I'm not going to make that decision at this point.”

For the moment, she is enjoying being reunited with her 17-month-old son, Andrew, and her husband Duncan Hames (a former Lib Dem MP who also lost his seat in the general election).

“Part of me just wanted him to remember who I am!” she says of her son, recalling the final three weeks of her campaign when he was staying down in Hames’ constituency of Chippenham. Half way through the short campaign, Swinson handed Andrew over to Hames when she was down doing Question Time.

Having reunited in London the day after the election, she recalls them taking their son to play in the park while both “feeling zombified having not really slept properly”.

Swinson seems less exhausted now, however, and is happy to reflect on the Lib Dems’ catastrophic defeat. Perhaps this is easier for her, as she actually increased the number of votes she received (from 18,551 in 2010 to 19,926 in 2015, and only just lost by a little over 2,000 votes).

“The only silver lining is that I got a good result and it didn't feel personal, because you were losing on a night when most Liberal Democrat MPs are losing their seats, and indeed most Scottish MPs,” she says.

Yet she does point out that her party’s role as coalition partner with the Tories put her in a precarious position – although she still maintains going into government was the “right thing to do”.

“I always knew it was going to be difficult fighting a seat in Scotland having been in coalition with the Conservatives,” she admits. “And I recognised when we went into coalition it might make it impossible to win my seat.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.

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Andy Burnham and Sadiq Khan are both slippery self-mythologisers – so why do we rate one more than the other?

Their obsessions with their childhoods have both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

Andy Burnham is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s widely seen as an unprincipled flip-flopper.

Sadiq Khan is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s the hugely popular mayor of London, the voice of those who’d be proud to think of themselves as the metropolitan liberal elite, and is even talked of as a possible future leader of the Labour party.

Oh, and also they were both born in 1970. So that’s a thing they have in common, too.

Why it is this approach to politics should have worked so much better for the mayor of London than the would-be mayor of Manchester is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. There are definite parallels between Burnham’s attempts to present himself as a normal northern bloke who likes normal things like football, and Sadiq’s endless reminders that he’s a sarf London geezer whose dad drove a bus. They’ve both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

And yes, Burnham apparent tendency to switch sides, on everything from NHS privatisation to the 2015 welfare vote to the leadership of Jeremy Corbyn, has given him a reputation for slipperiness. But Sadiq’s core campaign pledge was to freeze London transport fares; everyone said it was nonsense, and true to form it was, and you’d be hard pressed to find an observer who thought this an atypical lapse on the mayor’s part. (Khan, too, has switched sides on the matter of Jeremy Corbyn.)

 And yet, he seems to get away with this, in a way that Burnham doesn’t. His low-level duplicity is factored in, and it’s hard to judge him for it because, well, it’s just what he’s like, isn’t it? For a long time, the Tory leadership’s line on London’s last mayor was “Boris is Boris”, meaning, look, we don’t trust him either, but what you gonna do? Well: Sadiq is Sadiq.

Even the names we refer to them by suggest that one of these two guys is viewed very differently from the other. I’ve instinctively slipped into referring to the mayor of London by his first name: he’s always Sadiq, not Khan, just as his predecessors were Boris and Ken. But, despite Eoin Clarke’s brief attempt to promote his 2015 leadership campaign with a twitter feed called “Labour Andy”, Burnham is still Burnham: formal, not familiar. 

I’ve a few theories to explain all this, though I’ve no idea which is correct. For a while I’ve assumed it’s about sincerity. When Sadiq Khan mentions his dad’s bus for the 257th time in a day, he does it with a wink to the audience, making a crack about the fact he won’t stop going on about it. That way, the message gets through to the punters at home who are only half listening, but the bored lobby hacks who’ve heard this routine two dozen times before feel they’re in the joke.

Burnham, it seems to me, lacks this lightness of touch: when he won’t stop banging on about the fact he grew up in the north, it feels uncomfortably like he means it. And to take yourself seriously in politics is sometimes to invite others to make jokes at your expense.

Then again, perhaps the problem is that Burnham isn’t quite sincere enough. Sadiq Khan genuinely is the son of a bus-driving immigrant: he may keep going on about it, but it is at least true. Burnham’s “just a northern lad” narrative is true, too, but excludes some crucial facts: that he went to Cambridge, and was working in Parliament aged 24. Perhaps that shouldn’t change how we interpret his story; but I fear, nonetheless, it does.

Maybe that’s not it, though: maybe I’m just another London media snob. Because Burnham did grow up at the disadvantaged end of the country, a region where, for too many people, chasing opportunities means leaving. The idea London is a city where the son of a bus driver can become mayor flatters our metropolitan self-image; the idea that a northerner who wants to build a career in politics has to head south at the earliest opportunity does the opposite. 

So if we roll our eyes when Burnham talks about the north, perhaps that reflects badly on us, not him: the opposite of northern chippiness is southern snobbery.

There’s one last possibility for why we may rate Sadiq Khan more highly than Andy Burnham: Sadiq Khan won. We can titter a little at the jokes and the fibs but he is, nonetheless, mayor of London. Andy Burnham is just the bloke who lost two Labour leadership campaigns.

At least – for now. In six weeks time, he’s highly likely to the first mayor of Greater Manchester. Slipperiness is not the worst quality in a mayor; and so much of the job will be about banging the drum for the city, and the region, that Burnham’s tendency to wear his northernness on his sleeve will be a positive boon.

Sadiq Khan’s stature has grown because the fact he became London’s mayor seems to say something, about the kind of city London is and the kind we want it to be. Perhaps, after May, Andy Burnham can do the same for the north – and the north can do the same for Andy Burnham.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.