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Where does Labour go from here?

Karim Palant, Ed Balls' former head of policy, explains where Labour goes next.

So it was the economy - stupid - after all. The pessimists among us kept expecting our position in the polls to unravel. Like Lynton Crosby, we awaited the date when "crossover" would arrive. As weeks to polling day became days and hours, we began to hope that it might not happen.

But at the cruellest possible moment, just as I’d fully dosed up on the Kool-Aid, it did.  In the stunned silence of HQ, thoughts turned to those millions of pencils wavering over millions of ballot papers. At my desk by twenty to ten I had used the wait to draft an email of comments on the draft a Lib Dem coalition negotiating position. I paused over the send button, worried about tempting fate. My own wavering pencil. The email is still in “drafts”.

The debate about how we avoid a loss like that again will range widely - as it should. What some call political body language, tone and message frequency is a huge part of it. Political positioning is as much about what you choose to say often and what you choose to say only occasionally. The voters we need to reach may pay just a few minutes a year’s worth of attention to politics – around election time in the main.  They may know that we have a deficit, that people are worse off and that the combination is miserable. But may have heard somewhere that finally things are apparently looking up.

It is perfectly consistent to both want change yet also to worry that what positives there are might be put at risk by change: your job, your savings, your pension or your mortgage. An opposition needs people to feel that they don't pose any risk but do offer big enough change to make taking a chance worth it. It's like trying to make an omelette without the public thinking you're breaking any eggs.

That is why successful leaders of the opposition are so rare. Measured by winning a majority, as a thirty four year-old, there has been one in my lifetime. So for example, the public do feel that banks, energy companies, rail companies, supermarkets and letting agents rip them off.  That might make some feel that Labour’s route back into voters’ hearts is a version of “my enemy’s enemy is my friend”. But people are just as wary of a potential government that is too happy to make enemies. And making it crystal clear you really understand voters’ concerns on spending, on immigration and on welfare, rather than seeking to change the subject is the only route to regaining their trust - they won’t ignore those just because they agree with you about other things.

That is easier said than done. Debates about the past are one thing – and humility or showing that we have learned from our mistakes are important. But reassurance really means showing we have the strength to deliver a tough and responsible approach in the future. Our shadow cabinet and leadership do understand the policy challenge. Part of my job was to stop spending commitments. Shadow ministers weren’t battering at the door with a wish list of expensive promises. They get that the game has changed.

But an opposition gets limited moments to reach the public. We need to be willing to them to reassure and resist the urge communicate a sense of radical disruptive change without making it clear, limited, and concrete. We should also absorb the fact that we are talking fiscal discipline not only because the voters want us to but because it matters to the country and it matters to us.

Voters want a leader who will lie awake worrying about the fact that national debt as a share of our economy is forecast to still be 70 per cent in 2020. That is almost double the pre-crisis level and more than where it was forecast to peak - this year - when George Osborne came to office. This shows the scale of the failure of the wasted years of the last Parliament.

But this understanding alone is not enough to either sort out the public finances or to win the election. Labour can only win in 2020 by arguing that a progressive approach to fiscal responsibility means a combination not just of spending cuts or higher tax revenues, but balanced and sustained growth. It would not make any economic or political sense to seek to out-cut the Tories for whom reducing the size of the state is a raison-d’être. And as a party, we don’t believe most working people are comfortably off and can afford significant new tax rises - which limits the scope for raising revenue.

So, many have correctly concluded that we will not win the next election without growth, productivity, exports and innovation at the core of our approach. Talking about ways to deliver a step change in digital jobs, infrastructure, science, a green economy, a pro-growth tax framework for business and a regional revival are not nice-to-haves but essential parts of making Labour’s argument stack up.

We should not focus on growth or living standards because we want to avoid talking about the difficult bits – but precisely because it is core to our plan to deal with those difficult issues facing the country. A related conclusion that we cannot avoid is that to prosecute that argument you must truly value the private sector’s role in driving those things. 

These are key among the lessons we will need to learn for the next five years. And whoever wins will need to get serious, quickly. The consequence of not doing so will be millions more wavering pencils in 2020.

Karim Palant was head of policy to Ed Balls. 

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Angela Merkel's call for a burqa ban sets a disturbing precedent

The German chancellor's plan for a partial ban of the full-face veil is a clearly political move, which will do more to harm those women who wear it than protect them.

 

In these febrile times, women’s freedom and autonomy has become a bargaining chip in the poker game of public propaganda — and that goes double for brown, Muslim and migrant women. Angela Merkel should know as well as any other female politician how demeaning it is to be treated as if what you wear is more important than what you say and what you do. With the far-right on the rise across Europe, however, the German chancellor has become the latest lawmaker to call for a partial ban on the burqa and niqab.

We are told that this perennial political football is being kicked about in the name of liberating women. It can have nothing to do, of course, with the fact that popular opinion is lurching wildly to the right in western democracies, there’s an election in Germany next year, and Merkel is seen as being too soft on migration after her decision to allow a million Syrian refugees to enter the country last year. She is also somehow blamed for the mob attacks on women in Cologne, which have become a symbol of the threat that immigration poses to white women and, by extension, to white masculinity in Europe. Rape and abuse perpetrated by white Europeans, of course, is not considered a matter for urgent political intervention — nor could it be counted on to win back voters who have turned from Merkel's party to the far-right AFD, which wants to see a national debate on abortion rights and women restricted to their rightful role as mothers and homemakers.

If you’ll allow me to be cynical for a moment, imposing state restrictions on what women may and may not wear in public has not, historically, been a great foundation for feminist liberation. The move is symbolic, not practical. In Britain, where the ban is also being proposed by Ukip the services that actually protect women from domestic violence have been slashed over the past six years — the charity Refuge, the largest provider of domestic violence services in the UK, has seen a reduction in funding across 80% of its service contracts since 2011.

It’s worth noting that even in western countries with sizeable Muslim minorities, the number of women who wear full burqa is vanishingly small. If those women are victims of coercion or domestic violence, banning the burqa in public will not do a thing to make them safer — if anything, it will reduce their ability to leave their homes, isolating them further.

In the wake of the Brexit vote, racist and Islamophobic attacks spiked in the UK. Hate crimes nationally shot up by 42% in the two weeks following the vote on 23 June. Hate crimes against Muslim women increased by over 300%, with visibly Muslim women experiencing 46% of all hate incidents. Instances of headscarves being ripped off have become so common that self-defense videos are being shared online, showing women how to deflect the “hijab grab”. In this context, it is absurd to claim that politicians proposing a burqa ban care about protecting women: the move is transparently designed to placate the very people who are making Muslim women feel unsafe in their own communities.

When politicians talk about banning the burqa, the public hears an attack on all Islamic headscarves — not everyone knows the difference between the hijab, the niqab and the burqa, and not everyone cares. The important thing is that seeing women dressed that way makes some people feel uncomfortable, and desperate politicians are casting about for ways to validate that discomfort.

Women who actually wear the burqa are not invited to speak about their experiences or state their preferences in this debate. On this point, Islamic fundamentalists and panicked western conservatives are in absolute agreement: Muslim women are provocative and deserve to be treated as a threat to masculine pride. They should shut up and let other people decide what’s best for them.

I know Muslim women who regard even the simple hijab as an object of oppression and have sworn never to wear one again. I also know Muslim women who wear headscarves every day as a statement both of faith and of political defiance. There is no neutral fashion option for a woman of Islamic faith — either way, men in positions of power will feel entitled to judge, shame and threaten. Either choice risks provoking anger and violence from someone with an opinion about what your outfit means for them. The important thing is the autonomy that comes with still having a choice.

A law which treats women like children who cannot be trusted to make basic decisions about their bodies and clothing is a sexist law; a law that singles out religious minorities and women of colour as especially unworthy of autonomy is a racist, sexist law. Instituting racist, sexist laws is a good way to win back the votes of racist, sexist people, but, again, a dreadful way of protecting women. In practice, a burqa ban, even the partial version proposed by Merkel which will most likely be hard to enforce under German constitutional law, will directly impact only a few thousand people in the west. Those people are women of colour, many of them immigrants or foreigners, people whose actual lives are already of minimal importance to the state except on an abstract, symbolic level, as the embodiment of a notional threat to white Christian patriarchy. Many believe that France's longstanding burqa ban has increased racial tensions — encapsulated by the image earlier this year of French police surrounding a woman who was just trying to relax with her family on the beach in a burkini. There's definitely male violence at play here, but a different kind — a kind that cannot be mined for political capital, because it comes from the heart of the state.

This has been the case for centuries: long before the US government used the term“Operation Enduring Freedom” to describe the war in Afghanistan, western politicians used the symbolism of the veil to recast the repeated invasion of Middle Eastern nations as a project of feminist liberation. The same colonists who justified the British takeover of Islamic countries abroad were active in the fight to suppress women’s suffrage at home. This is not about freeing women, but about soothing and coddling men’s feelings about women.

The security argument is even more farcical: border guards are already able to strip people of their clothes, underwear and dignity if they get the urge. If a state truly believes that facial coverings are some sort of security threat, it should start by banning beards, but let's be serious, masculinity is fragile enough as it is. If it were less so, we wouldn't have politicians panicking over how to placate the millions of people who view the clothing choices of minority and migrant women as an active identity threat.

Many decent, tolerant people, including feminists, are torn on the issue of the burqa: of course we don't want the state to start policing what women can and can't wear, but isn't the burqa oppressive? Maybe so, but I was not aware of feminism as a movement that demands that all oppressive clothing be subject to police confiscation, unless the Met’s evidence lockers are full of stilettos, girdles and push-up bras. In case you're wondering, yes, I do feel uncomfortable on the rare occasions when I have seen people wearing the full face veil in public. I've spent enough time living with goths and hippies that I've a high tolerance for ersatz fashion choices — but do wonder what their home lives are like and whether they are happy and safe, and that makes me feel anxious. Banning the burqa might make me feel less anxious. It would not, however, improve the lives of the women who actually wear it. That is what matters. My personal feelings as a white woman about how Muslim women choose to dress are, in fact, staggeringly unimportant.

If you think the Burqa is oppressive and offensive, you are perfectly entitled never to wear one. You are not, however, entitled to make that decision for anyone else. Exactly the same principle applies in the interminable battle over women's basic reproductive choices: many people believe that abortion is wrong, sinful and damaging to women. That's okay. I suggest they never have an abortion. What's not okay is taking away that autonomy from others as a cheap ploy for good press coverage in the runup to an election.

This debate has been dragging on for decades, but there's a new urgency to it now, a new danger: we are now in a political climate where the elected leaders of major nations are talking about registries for Muslims and other minorities. Instituting a symbolic ban on religious dress, however extreme, sets a precedent. What comes next? Are we going to ban every form of Islamic headdress? What about the yarmulke, the tichel, the Sikh turban, the rainbow flag? If this is about community cohesion, what will it take to make white conservatives feel “comfortable”? Where does it stop? Whose freedoms are politicians prepared to sacrifice as a sop to a populace made bitter and unpredictable by 30 years of neoliberal incompetence? Where do we draw the line?

We draw it right here, between the state and the autonomy of women, particularly minority and migrant women who are already facing harassment in unprecedented numbers. Whatever you feel about the burqa, it is not the role of government to police what women wear, and doing it has nothing to do with protection. It is chauvinist, it is repressive, it is a deeply disturbing precedent, and it has no place in our public conversation.

 
 
 
 

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.