Ramsay MacDonald, the first Labour Prime Minister, with his family. Photograph: Corbis
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Half-echoes of the past

Blue Labour is conservative, but about a society that no longer exists – or never existed. Ed Miliband should be wary of this faction and instead forge an alliance that will win back aspirational voters in the south.

The Labour Party, founded in 1900, has been in existence for 112 years. But there have been Labour governments for just 32 of those years; for another eight years, Labour participated in wartime national unity governments. During the remaining 72 years, it was in opposition. Why has so much of Labour’s existence been spent in opposition? There are three reasons.

The first is factionalism. After the election defeats of 1951 and 1979, Labour was rent by fratricidal disputes between left and right – between the Bevanites and the leadership after 1951 and between the Bennites and the leadership after 1979. The party seemed more anxious to have a dialogue with itself than a dialogue with the British people, who decided, both in the 1950s and in the 1980s, to confirm Labour’s status as a party of opposition.

After the defeat of 1970, too, Labour threatened to descend into factionalism, but Harold Wilson skilfully contained it. Even so, the party returned to power in March 1974 through the vagaries of the electoral system, as opposed to any merits of its own. Between 1970 and the general election of February 1974, Labour lost 6 per cent of the vote – one-seventh of its support – the largest fall in votes of any opposition party in Britain until, in 1983, Michael Foot succeeded in doing even worse.

Labour’s defeat in 2010 was worse than those of 1951, 1970 or 1979. Indeed, in terms of percentage of the vote, Labour did worse in 2010 than at any time since it became a mass party except for 1983. Yet there have been no renewed outbreaks of factionalism, no divisions between left and right. The party has shown a remarkable degree of unity. There have been no latter-day equivalents of the Bevanites or the Bennites. That, no doubt, owes much to Ed Miliband’s empathetic and consensual style. It is an unnoticed achievement.

The second reason for Labour’s long years in opposition is that it has, since 1918, seen itself as the sole party of the left, and has been intolerant of competition from other claim ants. In the 1920s, it was more eager to eliminate the Liberals than to seek a progressive alliance with them, an alliance that might well have undermined Conservative dominance. Some Labour leaders actually preferred the Conservatives to the Liberals. Ramsay MacDonald, Labour’s first prime minister, declared in 1924 that he “could get on with the Tories. They differed at times openly then forgot all about it and shook hands. They were gentlemen but the Liberals were cads.”

In the 1930s, the Labour leadership stood firmly against a Popular Front, an alliance with Liberals and anti-appeasement Conservatives which might have brought about a change of government policy. Indeed, Labour succeeded in its aim of driving out the Liberals as a third party, but the price was a long period of Conservative hegemony, and the 20th century became the Conservative century even though there may well have been a progressive majority among the voters for much of the period.

Liberal friends

In the 1980s the third force revived – first the Liberal-SDP Alliance, then the Liberal Democrats. Labour’s instincts remained the same: to regard the third force as a competitor rather than a potential ally. Tony Blair was a great exception. The Ashdown diaries show that he would have preferred a coalition with the Liberal Democrats to a single-party Labour majority. Had the majority in 1997 been smaller, Blair would almost certainly have sought coalition.

Gordon Brown also sought an alliance with the Liberal Democrats in 2007 after becoming prime minister, and suggested coalition to Menzies Campbell, the then Liberal Democrat leader. In 2010, after the election, he again offered coalition to the Liberal Democrats, saying that the moment had come to create the progressive alliance. But it was too late. Labour was too weak. In 1997, it had been too strong. It was never the right moment.

Here, too, Miliband can claim to have escaped the entrenched positions of the past. There are no precise details of what has transpired between him and the Business Secretary, Vince Cable, but it is clear that a dialogue has begun and that Miliband does not regard all Liberal Democrats as the enemy. There is, after all, a powerful social-democrat tradition among the Liberal Democrats, one wing of which, including Cable, was in the SDP, a breakaway from Labour in 1981. Cable, indeed, began his political career as a Labour activist, and would probably have continued in the Labour Party had it not swung so far to the left after the election defeat of 1979.

Clearly, many Liberal Democrats were prepared to swallow their doubts about Conservative methods of curing the deficit and proposals for student fees in order to secure cherished measures of constitutional reform – reform of the voting system and a directly elected House of Lords. Now that it has become clear that these reforms are unattainable, they may well revert to their natural home on the left.

Miliband needs perhaps to make a sharper distinction between the Liberal Democrat leadership, or the Clegg-Laws faction of the leadership, whose ideological sympathies lie with the right, and the vast majority of Liberal Democrat members and voters, whose heart remains on the left. Franklin Roosevelt, after all, never attacked the Republicans, only the Republican leadership.

Yet Miliband’s flexibility towards the Liberal Democrats is a second achievement of Labour in opposition. He needs to become the leader of all progressive forces in Britain, not just the Labour Party.

There is a third reason why Labour has spent so much of its life in opposition. It is that its inclination in defeat is to retreat to its comfort zone, its core basis of support, such as that represented by the Blue Labour tendency, set up in 2009 by the academic Maurice Glasman, who was subsequently made a peer. The instincts of the Blue Labour faction are the same as those that led Labour to elect Foot as leader in 1980, and that lay behind its failure to pressure Attlee to retire after the 1951 defeat.

During the 1950s, Labour’s vote fell steadily from the 48.8 per cent peak of 1951 – achieved, paradoxically, in an election in which the party was defeated by the Conservatives. Not until after the third election defeat in 1959, however, did Hugh Gaitskell feel able to attempt to modernise the party by proposing the deletion of Clause Four from Labour’s 1918 constitution, which committed it to the nationalisation of the means of production, distribution and exchange. Even then, the party refused to support him, and it was left to Gaitskell’s successor, Harold Wilson, to modernise Labour by more surreptitious means, Wilson’s 1964-70 government being revisionist in practice if not in theory.

After the 1983 defeat, Neil Kinnock took over where Gaitskell had left off, but he was constrained by activists and his progress in modernising the party was painfully slow. It was not until 1992, after the fourth successive defeat, that Blair was able to take Labour by the scruff of the neck. Succeeding to the party leadership in 1994, he got rid of Clause Four and founded New Labour. There was just one Labour tradition that he hated, Blair told the 2006 party conference in his farewell speech – losing elections. Some in the party have never forgiven him for breaking that tradition.

Today also, there are siren voices saying that Labour should return to its comfort zone. For the essence of the Blue Labour faction is that the party should become more conservative, more respectful towards the supposed values of working-class communities and of working-class attitudes (some would say prejudices) on immigration and crime. The politics of nostalgia would be disastrous for the left, however, ideologically and electorally.

Blue Labour emphasises co-operatives, mutuals, friendly societies and more localised provision of public services. Never mind that it was because this very approach was insufficient that past Labour governments strengthened central government. It is fashionable to decry the state, but it is to the state, not the Salvation Army or the Co-op, that we turn when we find ourselves sick or out of work.

The truth is, as the recent TUC conference has shown, that there are no hermetically sealed working-class values. The values of the organised working class reflect wider social ethics. The calls at the conference for a general strike were an attempt to use the market power of organised labour to alter the policy of the democratically elected government. Miliband was right to distance Labour from it. But was the call for a strike any worse than the threat made by bankers and their like that any attack on their bonuses would lead to them taking their business abroad? If the rich and powerful can use their market power to threaten the government, why should organised labour not follow their lead?

Labour was founded more than a century ago to represent the organised working class, and perhaps its electoral rise up to 1951 and its decline thereafter can be correlated with the rise and fall of that class. Even so, the party’s central aim was to secure certain values, to transcend a society based on economic self-interest. Lab - our, Keir Hardie insisted, attacked a system not a class. If the values of community and fellowship had already been present in working-class communities, as some of the advocates of Blue Labour seem to imply, there would have been no need for a Labour Party. It was precisely because these values were not present that the party was founded.

The better life

There is a great danger in romantic mythologizing of working-class communities, a tendency sometimes practised by those who have never lived in them. Margaret Thatcher, who in the 1980s seemed to understand working-class aspirations better than Labour, declared that she had rarely met anyone from such communities who did not wish to escape from them.

Most working-class people want their children to have a better life than they had – a better education, better housing and a more fulfilling job – not to replicate their position in the “community”. Those aspirations received little expression at the TUC conference. They need to be expressed by the Labour Party. Indeed, it is only when Labour has been able to express such aspirations, as in 1945, 1966 or 1997, that it has been successful electorally.

Blue Labour, by contrast, is conservative, but conservative about a society that no longer exists, or perhaps never existed. It resembles Tory paternalism of the Baldwin-Macmillan variety; or perhaps the feudal socialism that Marx ridiculed in his Communist Manifesto as “half lamentation, half lampoon; half an echo of the past, half menace of the future”.

Speak for the middle

In any case, the old-style working class is not Labour’s problem. Even in 2010, the Conservatives were unable to win a single seat in any of the large cities of the Midlands or the north – Birmingham, Bradford, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Leeds, Leicester, Liverpool, Manchester, Newcastle, Nottingham and Sheffield, while the Liberal Democrats won just six. In fact, one reason why the remnants of the working class have so little political leverage is that they are largely concentrated in safe Labour seats. The best way to strengthen the electoral influence of the working class would be to reform the electoral system so as to eliminate the safe seat.

But Labour’s electoral problem lies elsewhere. It lies, as in the 1980s, in its failure to retain the allegiance of aspirational voters in the south of England. South of the Severn-Wash line outside London, the party holds just ten out of 197 seats. It has no MPs at all in Cornwall, Somerset, Wiltshire, Dorset, Sussex, Kent, Essex, Norfolk, Cambridgeshire, Northamptonshire, Rutland, Warwickshire, Buckinghamshire, Hertfordshire, Gloucestershire, Worcestershire or Here fordshire. The BBC’s electoral analyst David Cowling was right, therefore, to describe the outcome in 2010 as “the dismem - bering of New Labour’s 1997 electoral triumph”. Labour must seek to reassemble that triumphant coalition, not retreat to the safety of its heartland.

Labour’s problem is not the working class but the southern working class, the most aspirational segment of the working class. Indeed, psephological studies have shown that a northern middle-class voter is more likely to vote Labour than a southern working-class voter. Blue Labour would do little to win back these lost voters.

Ed Miliband has kept Labour away from its comfort zone and his call to defend the “squeezed middle” resonates with many voters. However, he has not yet allied the party firmly enough with the aspirations of voters in the south of England; and he has still to spell out his programme for responsible capitalism, taming the markets, rebalancing the economy and achieving greater fairness at a time when public spending will be constrained. Perhaps his greatest difficulty is that most voters find it difficult to identify with him, to “place” him; and, in so far as they do place him, it is as a north London intellectual, remote from their concerns. His background is not his fault any more than David Cameron’s is, but he needs to transcend it.

Wilson faced a similar problem. Before becoming Labour leader, he had been associated in the public mind with the bureaucratic restrictions necessary after the war and a dry, impersonal, economic approach to politics. To overcome his image problem, he enlisted advisers such as the journalist Joe Haines and Albert Murray, the MP for Gravesend, who could supply what he lacked. Wilson rapidly reinvented himself as a man of the people.

Miliband needs to do the same. He could begin by avoiding terms such as “predator capitalism” and “predistribution”, which may resonate with readers of the New Statesman, but lend themselves to ridicule elsewhere. He needs to become the natural spokesman of Middle England, the “squeezed middle” whose aspirations he has sought to champion.

Democracy, it is often said, is government by explanation, and the crucial electoral battleground is that of public opinion. Governments can transform opinion by acting. Oppositions can transform opinion only by speeches, by teaching. For many years, the left in Britain has lacked a teacher. The task for Ed Miliband is to show that he can be as formidable a teacher for the left as Thatcher was for the right.

Vernon Bogdanor is a research professor at the Institute for Contemporary British History, King’s College London. His books include “The Coalition and the Constitution” (Hart, £20), published last year.

This article first appeared in the 01 October 2012 issue of the New Statesman, Labour conference special

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Brothers in blood: how Putin has helped Assad tear Syria apart

The Syrian catastrophe has created the worst humanitarian crisis since the end of the Second World War. And the world watches helplessly as Putin and Assad commit war crimes.

Sometimes we know the names. We know Omran Daqneesh, the five-year-old boy who, covered in mud and dust, was pictured on the back seat of an ambulance in the aftermath of an air attack. We know his name because pictures and a video of him were released on social media and travelled around the world. The outrage that followed was widespread and sincere, the image of the dazed little boy seeming to symbolise the greater plight of the beleaguered residents of Aleppo. But then the moment passed. Few will know that a few days later doctors announced that Omran’s elder brother Ali, who was injured in the same air strike, had died from his injuries. He was ten.

Sometimes we know the names of the babies pulled from the rubble of collapsed buildings – occasionally alive, but often dead; or the names of the children weeping over lost parents; or the women grieving over lost husbands and children; or the elderly simply waiting (and sometimes wanting) to die.

We know Bana Alabed, the seven-year-old girl trapped inside Aleppo whose Twitter account has gone viral in recent weeks. “Hi I’m Bana I’m 7 years old girl in Aleppo [sic],” reads the on-page description. “I & my mom want to tell about the bombing here. Thank you.”

A series of pictures depicts Alabed and her mother, Fatemah, struggling to live as normal a life as possible, one showing the little girl sitting at an MDF desk with a book. Behind her, in the corner, is a doll. “Good afternoon from #Aleppo,” says the caption in English. “I’m reading to forget the war.”

The conflict, however, is never far away. Alabed, whose mother taught her English, has repeatedly tweeted her own fears about dying, followed by stoic messages of defiance whenever the immediate threat of an impending air strike passes. On the morning of 3 October, her words were simply: “Hello world we are still alive.” On 17 October, Fatemah tweeted: “The airstrikes ended in the morning, all the last night was raining bombs.”

But in most cases we never know the names of the victims of air assaults led by Presidents Bashar al-Assad and Vladimir Putin. One of the most haunting images to emerge in recent weeks was that of a mother and child, killed while sleeping in the same bed. The scene had an eerily preserved-in-amber feel to it: a snapshot of snatched lives, frozen in the act of dying. Pictures of ruined buildings and distraught civilians have become routine now, holding our attention briefly – if at all.

As many as 500,000 people are believed to have been killed since the beginning of the Syrian uprising in early 2011. According to a report released in February this year by the Syrian Centre for Policy Research, a further 1.9 million have been wounded. Taken together, those figures alone account for 11.5 per cent of Syria’s pre-revolutionary population. Combine that with the number of Syrians who have been displaced – more than ten million (almost 50 per cent of the population) – and the sheer scale of the disaster becomes apparent.

The conflict has become the worst humanitarian crisis since the Second World War. Today it centres on Aleppo, in north-west Syria, one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, and a cradle of human civilisation. Various conquerors from the Mongols to the French have fought battles there but none, so it would seem, has been quite as ruthless or committed to the city’s annihilation as Bashar al-Assad.

Aleppo remains the most significant urban centre to have been captured by the anti-Assad rebels, most of whom will (by now) be strongly influenced by an Islamist world-view. Indeed, the most prominent fighting groups on the rebel side are overwhelmingly Islamist in their troop composition and beliefs, a sad marker of Western failures to support secular forces that led the anti-regime resistance in the incipient phases of the uprising.

Yet Aleppo remains too important to fail. Although rebel forces succeeded in capturing only half of the city – the western side remained firmly in the control of the regime – the symbolism of anti-Assad forces holding ground in Syria’s second city (which also served as the country’s economic hub) has buoyed the rebel movement.

Assad is more brazen and bullish than at any other point since eastern Aleppo fell into rebel hands in July 2012. That optimism is born of a strategy that has already worked in other parts of the country where the regime’s troops have slowly encircled rebel-held areas and then sealed them off. Nothing can leave, and nothing can enter. Once the ground forces seal off an area, an aerial campaign of barrel bombs and missile attacks from both Syrian and Russian fighter jets inevitably follows.

To get a sense of just how terrible the aerial campaign has been, consider that the United States accused the Russian air force of potential war crimes when a UN aid convoy was bombed just west of Aleppo last month. It was carrying food and medicines when it was hit. Since then, the UK and France have said that Russia’s bombardment of Aleppo amounts to a war crime.

Putin’s support has come as a boon to Assad ever since Russia formally entered the conflict in September 2015. Despite his administration already using Iranian forces and aligned groups such as the Lebanese Shia militia Hezbollah, rebels had continued to make significant gains throughout the early months of 2015. The most important of these was the capture of Idlib city, 40 miles from Aleppo, which presented Assad with two problems. The first was that it dented the official narrative of revanchist military successes by his forces. The ­second was that it handed the rebels power in a province adjoining Latakia Governorate in the west, where Syria’s Alawites are largely concentrated (Russia has an airbase in an area south-east of the city of Latakia). The Alawites are a heterodox Shia sect to which the Assad family belongs, and which forms the core of their support base.

Keen to reverse these gains – and others made elsewhere – Assad enlisted Putin, given Russia’s long-standing interests in, and ties to, Syria. The Kremlin has long regarded Syria as an important ally, and has served as the country’s main arms supplier for the past decade. There are important assets to preserve, too, such as the Russian naval base in the port city of Tartus on the Mediterranean, which was first established during the Soviet era.

For his part, Putin has felt emboldened by events. The world is changing – not just in the Middle East and North Africa, where the
contours of power continue to be recast, but also closer to home in Ukraine, where the pro-Russian president Viktor Yanukovych was overthrown in 2014.

The West is still haunted by the 2003 invasion of Iraq and has been reluctant to be drawn too deeply into the Syrian War. In 2013, the Assad regime used chemical weapons against its own people. This was a violation of President Barack Obama’s so-called red line against the use of chemical weapons, but no retaliatory action came and there was nothing to prevent the Kremlin from using force to shape events in Syria – as it had done in Ukraine.

All of this has marked a new phase of brutality in a conflict already noted for its barbarism. Civilians who avoid death from combined Russo-Syrian air assaults suffer under Assad’s strategy of “starve or submit”, in which supplies are withheld from besieged areas, slowly choking off those ­inside. It has been used to devastating effect against civilians in towns such as Madaya and in Daraya, on the outskirts of Damascus, both of which fell to government control after being sealed off from the outside world for several years. Such a strategy is not designed to deliver quick victories, however. Consider how the residents of Daraya defied Assad’s forces for four years before capitulating in August 2016.

Assad and his allies (Putin, Iran, Hezbollah) have decided to punish and brutalise, deliberately, civilian populations in rebel-held areas. To invert the famous aphorism attributed to Chairman Mao, they hope to dredge the sea in which the revolutionaries swim. And so, it is the 300,000 residents of eastern Aleppo who must suffer now.




It’s easy to lose track of precisely what is happening in the Syrian War as parcels of land swap hands between rebels and the regime. Assad’s forces first began encircling Aleppo at the start of July this year and succeeded in imposing a siege by the middle of that month, after cutting off the last of two rebel-controlled supply routes into the city. The first was the Castello Road, which leads from the town of Handarat into the north-western part of ­rebel-controlled territory. The second route, via the Ramouseh district (which led into the south-western end of the city), had already been sealed off.

The closure lasted for roughly four to five weeks before the rebels re-established access. Aleppo is too important for them, and the siege has forced various groups to work together in breaking it. The effort was led by Jaish al-Fateh (JaF, the “Army of Conquest”), an umbrella group and command structure for several of the most prominent jihadist and Islamist groups operating in northern Syria. JaF also co-ordinated the Idlib military campaigns. One of its key members is Jabhat Fateh al-Sham (JFS, “the Syrian Conquest Front”), which was previously known as Jabhat al-Nusra (JaN or “the Supporters’ Front”) and was recognised as al-Qaeda’s official chapter in Syria.

Several months before the regime began its assault on Aleppo, rebel groups in the north recognised the deteriorating situation there, stemming principally from Russian air strikes. As a result, al-Qaeda urged the various factions to merge and work together to counteract not just Assad, but also Putin. Even the global leader of al-Qaeda, Ayman al-Zawahiri, issued a speech last May titled “Go Forth to Syria”, in which he called on all fighting groups to unite in order to consolidate their control across the north. This opened the way at the end of July for Jabhat al-Nusra to declare that it was formally severing its links with al-Qaeda. It “rebranded” as Jabhat Fateh al-Sham.

There are two reasons for doing this. The first is to erode partisanship among the Islamist groups, forcing them to set aside differences and narrow their ambitions in favour of the greater goal – in this case, the breaking of the siege of Aleppo, while also deepening rebel control across the north. The second aim of rebranding is to win popular support by portraying themselves as fighting in the service of ordinary civilians.

Groups such as JFS and others are succeeding in both of these goals. Responding to the abandoned and assaulted residents of Aleppo, they have repeatedly demonstrated their commitment to alleviating the humanitarian crisis. Much of their messaging echoes this theme. The group’s English-language spokesman is Mostafa Mahamed, an Egyptian who previously lived in Australia. “[JFS] is deeply embedded in society, made up from the average Syrian people,” he explained on Twitter, after the group decoupled from al-Qaeda. “We will gladly lay down our lives before being forced into a situation that does not serve the people we are fighting for . . . jihad today is bigger than us, bigger than our differences.”

It is indisputable that this ethos of “fighting for the people” has endeared the group to civilians living in besieged areas – even when those civilians don’t necessarily agree with the full spectrum of its religious beliefs or political positions. That goodwill was only reinforced when the group helped break the siege of Aleppo (in which approximately 500 rebels were killed) in August, if only for a few days. Assad reasserted control within a week, and entrapped the residents again in the middle of that month. The rebels are now planning how to break the siege decisively, but have not yet launched a major counteroffensive.




A freelance American journalist and film-maker, Bilal Abdul Kareem, who has reported on rebel movements inside Syria more intimately than most, has found himself among those trapped inside eastern Aleppo since the siege was restored seven weeks ago. “We came here expecting a two- or three-day trip,” he told me during an interview over Skype.

Life inside is becoming insufferable for civilians, Abdul Kareem said; every building is potted and scarred by shrapnel damage. Those whose homes remain standing are the lucky ones. “Your day consists of nothing,” he said. “There’s no work, there’s no fuel, no industrial zone, no food to sell. ­People sit around and chit-chat, drink tea, and that’s all they do.”

Food supplies are already running low, with most people limiting themselves to basics of chickpeas and groats – crushed grains such as oats or wheat. Sealed off from the rest of the world, those inside preoccupy themselves with survival and wait for the next wave of attacks.

It is tempting to ask why the inhabitants of Aleppo did not flee when they had the chance. Indeed, the Assad regime routinely accuses the rebels of preventing civilians from leaving besieged areas, though there is no evidence to support this view. On 17 October Russia and the Syrian regime said they would halt their bombardment for eight hours on 20 October to allow rebels and civilians to evacuate the city.

In truth, what choice do the civilians have? Most do not trust Assad and they are therefore unwilling to move into regime-administered areas. The alternative is to become refugees, with all the uncertainties and trials associated with that. For instance, refugees have found themselves subject to sectarian violence in Lebanon, and they have few opportunities to find employment in Lebanon, Turkey or Jordan, the three countries where most of the fleeing Syrians have found shelter.

For them, merely to exist in rebel territory is an act of defiance, which is precisely why Assad’s forces make no effort to distinguish between combatants and civilians in rebel areas. To be present is a crime.

The effects of this have been devastating. A spokesman for the Syrian American Medical Society told Middle East Eye, an online news portal, that in July, Syrian and Russian jets had hit medical facilities in rebel-held territory every 17 hours.

Only a few hospitals and medical staff remain. The physical conditions are primitive and perilous. Doctors work in makeshift facilities – a former flat, a commercial garage – which makes them unable to provide anything beyond basic emergency care. In-patient facilities are non-existent, not just because of high demand from those newly injured in fresh attacks, but also from fear that the facility itself will be targeted. “People are literally shuffled out of the hospital with IV [intravenous drips] in their arms,” Abdul Kareem says.

The West’s indifference to all this – coupled with its occasional pious pronouncements and diplomatic dithering – has squandered any goodwill Washington might once have had among Syria’s beleaguered civilians. When Sergey Lavrov, Russia’s foreign minister, and John Kerry, the US secretary of state, agreed a ceasefire in September it lasted barely two days because they overlooked the fears of those trapped inside eastern Aleppo.

The deal had stated that no party would try to capture any new territory. That might seem reasonable enough but given that the ceasefire came into effect just days after Assad re-established the siege of Aleppo, those on the inside were being asked, in effect, to acquiesce to their own starvation.

Deprived of food and medication, no one trusted Assad to negotiate access in good faith, especially after he thwarted UN efforts to deliver aid. “People saw it as a conspiracy,” Abdul Kareem told me. Moreover, there were no significant groups inside eastern Aleppo that claimed to have accepted the terms of the ceasefire in the first place. Kerry had negotiated on their behalf without approval and without securing any humanitarian concessions.

“What planet are these people on?” Abdul Kareem asked. “[Do] they think people will turn on their protectors, for people who didn’t do them any good? They look to JFS and Ahrar [Ahrar al-Sham is one of the Islamist groups fighting in JAF]. Western intervention is pie in the sky.”

The rise of these reactionary rebels is a direct result of liberal elements not being strongly supported at any stage in the conflict. Left to fend for themselves, many have deserted their cause. Those who have persisted not only risk the constant threat of being killed by Russo-Syrian bombs, but are also at threat from jihadist elements operating in rebel areas. That much was clear when remnants of the secular opposition protested against the leader of JFS, Abu Mohammed al-Golani, in the southern Idlib town of Maarat al-Nouman earlier this year. Many of those who did were arrested by jihadists and intimidated into silence.

Whereas liberals are fragmented and frayed, the Islamist rebels continue to coalesce into an ever more coherent unit. The overwhelming might of Russian airpower has convinced them of the need to form a united front in order to pool their resources and co-ordinate their efforts. That is one of the reasons why a jihadist group called Jund al-Aqsa (“Soldiers of al-Aqsa”) announced early this month that it was disbanding and being absorbed into JFS.

Herein lies the real story of how Aleppo – and, indeed, Syria itself – has been delivered to the jihadists. A conspiracy of all the external parties has forged a menacing millenarian movement that is embedded in civil society and communities across the north. Whether Aleppo falls or not, the jihadists will endure.

Shiraz Maher is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and a member of the war studies department at King’s College London

Shiraz Maher is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and a senior research fellow at King’s College London’s International Centre for the Study of Radicalisation.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood