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Shadow play

James Macintyre picks some likely members of Labour’s next front bench.

The 50 or so MPs standing for Labour's shadow cabinet will discover their fate on 7 October. As well as Harriet Harman, already elected as deputy leader, four of the five leadership contenders will be offered roles (Diane Abbott is unlikely to run). Add to the list Douglas Alexander and Alan Johnson. Here are some other names to look out for.

Five to watch for this time

Jim Murphy MP for East Renfrewshire since 1997. Age: 43
Potential job: shadow Northern Ireland secretary

This Glasgow-born Catholic MP and former Scottish secretary under Gordon Brown is exceptionally well regarded by Labour colleagues of all factions. A former NUS president, he has a hinterland and is captain of the parliamentary football team. He is an homme sérieux who helped organise the papal visit, served as a minister in the Cabinet Office, for employment and for Europe, and was voted minister of the year by parliamentarians (House Magazine award). He is believed to have been underpromoted under both Tony Blair and Brown.

David Lammy MP for Tottenham since 2000. Age: 38
Potential job: shadow Cabinet Office minister

Lammy was elected in a by-election in 2000, and was soon serving under Blair. His ministerial career continued under Brown, though he never made the cabinet. Now, his profile is expected to rise again as he stands for the shadow cabinet while also running Ken Livingstone's London mayoral bid. Lammy is articulate and popular in London, and some MPs believe it is important that there be a black as well as a female presence in the shadow cabinet.

Yvette Cooper MP for Pontefract and Castleford since 1997. Age: 41
Potential job: shadow health secretary

Cooper is tipped to eclipse her husband, Ed Balls, and become shadow chancellor, especially if David Miliband becomes leader. Why? Because Balls opposed the Alistair Darling plan to halve the deficit in four years, a strategy endorsed by Miliband Sr. Whether or not this comes to pass, Cooper remains the most senior woman other than Harriet Harman likely to be given a leading role. A "darling" of the Parliamentary Labour Party whom some tip to top the poll and one day run for the leadership.

Jack Dromey MP for Birmingham Erdington since 2010. Age: 62
Potential job: shadow work and pensions secretary

Dromey, former deputy general secretary of the Transport and General Workers' Union, is likely to join his wife, Harriet Harman, in the shadow cabinet. Dromey, who stands down as party treasurer this month, infuriated Blair in 2006 when he revealed that he was unaware of certain donations to Labour, a declaration that helped fuel the "cash for peerages" scandal that brought police into No 10. He remains close to Brown.

Stephen Twigg MP for Liverpool West Derby since 2010 (Enfield Southgate 1997-2005). Age: 43
Potential job: shadow development minister

When Twigg unexpectedly beat Michael Portillo in the 1997 Labour landslide, the moment was so celebrated that books were written about Portillo's defeat. Twigg looked as shocked as everyone else, and his modesty makes him popular in the party still. Before losing his seat in 2005, this civil libertarian was a minister for four years; he worked with the late Robin Cook to reform parliament. He ran the Foreign Policy Centre before returning to the Commons in May.

Five of the new intake to watch

Rachel Reeves Leeds West. Age: 31
One day? Shadow chief secretary to the Treasury

One of the brightest of the new intake, Reeves is an economist with a rare gift for explaining complex theories in simple terms. The state-educated Oxford graduate worked at the Bank of England and the British embassy in Washington, DC, as well as Halifax Bank of Scotland. She is the first female MP to represent any of the Leeds constituencies since Alice Bacon, who was first elected in 1945. Reeves is on the business, innovation and skills select committee.

Chuka Umunna Streatham. Age: 31
One day? Shadow justice minister

The smooth-talking lawyer from the "Compass left" of the party is one of the youngest MPs in parliament and occasionally tipped as a future leader. Umunna laughs off frequent comparisons to Barack Obama, but don't be fooled: he is ambitious and has already impressed colleagues on the Treasury select committee. He is well regarded by leading figures in the party, including Tessa Jowell and Harriet Harman.

Michael Dugher Barnsley East. Age: 35
One day? Shadow employment minister

Firmly of the "old right" of the party, Dugher was head of policy for the AEEU (the Amalgamated Engineering and Electrical Union, now merged into Unite) before becoming a special adviser to Geoff Hoon at Defence, and then an adviser to Brown at No 10. Raised in Yorkshire, he narrowly lost out to Ed Miliband for selection in Doncaster before gaining a seat in neighbouring Barnsley.

Gloria De Piero Ashfield. Age: 37
One day? Shadow equalities minister

De Piero's intelligence and fierce Labour tribalism should not be underestimated just because of her status as a lads' mag pin-up girl or her GMTV past. She worked her way up through serious broadcast journalism at ITV and the BBC before joining the popular morning show. She was brought up in a working-class area of Bradford by Italian immigrant parents.

Rushanara Ali Bethnal Green and Bow. Age: 35
One day? Shadow housing minister

An East Ender who grew up in Tower Hamlets, Ali moved with her family from Bangladesh to London at the age of seven. She became a governor at Tower Hamlets College, where she studied, and is now a commissioner on the London Child Poverty Commission and a trustee of the Paul Hamlyn Foundation. She is better liked in the Commons than her predecessor in Bethnal Green and Bow, George Galloway.

James Macintyre is political correspondent for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 September 2010 issue of the New Statesman, The 50 people who matter

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The age of loneliness

Profound changes in technology, work and community are transforming our ultrasocial species into a population of loners.

Our dominant ideology is based on a lie. A series of lies, in fact, but I’ll focus on just one. This is the claim that we are, above all else, self-interested – that we seek to enhance our own wealth and power with little regard for the impact on others.

Some economists use a term to describe this presumed state of being – Homo economicus, or self-maximising man. The concept was formulated, by J S Mill and others, as a thought experiment. Soon it became a modelling tool. Then it became an ideal. Then it evolved into a description of who we really are.

It could not be further from the truth. To study human behaviour is to become aware of how weird we are. Many species will go to great lengths to help and protect their close kin. One or two will show occasional altruism towards unrelated members of their kind. But no species possesses a capacity for general altruism that is anywhere close to our own.

With the possible exception of naked mole-rats, we have the most social minds of all mammals. These minds evolved as an essential means of survival. Slow, weak, armed with rounded teeth and flimsy nails in a world of fangs and claws and horns and tusks, we survived through co-operation, reciprocity and mutual defence, all of which developed to a remarkable degree.

A review paper in the journal Frontiers in Psychology observes that Homo economicus  might be a reasonable description of chimpanzees. “Outsiders . . . would not expect to receive offers of food or solicitude; rather, they would be fiercely attacked . . . food is shared only under harassment; even mothers will not voluntarily offer novel foods to their own infants unless the infants beg for them.” But it is an unreasonable description of human beings.

How many of your friends, colleagues and neighbours behave like chimpanzees? A few, perhaps. If so, are they respected or reviled? Some people do appear to act as if they have no interests but their own – Philip Green and Mike Ashley strike me as possible examples – but their behaviour ­attracts general revulsion. The news is filled with spectacular instances of human viciousness: although psychopaths are rare, their deeds fill the papers. Daily acts of kindness are seldom reported, because they are everywhere.

Every day, I see people helping others with luggage, offering to cede their place in a queue, giving money to the homeless, setting aside time for others, volunteering for causes that offer no material reward. Alongside these quotidian instances are extreme and stunning cases. I think of my Dutch mother-in-law, whose family took in a six-year-old Jewish boy – a stranger – and hid him in their house for two years during the German occupation of the Netherlands. Had he been discovered, they would all have been sent to a concentration camp.

Studies suggest that altruistic tendencies are innate: from the age of 14 months, children try to help each other, attempting to hand over objects another child can’t reach. At the age of two, they start to share valued possessions. By the time they are three, they begin to protest against other people’s violation of moral norms.

Perhaps because we are told by the media, think tanks and politicians that competition and self-interest are the defining norms of human life, we disastrously mischaracterise the way in which other people behave. A survey commissioned by the Common Cause Foundation reported that 78 per cent of respondents believe others to be more selfish than they really are.

I do not wish to suggest that this mythology of selfishness is the sole or even principal cause of the epidemic of loneliness now sweeping the world. But it is likely to contribute to the plague by breeding suspicion and a sense of threat. It also appears to provide a doctrine of justification for those afflicted by isolation, a doctrine that sees individualism as a higher state of existence than community. Perhaps it is hardly surprising that Britain, the European nation in which neoliberalism is most advanced, is, according to government figures, the loneliness capital of Europe.

There are several possible reasons for the atomisation now suffered by the supremely social mammal. Work, which used to bring us together, now disperses us: many people have neither fixed workplaces nor regular colleagues and regular hours. Our leisure time has undergone a similar transformation: cinema replaced by television, sport by computer games, time with friends by time on Facebook.

Social media seems to cut both ways: it brings us together and sets us apart. It helps us to stay in touch, but also cultivates a tendency that surely enhances other people’s sense of isolation: a determination to persuade your followers that you’re having a great time. FOMO – fear of missing out – seems, at least in my mind, to be closely ­associated with loneliness.

Children’s lives in particular have been transformed: since the 1970s, their unaccompanied home range (in other words, the area they roam without adult supervision) has declined in Britain by almost 90 per cent. Not only does this remove them from contact with the natural world, but it limits their contact with other children. When kids played out on the street or in the woods, they quickly formed their own tribes, learning the social skills that would see them through life.

An ageing population, family and community breakdown, the decline of institutions such as churches and trade unions, the switch from public transport to private, inequality, an alienating ethic of consumerism, the loss of common purpose: all these are likely to contribute to one of the most dangerous epidemics of our time.

Yes, I do mean dangerous. The stress response triggered by loneliness raises blood pressure and impairs the immune system. Loneliness enhances the risk of depression, paranoia, addiction, cognitive decline, dem­entia, heart disease, stroke, viral infection, accidents and suicide. It is as potent a cause of early death as smoking 15 cigarettes a day, and can be twice as deadly as obesity.

Perhaps because we are in thrall to the ideology that helps to cause the problem, we turn to the market to try to solve it. Over the past few weeks, the discovery of a new American profession, the people-walker (taking human beings for walks), has caused a small sensation in the media. In Japan there is a fully fledged market for friendship: you can hire friends by the hour with whom to chat and eat and watch TV; or, more disturbingly, to pose for pictures that you can post on social media. They are rented as mourners at funerals and guests at weddings. A recent article describes how a fake friend was used to replace a sister with whom the bride had fallen out. What would the bride’s mother make of it? No problem: she had been rented, too. In September we learned that similar customs have been followed in Britain for some time: an early foray into business for the Home Secretary, Amber Rudd, involved offering to lease her posh friends to underpopulated weddings.



My own experience fits the current pattern: the high incidence of loneliness suffered by people between the ages of 18 and 34. I have sometimes been lonely before and after that period, but it was during those years that I was most afflicted. The worst episode struck when I returned to Britain after six years working in West Papua, Brazil and East Africa. In those parts I sometimes felt like a ghost, drifting through societies to which I did not belong. I was often socially isolated, but I seldom felt lonely, perhaps because the issues I was investigating were so absorbing and the work so frightening that I was swept along by adrenalin and a sense of purpose.

When I came home, however, I fell into a mineshaft. My university friends, with their proper jobs, expensive mortgages and settled, prematurely aged lives, had become incomprehensible to me, and the life I had been leading seemed incomprehensible to everyone. Though feeling like a ghost abroad was in some ways liberating – a psychic decluttering that permitted an intense process of discovery – feeling like a ghost at home was terrifying. I existed, people acknowledged me, greeted me cordially, but I just could not connect. Wherever I went, I heard my own voice bouncing back at me.

Eventually I made new friends. But I still feel scarred by that time, and fearful that such desolation may recur, particularly in old age. These days, my loneliest moments come immediately after I’ve given a talk, when I’m surrounded by people congratulating me or asking questions. I often experience a falling sensation: their voices seem to recede above my head. I think it arises from the nature of the contact: because I can’t speak to anyone for more than a few seconds, it feels like social media brought to life.

The word “sullen” evolved from the Old French solain, which means “lonely”. Loneliness is associated with an enhanced perception of social threat, so one of its paradoxical consequences is a tendency to shut yourself off from strangers. When I was lonely, I felt like lashing out at the society from which I perceived myself excluded, as if the problem lay with other people. To read any comment thread is, I feel, to witness this tendency: you find people who are plainly making efforts to connect, but who do so by insulting and abusing, alienating the rest of the thread with their evident misanthropy. Perhaps some people really are rugged individualists. But others – especially online – appear to use that persona as a rationale for involuntary isolation.

Whatever the reasons might be, it is as if a spell had been cast on us, transforming this ultrasocial species into a population of loners. Like a parasite enhancing the conditions for its own survival, loneliness impedes its own cure by breeding shame and shyness. The work of groups such as Age UK, Mind, Positive Ageing and the Campaign to End Loneliness is life-saving.

When I first wrote about this subject, and the article went viral, several publishers urged me to write a book on the theme. Three years sitting at my desk, studying isolation: what’s the second prize? But I found another way of working on the issue, a way that engages me with others, rather than removing me. With the brilliant musician Ewan McLennan, I have written a concept album (I wrote the first draft of the lyrics; he refined them and wrote the music). Our aim is to use it to help break the spell, with performances of both music and the spoken word designed to bring people together –which, we hope, will end with a party at the nearest pub.

By itself, our work can make only a tiny contribution to addressing the epidemic. But I hope that, both by helping people to acknowledge it and by using the power of music to create common sentiment, we can at least begin to identify the barriers that separate us from others, and to remember that we are not the selfish, ruthless beings we are told we are.

“Breaking the Spell of Loneliness” by Ewan McLennan and George Monbiot is out now. For a full list of forthcoming gigs visit:

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