The book of Dave

In conversation with the editor of GQ, the would-be prime minister reveals . . . that he "d

If there is one political question that needs to be addressed today it is this: what sort of prime minister would David Cameron be? The voters may have decided they do not like Gordon Brown, but before they let go of Nurse they are entitled to ask whether the smooth, young man they are offered instead is not something worse.

A year of privileged access to Cameron, combining lots of close-up observation with one- to-one interviews, would seem a wonderful opportunity to answer the question. You might get under the veneer. You might be able to tell people something new and important.

Well, Dylan Jones, the editor of GQ, had that opportunity, and he found out that Cameron "doesn't really like" Pot Noodles. He also discovered that the Tory leader prefers Lily Allen to Amy Winehouse (though he buys the albums of both), that he needs six or seven hours' sleep a night, and that long ago his father took the Times and the Express but at some point dropped the Express for the Mail.

It doesn't stop there, for it turns out that Cameron has views on the recent history of his party. They go like this: Margaret Thatcher, of course, was a great leader, and he can't find fault with John Major; William Hague was also a great leader; Iain Duncan Smith was ahead of his time; and Cameron admires Michael Howard "a lot".

Cameron on Cameron: Conversations With Dylan Jones (Fourth Estate, £12.99) bills itself as the best introduction to the man who could be our next prime minister, a must-read for voters intrigued by this political phenomenon, and indeed it tells us one important (though not very new) thing about the Conservative leader: he knows how to pick an interviewer.

Though Jones makes a half-hearted claim, in the introduction, that his objective is merely to put information before the reader, when he gets to work he leaves no doubt that his real business is brazen hagiography. Cameron, he declares, is "my man", his ascendancy "coinciding with my own political shift". And the author has no interest in challenging; the verbatim question-and-answer passages that form the heart of the book have all the excitement and interest of a village cricket team bowling to Australia. You know the sort of all-things-to-all-men stuff Cameron puts in his speeches? Well, he gets to say those things here and nobody stops him.

Maybe we should not expect the editor of GQ to tackle the details of crime policy, or education; he is not a policy specialist, after all. But even where he has the ammunition to hand he refuses to use it. It is clear to anyone interested in Cameron's life, for example, that he does not like people dwelling on his years (1994-2001) as a top PR for Carlton Communications. It is equally clear that if we are to understand him at all, we need to know in what ways he was influenced by the job, the longest of his short career and a job of particular relevance for a man now in politics.

The business journalist Patrick Hosking once wrote in this magazine that he had found Cameron the PR man obstructive, and that his work included such wholesome fare as "defending the dumping of News at Ten to make way for a revival of Mr and Mrs; arguing the case for commercials targeted at children; defending the screening of insalutary scenes from The Vice within minutes of the 9pm watershed; explaining how Carlton had come to screen a one-hour programme, conceived, sponsored and entirely funded by British Telecom".

Jones quotes those lines from Hosking at one stage in his narrative, but he does not put them to Cameron. When it comes to the interview he allows his man to finesse the period entirely. "I learned how to explain difficult and complex things," is his airy verdict on those years. "I also learned that spin and PR will not get you where you want to go, and that truth is the most important commodity." How nice.

All we see is that seamless, shiny veneer. Try this. "Are you middle- or upper-class?" he is asked. "I don't really buy these labels." "Come on, gun to your head," Jones insists. "Gun to my head, I suppose I'd describe myself as well-off." And this: "You've been described as a cautious man. Are you?" "Well, I'm a mixture of sometimes being quite radical and wanting changes, and on the other hand being cautious and thoughtful about how to bring it about."

If you like this sort of thing, as the old saying has it, then you will find it is the sort of thing you like.

Brian Cathcart is Director of Hacked Off. He tweets as @BrianCathcart.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2008 issue of the New Statesman, How to survive the recession

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The New Times: Brexit, globalisation, the crisis in Labour and the future of the left

With essays by David Miliband, Paul Mason, John Harris, Lisa Nandy, Vince Cable and more.

Once again the “new times” are associated with the ascendancy of the right. The financial crash of 2007-2008 – and the Great Recession and sovereign debt crises that were a consequence of it – were meant to have marked the end of an era of runaway “turbocapitalism”. It never came close to happening. The crash was a crisis of capitalism but not the crisis of capitalism. As Lenin observed, there is “no such thing as an absolutely hopeless situation” for capitalism, and so we discovered again. Instead, the greatest burden of the period of fiscal retrenchment that followed the crash was carried by the poorest in society, those most directly affected by austerity, and this in turn has contributed to a deepening distrust of elites and a wider crisis of governance.

Where are we now and in which direction are we heading?

Some of the contributors to this special issue believe that we have reached the end of the “neoliberal” era. I am more sceptical. In any event, the end of neoliberalism, however you define it, will not lead to a social-democratic revival: it looks as if, in many Western countries, we are entering an age in which centre-left parties cannot form ruling majorities, having leaked support to nationalists, populists and more radical alternatives.

Certainly the British Labour Party, riven by a war between its parliamentary representatives and much of its membership, is in a critical condition. At the same time, Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership has inspired a remarkable re-engagement with left-wing politics, even as his party slumps in the polls. His own views may seem frozen in time, but hundreds of thousands of people, many of them young graduates, have responded to his anti-austerity rhetoric, his candour and his shambolic, unspun style.

The EU referendum, in which as much as one-third of Labour supporters voted for Brexit, exposed another chasm in Labour – this time between educated metropolitan liberals and the more socially conservative white working class on whose loyalty the party has long depended. This no longer looks like a viable election-winning coalition, especially after the collapse of Labour in Scotland and the concomitant rise of nationalism in England.

In Marxism Today’s “New Times” issue of October 1988, Stuart Hall wrote: “The left seems not just displaced by Thatcherism, but disabled, flattened, becalmed by the very prospect of change; afraid of rooting itself in ‘the new’ and unable to make the leap of imagination required to engage the future.” Something similar could be said of the left today as it confronts Brexit, the disunities within the United Kingdom, and, in Theresa May, a prime minister who has indicated that she might be prepared to break with the orthodoxies of the past three decades.

The Labour leadership contest between Corbyn and Owen Smith was largely an exercise in nostalgia, both candidates seeking to revive policies that defined an era of mass production and working-class solidarity when Labour was strong. On matters such as immigration, digital disruption, the new gig economy or the power of networks, they had little to say. They proposed a politics of opposition – against austerity, against grammar schools. But what were they for? Neither man seemed capable of embracing the “leading edge of change” or of making the imaginative leap necessary to engage the future.

So is there a politics of the left that will allow us to ride with the currents of these turbulent “new times” and thus shape rather than be flattened by them? Over the next 34 pages 18 writers, offering many perspectives, attempt to answer this and related questions as they analyse the forces shaping a world in which power is shifting to the East, wars rage unchecked in the Middle East, refugees drown en masse in the Mediterranean, technology is outstripping our capacity to understand it, and globalisation begins to fragment.

— Jason Cowley, Editor 

Tom Kibasi on what the left fails to see

Philip Collins on why it's time for Labour to end its crisis

John Harris on why Labour is losing its heartland

Lisa Nandy on how Labour has been halted and hollowed out

David Runciman on networks and the digital revolution

John Gray on why the right, not the left, has grasped the new times

Mariana Mazzucato on why it's time for progressives to rethink capitalism

Robert Ford on why the left must reckon with the anger of those left behind

Ros Wynne-Jones on the people who need a Labour government most

Gary Gerstle on Corbyn, Sanders and the populist surge

Nick Pearce on why the left is haunted by the ghosts of the 1930s

Paul Mason on why the left must be ready to cause a commotion

Neal Lawson on what the new, 21st-century left needs now

Charles Leadbeater explains why we are all existentialists now

John Bew mourns the lost left

Marc Stears on why democracy is a long, hard, slow business

Vince Cable on how a financial crisis empowered the right

David Miliband on why the left needs to move forward, not back

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times