Interview: Harriet Harman

The constitutional affairs minister warns colleagues that they can't be a "little bit against discri

Harriet Harman is a militant in the "lilac revolution". She has even coloured her new website lilac in preparation. Her campaign for Labour's deputy leadership is infused with what once would have been called political correctness, but has now entered the mainstream: the fight for women's equality, gay rights and anti-racism. "With Ségolène Royal in France, Hillary Clinton in America, the first woman president in Liberia, another woman in Chile, politics is changing for ever. The idea that you have men talking about equality for women, those days are gone. It's a very significant moment for somebody like me who fought for this and seeing people agree. The spirit of our times is equality," she says.

Harman uses the current Channel 4 race controversy to illustrate her point: "I think it is significant that 40,000 people rang in to complain about Celebrity Big Brother." She cites a Bangladeshi friend from east London who faced open hostility in the supermarket after the events of 9/11. "In that same supermarket now, she's got people coming up to her and apologising, saying: 'Actually we don't think that's all right.'"

That same spirit, she says, infuses a new public attitude to sexuality, which is why the government has introduced civil partnerships and rules to outlaw discrimination on grounds of sexual orientation in the provision of services. This has brought it into collision with the Catholic Church, which believes its adoption services should be able to deny children to gay couples. As the constitutional affairs minister responsible for the new regulations, Harman is resolute. She quashes talk of a compromise said to be backed by the Communities Secretary, Ruth Kelly, a Catholic. "We will stay true to our commitment in tackling sexual discrimination in terms of sexual orientation," Harman says. She adds, in a tart rebuke to colleagues: "You can either be against discrimination or you can allow for it. You can't be a little bit against discrimination." She insists she would not budge on the regulations.

Whether the Labour Party is ready to be painted lilac is another matter. Harman has made gender a major issue in the election. She points to polling evidence that puts her well ahead of the other four (male) candidates with the public. (Other polls put Alan Johnson and Hilary Benn in the lead.) Harman knows from experience that elements of the party remain brutish. As social security secretary in Tony Blair's first cabinet she was undermined by colleagues and special advisers. The campaign culminated in the Prime Minister's decision to sack her in 1998. After a long period on the back benches, she returned to prominence as the first woman solicitor general after the 2001 election and in 2005 became a minister of state in the Department for Constitutional Affairs. If she succeeds in her latest battle, it will mark one of the most remarkable comebacks of the new Labour era. She is still bruised by the experience. "I wouldn't wish that on anybody. I don't want to sound like one of those people in Hello! magazine," she says, "but you do learn when you get a knock back."

Apart from the equality agenda, the only other time Harman becomes passionate is about spin. "I did think it was important to be disciplined, loyal, unfragmented and clear [at the beginning]. But I've always found spin abhorrent, because it's duplicitous. It's like pulling the wool over people's eyes. It's wrong in principle and it's also wrong because people end up not trusting you."

For all this condemnation, however, for all this talk of a new openness, Harman often comes across as cautious and wooden. Time and again we ask her to say what she really thinks, to say what she and Gordon Brown would actually do - you never know, to take some risks. When we raise, in passing, the strong media coverage Peter Hain received for his interview with us last week, Harman's body language suggests a combination of disdain and possibly fear. On those big issues about which Hain spoke with such frankness, she is all evasiveness: yes, the Bush administration is not quite her cup of tea, but let's talk about the Democrats; yes, it was good to get rid of Saddam Hussein, but parliament voted for war in Iraq on the basis of weapons of mass destruction . . .

Her own plan

Like Hain, Harman has a four-point plan of her own - her "four points for a fourth term". These focus on public trust, which she concedes has been undermined by the fallout from Iraq and the "cash for honours" scandal. Everyone in Labour, she says, should focus on the following imperatives: never to take for granted the government's achievements; to be sharper in the critique of the Conservatives; to push forward the policy debate; and to rebuild the party.

Only once or twice does she come close to outlining a policy agenda. She believes, for example, that working parents should be allowed to work more flexible hours to avoid "shift parenting". At present, employers are obliged to consider proposals for flexible working arrangements but not obliged to act on them. "You could shift the onus of proof on to the employer to say why they couldn't do it," she suggests. "With the Factory Acts we didn't exhort mill owners to stop employing children, we legislated against it. Because we didn't agree with poverty pay we didn't exhort employers not to pay below a certain level. I don't think you should pass laws unless they are necessary but if they are necessary we shouldn't shrink away from them because there's a big social imperative here." She hastens to add that this is not a policy commitment.

She talks earnestly about the culture of "remittances", whereby immigrants in Britain send money back to their families in their country of origin. "They work often in two or three jobs. They work incredibly hard, they're low-paid, they pay their taxes, they bring up their children and they are the welfare state for their village in Africa." Harman points to the injustice of such poor people paying what are in effect development grants out of taxed income with large charges for international money transfers on top. So does this mean she is proposing some sort of tax relief for them? "Well, I'm not going to say anything about that, no."

On Labour's human-rights record she is similarly hesitant. As a former head of the National Council for Civil Liberties, the forerunner of today's Liberty, she might be expected to have concerns about her government's draconian anti-terrorism legislation, antisocial behaviour legislation or proposed limits to the Freedom of Information Act. Her response is off-the-shelf new Labour. It comes down to the Human Rights Act. "The government has got a responsibility to keep people safe, but we have put the mechanisms in to make sure that if the government does overstep the mark and parliament oversteps the mark by agreeing to something that the government has put forward, then there is a remedy. So I think we have the right checks and balances." The rationale strikes us as bizarre. In effect, ministers are under no obligation to calibrate their actions against the civil-liberties consequences, because the Human Rights Act is there to do it for them. But what about the immediate effect of state actions, and the ethics?

No criticism

Where she does depart from the government line (or rather the Blairite line), is over the issue of the cash-for-honours scandal and its implication for the future of party funding. Harman's husband, Jack Dromey, is deputy general secretary of the Transport and General Workers' Union. He also happens to be the Labour Party treasurer and the man who blew the lid on the secret system of loans set up by Blair's inner circle in advance of the 2005 election, so it is perhaps not surprising that she has strong feelings on the subject. Harman does not join some of her cabinet colleagues in condemning the police approach to the criminal investigation, particularly its dawn knock on the door to Blair's senior aide Ruth Turner. "I think the police have to go about their investigation as they see fit," she says. "They've got to be fair in how they treat people, and whatever the circumstances people have, they've got to deal with them equally. The police have their job to do and they've got to do it. That's what everyone would expect them to do. That's very important."

As for the scandal itself: "I think it has undermined public confidence and trust, and it has dismayed party members. Tony Blair did say that he took the view that it was wrong that the party wasn't told and I think he was right to say that." She supports changes to the law to make future loans disclosable, but is adamant that any cap on future donations should not apply to the trade unions. "I can't understand why some people purport not to be able to tell the difference between 800,000 members of the Transport and General Workers' Union and one millionaire," she says.

The union link, she suggests, should not be loosened further, as some around Blair suggest, but enhanced. "We need to make sure that we work with the trade unions to make sure that more branches are affiliated to local Labour parties. Obviously unions are very important at election time, not just with financial donations, but with people coming out and helping. But actually we need to make it a living link."

In many ways Harriet Harman is the obvious foil to Gordon Brown, not just because she is a woman, but because of other qualities she would bring to the job, such as her record on family issues and the sympathy she has with party members and the wider public. Her lilac revolution indeed chimes with the spirit of the times, as David Cameron has been so quick to realise. But in order for her to reach the political pinnacle she seeks, she needs to be as assertive as she would wish other women to be.

Harriet Harman: The CV

Born 30 July 1950, London
1974 Employed as a solicitor at Brent Law Centre
1981 Found guilty of contempt for disclosing Home Office documents exposing prison "control units". Later cleared
1982 Elected MP, one of only ten Labour women in the Commons
1984 Appointed to Labour's front bench. Succession of posts over next decade
1996 Attracts criticism from Labour ranks for sending her children to selective state schools
1997 Appointed secretary of state for social security and minister for women
1998 Abruptly sacked in Blair's first reshuffle following high-profile disputes with fellow minister Frank Field
2001 Appointed solicitor general, the first woman to hold the title
March 2004 Describes Gordon Brown as prime minister on BBC's Question Time
2005 Appointed minister for justice at the Department for Constitutional Affairs
March 2006 Her husband, Jack Dromey, Labour's treasurer, says he is kept in the dark about loans. Harman gives up ministerial responsibility for party funding to avoid conflict of interest
September 2006 Announces bid to run for Labour deputy leadership
Research by Sophie Pearce

This article first appeared in the 29 January 2007 issue of the New Statesman, Climate change

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Losing Momentum: how Jeremy Corbyn’s support group ran out of steam

Tom Watson says it is destroying Labour. Its supporters say it is a vital force for change. Our correspondent spent six months following the movement, and asks: what is the truth about Momentum?

1. The Bus

 The bus to the Momentum conference in Liverpool leaves at seven on a Sunday morning in late September from Euston Station, and the whole journey feels like a parody of a neoliberal play about the failings of socialism. We depart an hour late because activists have overslept and we cannot go without them. As we wait we discuss whether Jeremy Corbyn will be re-elected leader of the Labour Party this very day. One man says not; a young, jolly girl with blonde hair cries: “Don’t say that on Jezmas!” She is joking, at least about “Jezmas”.

A man walks up. “Trots?” he says, calmly. He is joking, too; and I wonder if he says it because the idea of Momentum is more exciting to outsiders than the reality, and he knows it; there is an awful pleasure in being misunderstood. Momentum was formed in late 2015 to build on Corbyn’s initial victory in the Labour leadership election, and it is perceived as a ragtag army of placard-waving Trots, newly engaged clicktivists and Corbyn fanatics.

We leave, and learn on the M1 that, in some terrible metaphor, the coach is broken and cannot drive at more than 20mph. So we wait for another coach at a service station slightly beyond Luton. “Sabotage,” says one man. He is joking, too. We get off; another man offers me his vegan bread and we discuss Karl Marx.

A new coach arrives and I listen to the others discuss Jeremy Corbyn’s problems. No one talks about his polling, because that is depressing and unnecessary for their purpose – which, here, is dreaming. They talk about Corbyn as addicts talk about a drug. Nothing can touch him, and nothing is ever his fault. “There are problems with the press office,” says one. “Perhaps he needs better PAs?” says another.

One man thinks there will be a non-specific revolution: “I hope it won’t be violent,” he frets. “There have been violent revolutions in the past.” “I stuck it out during Blair and it was worth it,” says another. “They’ve had their go.” “We don’t need them [the Blairites],” says a third. “If new members come in, it will sort itself out,” says a fourth.

I have heard this before. Momentum supporters have told me that Labour does not need floating voters, who are somehow tainted because they dare to float. This seems to me a kind of madness. I do not know how the Labour Party will win a general election in a parliamentary democracy without floating voters; and I don’t think these people do, either.

But this is a coach of believers. Say you are not sure that Corbyn can win a general election and they scowl at you. That you are in total agreement with them is assumed, because this is the solidarity bus; and if you are in total agreement with them they are the sweetest people in the world.

That is why I do not tell them that I am a journalist. I am afraid to, and this fear baffles me. I have gone everywhere as a journalist but with these, my fellow-travellers on the left, I am scared to say it; and that, too, frightens me. MSM, they might call me – mainstream media. What it really means is: collaborator.

The man beside me has been ill. He talks sweetly about the potential renewal of society under Corbyn’s Labour as a metaphor for his own recovery, and this moves him; he has not been involved in politics until now. I like this man very much, until I mention the Jewish Labour MP Luciana Berger and the anti-Semitism she has suffered from Corbyn supporters and others; and he says, simply, that she has been employed by the state of Israel. He says nothing else about her, as if there were nothing else to say.

We listen to the results of the leadership election on the radio; we should be in Liverpool at the Black-E community centre to celebrate, but the solidarity bus is late. Corbyn thanks his supporters. “You’re welcome, Jeremy,” says a woman in the front row, as if he were on the coach. She nods emphatically, and repeats it to the man who isn’t there: “You’re welcome, Jeremy.”

In Liverpool, some of the passengers sleep on the floor at a community centre. The venue has been hired for that purpose: this is Momentum’s commitment to opening up politics to the non-connected, the previously non-engaged, and the outsiders who will attend their conference in a deconsecrated church, even as the official Labour conference convenes a mile away. But never mind that: this is the one that matters, and it is called The World Transformed.

 

2. The Conference

Later that day, outside the Black-E, a man comes up to me. Are you happy, he asks, which is a normal question here. These are, at least partly, the politics of feelings: we must do feelings, because the Tories, apparently, don’t. I say I’m worried about marginal seats, specifically that Jeremy – he is always Jeremy, the use of his Christian name is a symbol of his goodness, his accessibility and his singularity – cannot win them.

“The polls aren’t his fault,” the man says, “it’s [Labour] people briefing the Tories that he is unelectable.” I do not think it’s that simple but it’s easy to feel like an idiot – or a monster – here, where there is such conviction. As if there is something that only you, the unconvinced, have missed: that Jeremy, given the right light, hat or PA, could lead a socialist revolution in a country where 13 million people watched Downton Abbey.

But the man does say something interesting which I hope is true. “This is not about Jeremy, not really,” he says. “It is about what he represents.” He means Momentum can survive without him.

There is a square hall with trade union banners and a shop that sells Poems for Jeremy Corbyn, as well as a Corbyn-themed colouring book. When I am finally outed as a journalist, and made to wear a vast red badge that says PRESS, I attempt to buy one. “That’s all journalists are interested in,” the proprietor says angrily. That is one of our moral stains, apparently: a disproportionate (and sinister) interest in colouring books.

I go to the Black Lives Matter event. A woman talks about the experience of black students in universities and the impact of austerity on the black community. Another woman tells us that her five-year-old son wishes he was white; we listen while she cries. I go to the feminism meeting and change my mind about the legalisation of prostitution after a woman’s testimony about reporting an assault, and then being assaulted again by a police officer because of her legal status. Then I hear a former miner tell a room how the police nearly killed him on a picket line, and then arrested him.

This, to me, a veteran of party conferences, is extraordinary, although it shouldn’t be, and the fact that I am surprised is shameful. Momentum is full of the kinds of ­people you never see at political events: that is, the people politics is for. Women, members of minority communities (but not Zionist Jews, naturally), the disabled: all are treated with exaggerated courtesy, as if the Black-E had established a mirror world of its choosing, where everything outside is inverted.

When Corbyn arrives he does not orate: he ruminates. “We are not going to cascade poverty from generation to generation,” he says. “We are here to transform society and the world.” I applaud his sentiment; I share it. I just wish I could believe he can deliver it outside, in the other world. So I veer ­between hope and fury; between the certainty that they will achieve nothing but an eternal Conservative government, and the ever-nagging truth that makes me stay: what else is there?

There is a rally on Monday night. Momentum members discuss the “purges” of socialist and communist-leaning members from Labour for comments they made on social media, and whether détente is possible. A nurse asks: “How do we know that ‘wipe the slate clean’ means the same for us as it does for them? How on Earth can we trust the likes of Hilary Benn who dresses himself up in the rhetoric of socialism to justify bombing Syria? The plotters who took the olive branch offered by Jeremy to stab him in the back with another chicken coup?” I am not sure where she is going with that gag, or if it is even a gag.

The next man to speak had been at the Labour party conference earlier in the day; he saw Len McCluskey, John McDonnell and Clive Lewis on the platform. “Don’t be pessimistic, folks,” he cries. “On the floor of conference today we owned the party. Progress [the centrist Labour pressure group] are the weirdos now. We own the party!”

A man from Hammersmith and Fulham Momentum is next. “The national committee of Momentum was not elected by conference,” he says. “It’s a committee meeting knocked up behind closed doors by leading people on the left, including our two heroes.” He means Jeremy Corbyn and John McDonnell. This is explicit heresy, and the chair interrupts him: “Stan, Stan . . .” “I’m winding up!” he says. “We need a central committee of Momentum elected by conference,” he says, and sits down.

The following day Corbyn speaks in the hall in front of golden balloons that spell out S-H-E-E-P. It may be another gag, but who can tell, from his face? This is his commitment to not doing politics the recognisable way. He is the man who walks by himself, towards balloons that say S-H-E-E-P. (They are advertising the band that will follow him. They are called, and dressed as, sheep.) The nobility of it, you could say. Or the idiocy. He mocks the mockers of Momentum: is it, he was asked by the mainstream media, full of extremists and entryists? “I’m not controlling any of it,” he says calmly, and in this calmness is all the Twitter-borne aggression that people complain of when they talk about Momentum, for he enables it with his self-satisfied smile. “It’s not my way to try and control the way people do things. I want people to come together.” He laughs, because no one can touch him, and nothing is ever his fault.

I meet many principled people in Liverpool whose testimony convinces me, and I didn’t need convincing, that austerity is a national disaster. I meet only one person who thinks that Momentum should take over the Labour Party. The maddest suggestion I hear is that all media should be state-controlled so that they won’t be rude about a future Corbyn government and any tribute colouring books.

 

3. The HQ

Momentum HQ is in the TSSA transport and travel union building by Euston Station in London. I meet Jon Lansman, Tony Benn’s former fixer and the founder of Momentum, in a basement room in October. Lansman, who read economics at Cambridge, lived on the fringes of Labour for 30 years before volunteering for Corbyn’s campaign for the leadership.

The terms are these: I can ask whatever I want, but afterwards James Schneider, the 29-year-old national organiser (who has since left to work for Corbyn’s press team), will decide what I can and cannot print. ­Momentum HQ wants control of the message; with all the talk of entryism and infighting reported in the mainstream media, the movement needs it.

There is a civil war between Jon Lansman and the Alliance for Workers’ Liberty (AWL) and other far-left factions, which, I am told, “wish to organise in an outdated manner out of step with the majority of Momentum members”. Some of the Momentum leadership believe that the AWL and its allies want to use Momentum to found a new party to the left of Labour. Jill Mountford, then a member of Momentum’s steering committee, has been expelled from Labour for being a member of the AWL. It screams across the blogs and on Facebook; more parody. We don’t talk about that – Schneider calls it “Kremlinology”. It is a problem, yes, but it is not insurmountable. We talk about the future, and the past.

So, Lansman. I look at him. The right considers him an evil Bennite wizard to be feared and mocked; the far left, a Stalinist, which seems unfair. It must be exhausting. I see a tired, middle-aged man attending perhaps his fifteenth meeting in a day. His hair is unruly. He wears a T-shirt.

The last Labour government, he says, did one thing and said another: “Wanting a liberal immigration policy while talking tough about refugees and migrants. Having a strong welfare policy and generous tax credits while talking about ‘strivers’ and ‘scroungers’ unfortunately shifted opinion the wrong way.”

It also alienated the party membership: “Their approach was based on ensuring that everyone was on-message with high levels of control.” It was an “authoritarian structure even in the PLP [Parliamentary Labour Party]. Even in the cabinet. It killed off the enthusiasm of the membership. They never published the figures in 2009 because it dropped below 100,000. We’ve now got 600,000.” (The membership has since dropped to roughly 528,000.)

And the strategy? “If you have hundreds of thousands of people having millions of conversations with people in communities and workplaces you can change opinion,” he says. “That’s the great advantage of ­having a mass movement. And if we can change the Labour Party’s attitude to its members and see them as a resource – not a threat or inconvenience.”

That, then, is the strategy: street by street and house by house. “We can’t win on the back of only the poorest and only the most disadvantaged,” he says. “We have to win the votes of skilled workers and plenty of middle-class people, too – but they are all suffering from some aspects of Tory misrule.”

I ask about polling because, at the time, a Times/YouGov poll has Labour on 27 per cent to the Tories’ 41 per cent. He doesn’t mind. “It was,” he says, “always going to be a very hard battle to win the next election. I think everyone across the party will privately admit that.” He doesn’t think that if Yvette Cooper or Andy Burnham were leader they would be polling any better.

Upstairs the office is full of activists. They are young, rational and convincing (although, after the Copeland by-election on 23 February, I will wonder if they are only really convincing themselves). They talk about their membership of 20,000, and 150 local groups, and 600,000 Labour Party members, and the breadth of age and background of the volunteers – from teenagers to people in their eighties. One of them – Ray Madron, 84 – paints his hatred of Tony Blair like a portrait in the air. He has a ­marvellously posh voice. Most of all, they talk about the wounds of austerity. Where, they want to know, is the anger? They are searching for it.

Emma Rees, a national organiser, speaks in the calm, precise tones of the schoolteacher she once was. “A lot of people are sick and tired of the status quo, of politics as usual, and I think trying to do things differently is hard because there isn’t a road map and it’s not clear exactly what you’re supposed to do,” she says. She adds: “It is a coalition of different sorts of people and holding all those people together can sometimes be a challenge.”

Is she alluding to entryism? One activist, who asks not to be named, says: “I don’t want to insult anyone, but if you rounded up all the members of the Socialist Workers Party [SWP] and the Socialist Party and any other ultra-left sect, you could probably fit them in one room. Momentum has 20,000 members.”

The SWP were outside at The World Transformed in Liverpool, I say, like an ambivalent picket line. “Well,” James Schneider says pointedly, “they were outside.”

Momentum, Emma Rees says, “is seeking to help the Labour Party become that transformative party that will get into government but doesn’t fall back on that tried and failed way of winning elections”.

They tell me this repeatedly, and it is true: no one knows what will work. “The people who criticised us don’t have any route to electability, either,” says Joe Todd, who organises events for Momentum. He is a tall, bespectacled man with a kindly, open face.

“They lost two elections before Jeremy Corbyn. It’s obvious we need to do something differently,” he says. “Politics feels distant for most people: it doesn’t seem to offer any hope for real change.

“The left has been timid and negative. More and more people are talking about how we can transform society, and how these transformations link to people’s everyday experience. Build a movement like that,” Todd says, and his eyes swell, “and all the old rules of politics – the centre ground, swing constituencies to a certain extent – are blown out of the water.”

Momentum sends me, with a young volunteer as chaperone, to a rally in Chester in October to watch activists try to muster support for local hospitals. They set up a stall in the centre of the shopping district, with its mad dissonance of coffee shops and medieval houses. From what I can see, people – yet far too few people – listen politely to the speeches about austerity and sign up for more information; but I can hear the hum of internal dissent when an activist, who asks not to be named, tells me he will work for the local Labour MP to be deselected. (The official Momentum line on deselection is, quite rightly, that it is a matter for local parties.)

We will not know what matters – is it effective? – until the general election, because no one knows what will work.

 

4. The Fallout

Now comes the result of the by-election in Copeland in the north-west of England, and the first time since 1982 that a ruling government has taken a seat from the opposition in a by-election. Momentum canvassed enthusiastically (they sent 85 carloads of activists to the constituency) but they failed, and pronounce themselves “devastated”. The whispers – this time of a “soft” coup against Corbyn – begin again.

Rees describes calls for Jeremy Corbyn to resign as “misguided. Labour’s decline long pre-dates Corbyn’s leadership.”

This produces a furious response from Luke Akehurst, a former London Labour ­councillor in Hackney, on labourlist.org. He insists that Labour’s decline has accelerated under Corbyn; that even though Rees says that “Labour has been haemorrhaging votes in election after election in Copeland since 1997”, the majority increased in 2005 and the number of votes rose in 2010, despite an adverse boundary change. “This,” he writes, “was a seat where the Labour vote was remarkably stable at between 16,750 and 19,699 in every general election between 2001 and 2015, then fell off a cliff to 11,601, a third of it going AWOL, last Thursday.”

And he adds that “‘85 carloads of Mom­entum activists’ going to Copeland is just increasing the party’s ability to record whose votes it has lost”.

But still they plan, and believe, even if no one knows what will work; surely there is some antidote to Mayism, if they search every street in the UK? Momentum’s national conference, which was repeatedly postponed, is now definitively scheduled for 25 March. Stan who complained about a democratic deficit within Momentum at The World Transformed got his way. So did Lansman. In January the steering committee voted to dissolve Momentum’s structures and introduce a constitution, after consulting the membership. A new national co-ordinating group has been elected, and met for the first time on 11 March – although, inevitably, a group called Momentum Grassroots held a rival meeting that very day.

I go to the Euston offices for a final briefing. There, two young women – Sophie and Georgie, and that will make those who think in parodies laugh – tell me that, in future, only members of the Labour Party will be allowed to join Momentum, and existing members must join Labour by 1 July. Those expelled from Labour “may be deemed to have resigned from Momentum after 1 July” – but they will have a right to a hearing.

More details of the plan are exposed when, a week later, a recording of Jon Lansman’s speech to a Momentum meeting in Richmond on 1 March is leaked to the Observer. Lansman told the Richmond branch that Momentum members must hold positions within the Labour Party to ensure that Corbyn’s successor – they are now talking about a successor – is to their liking. He also said that, should Len McCluskey be re-elected as general secretary of Unite, the union would formally affiliate to Momentum.

Tom Watson, the deputy leader of the party, was furious when he found out, calling it “a private agreement to fund a political faction that is apparently planning to take control of the Labour Party, as well as organise in the GMB and Unison”.

There was then, I am told, “a short but stormy discussion at the away day at Unison” on Monday 20 March, where the inner circle of John McDonnell, Diane Abbott and Emily Thornberry “laid into” Watson, but Shami Chakrabarti made the peace; I would have liked to see that. Watson then released a bland joint statement with Corbyn which mentioned “a robust and constructive discussion about the challenges and opportunities ahead”.

Jon Lansman, of course, is more interesting. “This is a non-story,” he tells me. “Momentum is encouraging members to get active in the party, to support socialist policies and rule changes that would make Labour a more grass-roots and democratic party, and to campaign for Labour victories. There is nothing scandalous and sinister about that.” On the Labour right, Progress, he notes, does exactly the same thing. “Half a million members could be the key to our success,” he says. “They can take our message to millions. But they want to shape policy, too. I wouldn’t call giving them a greater say ‘taking over the party’” – and this is surely unanswerable – “it’s theirs to start with.”

Correction: This article originally named Luke Akehurst as a Labour councillor. Akehurst stood down in 2014.

This article first appeared in the 23 March 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump's permanent revolution