Summer lethargy is not a good look for Labour right now

Silly season can be a time of opportunity for dynamic politicians. Where is the opposition's fighting spirit?

No-one is surprised when the news thins out during the summer months. The season when silly stories get bumped up the agenda even has its own name. It’s a thing. And it’s a thing that politicians know about and for which they plan. They can take advantage of the media lull in one of two ways.

First, they can have a bit of a rest, read some books, think some thoughts and, if they are diligent, catch up on some constituency contact. (That can be arduous so it is unkind to claim MPs all benefit from jumbo holidays.)

Second, they can try to generate a few headlines, knowing that journalists are hungry for stories and will give a more lavish airing to something that, at busier times, would be buried.

Conservative co-chairman Grant Shapps has had a go at that second approach. He made a speech yesterday attacking Labour for all the usual things. It’s the same old trade union-obeying, Brussels-fancying, benefit-boosting, immigrant-coddling, debt-ramping, tax-hiking party, said Shapps. Or words to that effect. The speech was briefed out a day early and picked up some decent coverage given how void it was of serious content. In places it was downright bizarre:

Who here shares my appreciation of the phone’s flash – which doubles as a torch – when you’ve come home late and dropped your keys?

Who indeed, Grant?

The intervention briefly threatened to make the wrong kind of headlines. Shapps appeared, in a question and answer session after the speech, to admit having taken a cavalier approach to employment law in a company he set up. Tory sources clarified afterwards that he was speaking illustratively and not referring to anything he had done. A minor gaffe flared up and was hosed down. Someone from Labour muttered something disapproving. I forget what.

In other news, a Tory peer and government advisor appeared to say that environmental degradation should be visited on the North-East because no one would care or even notice. He then clarified that he had meant the North-West. Jeremy Hunt was slapped down by the High Court. A judge ruled that the health secretary had acted unlawfully in trying to shut down services at Lewisham hospital. Labour's response? A statement saying the Tories are out of touch, adding that you can’t trust them with the NHS. Obvs.

The absence of opposition energy is mystefying. Since pretty much anything with a flicker of political content can make headlines, why doesn’t Labour have a campaign lined up to seize the initiative? Where is the shadow cabinet? Where is everybody? The most visible opposition figure in the past week has been Stella Creasy, MP for Walthamstow, who has valiantly and very effectively taken on the issue of violent misogyny online.

But as far as I can tell, since parliament rose for recess, there hasn’t been a big news story generated deliberately by Labour to discomfort the Tories or Lib Dems. Ed Miliband’s MPs may be working hard behind the scenes in their constituencies but as a dynamic force for taking on the coalition they really are on holiday. The Archbishop of Canterbury is currently doing a more agile job of sustained moral activism. I am not alone in thinking the opposition look oddly lethargic. Most Labour people I have spoken to wonder why their party has given up politics for the summer.

The usual defence from Ed Miliband’s aides against charges of this kind is that the obsessions of the Westminster bubble are a peripheral concern. There is a bigger picture, the say. Work is being done on some interesting announcements that will rock the political landscape. I have been told many times by allies of the Labour leader to “watch this space.”  The other standard response is to bemoan the ineffectiveness of the front bench. Ed can’t do it all himself, say Miliband’s friends. The rest of the team need to do some of the “heavy lifting”. It is a fair point. If the hapless Grant Shapps – trader in internet snake oil under a dodgy alias  - can grab the spotlight for a political cabaret turn, why can’t a shadow cabinet minister plant a half-decent story in the middle of silly season?

It feels as if Labour has lost its mojo. This is partly a function of being adrift between two positions. There is the old default of decrying everything the coalition does. Then there is the new challenge: credibly promising a better alternative in recognition of the fiscal squeeze that will endure beyond the next election. Labour has relinquished the first proposition – it isn’t pledging to reverse the cuts or spend much more – but it doesn’t have clear attack lines based on the second one. It is in a limbo of hating what the coalition is doing without being able to articulate what it would do differently.

Some clarity is promised at the annual conference in September. Some, but not all of the plan for a brighter Labour future will be revealed. (“Watch this space.”) This hiatus is consistent with Miliband’s long-game strategy. His friends talk up his unflappable nature and the way that he is not distracted by the daily froth of 24-hour news, nor by the chatter of impatient commentators on New Statesman blogs. He expects the Tories’ reliance on shabby, short-term tactics to unravel. Cameron’s superficiality and complacency will be exposed.

It is all supposed to unfold rather like the fable of the tortoise and the hare. Cameron is cocky and energetic at the start, supremely sure of his race-winning credentials. Miliband is wiser, appearing slower but ultimately more steady.

There is just one problem with the analogy. The tortoise didn’t win the race by having a more profound grasp of economic imbalances in the race track. He won because the hare took a nap. If the hare had carried on running at his usual pace, he would have crossed the finish line first. Right now, of the two parties, it isn’t the Tories who look as if they are lying down prematurely.

Now is not the time for a nice quiet sit down. Image: Getty

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue