What’s a job, Daddy? Where do jobs come from, Mum? What am I going to be when I grow up? Apart from disillusioned?
But seriously, why is there so much unemployment? Because the economy’s gone down the Swanee. So if it recovers and comes back up the Swanee again, will it bring lots of jobs with it? Is there any reason on earth why it should? All over Europe there are repeated sightings of “green shoots”, although it usually doesn’t take long for EU corruption and incompetence to pour paraquat all over them. But one thing common to all these mini-recoveries is the absence of a surge in employment. Who needs ya, baby? the 21st-century economy is saying to us all. What can’t be automated can at least be severely rationalised. The extent to which both manufacturing and service industries can be outsourced seems to acknowledge no limits. Even newspapers are increasingly putting themselves together without the aid of journalists.
To a certain extent, work has become just soooo 20th century. One of the last Prime Minister’s strongest convictions was that this tendency must be resisted; that work was good for us all, personally, economically and socially. In the run-up to losing the last election he was repeatedly lambasted for creating thousands and thousands of jobs, or possibly non-jobs, in the public sector. These must go, we are told; they are unnecessary and their holders are all parasites on the private, wealth-producing sector. The fact a lot of these voices ignore is that an enormous part of the private sector is equally upheld by government expenditure whose necessity is equally spurious. The new government, with its cuts programme, is going to have to face up to the fact that large cuts in expenditure means large cuts in jobs.
In my view the biggest disaster of the last administration was PFI. The economics of it never made sense; most of the private-sector bids for government contracts would never have been considered if the rules hadn’t been stretched to favour them. And if (if??) the contractors find they need more money halfway through the job, they have the government over a barrel. But PFI keeps a huge number of consultants and contractors afloat, supporting millions of jobs. (With no detriment to the public sector, as the public servants who would otherwise have done those jobs were retained in any case; so civil servants on modest salaries were not replaced, but actually augmented, by private sector wallahs on two or three times the screw.) This has cost an absolute fortune, with open-ended commitments extending into our grandchildren’s time, but Gordon Brown thought, rightly or wrongly, that this was better than having all those people on the rock ‘n’ roll. (I would guess that the abolition of all unnecessary public and government-supported-private sector jobs might bring unemployment to around fifteen million.)
So was Gordon right? (I am aware that a lot of my readers think that Brown could not be right if he announced that 2+2=4.) But just supposing – I know I could never prove this – that an efficient modern economy could now be run with 10% of the population engaged on serious productive activity, with say 15% in various ancillary functions. What are we to do with the other three-quarters? Redistribute the proceeds of the economy to keep them fed and happy? Or disenfranchise them and leave them to starve? I am not hurling imprecations at those who take the latter view; I am merely asking how much they would enjoy living in gated communities policed like the Baghdad Green Zone. The Molotov cocktail will always get through.
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Kindergarten stabbings and now Foxconn suicides: what is causing China's fatal crazes?
What is happening to set off these fatal crazes in China? First there were those strange incidents in which people ran amok in kindergartens, knifing small children. I blogged on this last month. Now, as my colleague Malcolm Moore reports, there is a worrying chain of suicides by workers at factories in China run by the Taiwanese company Foxconn, a significant technology supplier for Apple; 11 attempts this year so far, with 9 fatalities.
Nine of these incidents took place at Foxconn’s Longhua factory, near Shenzhen on the Hong Kong border. Like the kindergarten stabbings, the incidents have taken the form of a gruesome series of copycat acts: all the suicides happened in the same manner, by jumping off the roof of a high building, and all the victims were under 25. One such incident is clearly acting as a trigger for others; but the trigger can only be primed by a pre-existing condition of despair. But how can this be, given that these large foreign-invested enterprises are providing much-needed employment, driving up wages and powering China’s impressive rate of development?
China’s attractiveness as a manufacturing centre lies not only in low labour costs; in any case, these are rising rapidly in the big coastal cities. It lies also in the virtual absence of regulation regarding treatment of workers – the government will ensure the absence of free trade unions and lend the full force of its repressive apparatus to the company’s management as enforcers. The Chinese are of course used to this – they are the world’s most docile workers, and I’m absolutely certain that some of them are undermining the minimum wage back here. But in Longhua, amazingly, China and the West appear to have combined to create a voluntary Gulag.
Workers flood in from the countryside, attracted by wages they could never have dreamed of at home and convinced that they can endure the harshest of conditions to earn them. They work 80-hour weeks and live in common dormitories, under constant surveillance to maintain “security”. Apple insists on extremely tight secrecy in all its operations; and two of the suicides have been linked to allegations (apparently wildly far-fetched) that workers were smuggling parts out of the factory.
It is clear that China provides a kind of proving ground for the ultimate in hyper-efficient industrial processes, eliminating that pesky human factor as far as possible. Human beings are regarded as parts in the machinery, which can be stressed until a fraction short of breaking point, with a certain casualty rate built into the planning. After all, there are plenty more where those young people came from. Just like the Gulag, and I’m not entirely sure how much difference is made by the undoubted fact that it is all voluntary.
With regards to working conditions, the deal is “If you don’t like the deal, you can eff off back to the paddy-field”. As this would involve the puncturing of a family’s dreams and intolerable loss of face, they stick it out. Until the last straw and the lonely walk off the ninth-floor dormitory roof. Enjoy your new iPad, and let’s hope the person who made it is still alive.
Nine of these incidents took place at Foxconn’s Longhua factory, near Shenzhen on the Hong Kong border. Like the kindergarten stabbings, the incidents have taken the form of a gruesome series of copycat acts: all the suicides happened in the same manner, by jumping off the roof of a high building, and all the victims were under 25. One such incident is clearly acting as a trigger for others; but the trigger can only be primed by a pre-existing condition of despair. But how can this be, given that these large foreign-invested enterprises are providing much-needed employment, driving up wages and powering China’s impressive rate of development?
China’s attractiveness as a manufacturing centre lies not only in low labour costs; in any case, these are rising rapidly in the big coastal cities. It lies also in the virtual absence of regulation regarding treatment of workers – the government will ensure the absence of free trade unions and lend the full force of its repressive apparatus to the company’s management as enforcers. The Chinese are of course used to this – they are the world’s most docile workers, and I’m absolutely certain that some of them are undermining the minimum wage back here. But in Longhua, amazingly, China and the West appear to have combined to create a voluntary Gulag.
Workers flood in from the countryside, attracted by wages they could never have dreamed of at home and convinced that they can endure the harshest of conditions to earn them. They work 80-hour weeks and live in common dormitories, under constant surveillance to maintain “security”. Apple insists on extremely tight secrecy in all its operations; and two of the suicides have been linked to allegations (apparently wildly far-fetched) that workers were smuggling parts out of the factory.
It is clear that China provides a kind of proving ground for the ultimate in hyper-efficient industrial processes, eliminating that pesky human factor as far as possible. Human beings are regarded as parts in the machinery, which can be stressed until a fraction short of breaking point, with a certain casualty rate built into the planning. After all, there are plenty more where those young people came from. Just like the Gulag, and I’m not entirely sure how much difference is made by the undoubted fact that it is all voluntary.
With regards to working conditions, the deal is “If you don’t like the deal, you can eff off back to the paddy-field”. As this would involve the puncturing of a family’s dreams and intolerable loss of face, they stick it out. Until the last straw and the lonely walk off the ninth-floor dormitory roof. Enjoy your new iPad, and let’s hope the person who made it is still alive.
Monday, 24 May 2010
The two faces of Hamburg
I’m back in my old stomping ground of Hamburg where, not too long ago, I was Her Majesty’s Consul-General. As anyone who has visited knows, this is notoriously a city of two faces. I remember HRH the Duke of York arriving there on a formal visit. Asked whether this was his first visit to Hamburg, the Duke seemed to hesitate a little before replying: “Well, I was here once with the Navy, but we saw a rather different side of town.” Laughter all round.
I am especially well-positioned to appreciate the Janus face of Hamburg. When I visit I see many friends from my time as Consul-General; pillars of society, genial, prosperous but unostentatious (flaunting one’s wealth is not the Hamburg style), intensely Anglophile, all models of respectability. However, I am no longer a diplomat with all conveniences laid on courtesy of the taxpayer, but a freelance hack who has to pay his own way and hasn’t much to pay it with. So, after my coffee with a millionaire or beer with former consular colleagues, where do I retreat to? The zone of absolutely-no-frills hotels, internet cafes, shops from which you can make phone calls (exclusively manned by chaps of the Turkish persuasion) pizza by the slice and late night supermarkets; in short, the Reeperbahn.
There’s nothing glamorous about the Reeperbahn, day or night. At all hours the pavements are full of men of my own kind of age, dressed in shabby leather jackets, frequently sporting ponytails of painfully dyed hair. All clutch bottles of Astra beer and all adjacent surfaces are a mass of empties. It is as if the city employed rafts of character actors to stand around the Kiez (the local name for the red light district, pronounced like the poet Keats, a fact of which anyone who teaches Eng. Lit. in Hamburg ought to be aware) preserving the area’s reputation as a pimps’ paradise for the sake of tourists. But these aren’t actors, and they’re not pimps either – the real pimps are all Albanian and don’t stand around swigging beer in the street. The kindest word to describe them is “wannabes”. They will occasionally address you in passing, usually with something ribald, but there is no threat or hostility involved. In fact the Reeperbahn is one of the world’s safest sleaze zones, thanks to the enormous cop-shop, the Davidwache, slap in the middle of it.
Already by mid-afternoon the ladies of negotiable virtue are emerging; not scantily dressed – Hamburg is almost always far too cold for that – but recognisable by their figure-hugging clothes and by the fact that they alone don’t seem to be going anywhere. It’s an international business these days, of course – I saw one girl who I’d swear was Mongolian – but Latin America seems to be the prevailing trend. As evening proceeds some of the wannabe-pimp-or-madame types morph into touts trying to manhandle you into the go-go bars, which are presumably clip joints although I’ve never dared investigate.
The Reeperbahn is a real temple to the free market: Germany is notorious for draconian shop-opening laws, but you can buy anything, anytime, on the Kiez. There’s a large, well-stocked gun shop not a hundred yards from the Davidwache. I’m too old to stay up late enough to find out what time the shops close, especially the sex shops. I cannot imagine the sort of person who suddenly requires complex rubber appliances at half past three in the morning, but he or she will not be disappointed.
Both sides of Hamburg attract disapproval, but both provide unrivalled people-watching opportunities. And I’m glad to have a foot in both camps.
I am especially well-positioned to appreciate the Janus face of Hamburg. When I visit I see many friends from my time as Consul-General; pillars of society, genial, prosperous but unostentatious (flaunting one’s wealth is not the Hamburg style), intensely Anglophile, all models of respectability. However, I am no longer a diplomat with all conveniences laid on courtesy of the taxpayer, but a freelance hack who has to pay his own way and hasn’t much to pay it with. So, after my coffee with a millionaire or beer with former consular colleagues, where do I retreat to? The zone of absolutely-no-frills hotels, internet cafes, shops from which you can make phone calls (exclusively manned by chaps of the Turkish persuasion) pizza by the slice and late night supermarkets; in short, the Reeperbahn.
There’s nothing glamorous about the Reeperbahn, day or night. At all hours the pavements are full of men of my own kind of age, dressed in shabby leather jackets, frequently sporting ponytails of painfully dyed hair. All clutch bottles of Astra beer and all adjacent surfaces are a mass of empties. It is as if the city employed rafts of character actors to stand around the Kiez (the local name for the red light district, pronounced like the poet Keats, a fact of which anyone who teaches Eng. Lit. in Hamburg ought to be aware) preserving the area’s reputation as a pimps’ paradise for the sake of tourists. But these aren’t actors, and they’re not pimps either – the real pimps are all Albanian and don’t stand around swigging beer in the street. The kindest word to describe them is “wannabes”. They will occasionally address you in passing, usually with something ribald, but there is no threat or hostility involved. In fact the Reeperbahn is one of the world’s safest sleaze zones, thanks to the enormous cop-shop, the Davidwache, slap in the middle of it.
Already by mid-afternoon the ladies of negotiable virtue are emerging; not scantily dressed – Hamburg is almost always far too cold for that – but recognisable by their figure-hugging clothes and by the fact that they alone don’t seem to be going anywhere. It’s an international business these days, of course – I saw one girl who I’d swear was Mongolian – but Latin America seems to be the prevailing trend. As evening proceeds some of the wannabe-pimp-or-madame types morph into touts trying to manhandle you into the go-go bars, which are presumably clip joints although I’ve never dared investigate.
The Reeperbahn is a real temple to the free market: Germany is notorious for draconian shop-opening laws, but you can buy anything, anytime, on the Kiez. There’s a large, well-stocked gun shop not a hundred yards from the Davidwache. I’m too old to stay up late enough to find out what time the shops close, especially the sex shops. I cannot imagine the sort of person who suddenly requires complex rubber appliances at half past three in the morning, but he or she will not be disappointed.
Both sides of Hamburg attract disapproval, but both provide unrivalled people-watching opportunities. And I’m glad to have a foot in both camps.
Wenlock & Mandeville: cheap gimmicks or echoes of a vanished England?
I suppose that “mascots” of the type that have just been unveiled in the run-up to the 2012 London Olympics are a bit of a soft target. They’re all ridiculous, and there’s not much more to be said. The only crumb of comfort is that those of other countries are normally even worse than our own. I was in China for the Asian Games of 1990, when the twee little panda Pan-Pan must have set the cause of wildlife conservation back by decades, as a whole continent fantasised about panda-shooting. By the 2008 Olympics they had had the sense to diversify the target, producing five little manikins named after the five syllables of “Welcome to Beijing”. I suppose you sorta had to be there.
But I had hopes when I heard the names Wenlock and Mandeville. Soon dashed, of course; Wenlock is named after the Shropshire village whose “games” apparently put the Olympic idea into Baron de Coubertin’s head. (The village put a few ideas into A. E. Housman’s too – must be quite a place.) And Mandeville, the Paralympic mascot, is named after Stoke Mandeville hospital for spinal injuries, a noble but rather prosaic derivation.
But just for a moment I heard the alarums and excursions of a vanished but cherished England. Was it not Sir John Wenlock who fought on so many sides in the Wars of the Roses that the historian Alison Weir dubbed him “Prince of Turncoats”? Wenlock’s ultimate come-uppance was entirely appropriate; ending up on the Lancastrian side at their last hurrah at Tewkesbury in 1471, he was forced to retreat. His fellow Lancastrian general the Duke of Somerset misinterpreted this as yet another convenient change of allegiance, and split Wenlock’s bonce down the middle with a mace. I suspect that in a few months’ time we’ll all be wondering where the Duke of Somerset is when you need him.
Strangely enough Sir Geoffrey Mandeville, 12th century Earl of Essex, was another notorious side-switcher, this time in the Stephen-Matilda fandango. He got his earldom from Stephen for supporting him against Matilda, then went over to Matilda after Stephen’s capture at the Battle of Lincoln, changed sides again on Stephen’s release, and finally abandoned the King after a dispute over some castles in 1143. By now neither side would trust him as far as they could throw him, and he set up on his tod as an outlaw in the Fens around Ely, as Hereward the Wake had done before him. The next year Stephen put an end to the yo-yo act by putting an arrow in him.
Neither really seems an ideal mascot for a great national enterprise; both civil warriors and notorious double-dealers. Or does someone perhaps know something we don’t? Perhaps our javelin throwers will all turn on each other (mascot Mandeville had better watch where he is standing) or we’ll find our athletes defecting to Australia halfway through the 1500 metres. Nothing is impossible in the Olympics, or in English history – last time round, we even won a few medals.
But I had hopes when I heard the names Wenlock and Mandeville. Soon dashed, of course; Wenlock is named after the Shropshire village whose “games” apparently put the Olympic idea into Baron de Coubertin’s head. (The village put a few ideas into A. E. Housman’s too – must be quite a place.) And Mandeville, the Paralympic mascot, is named after Stoke Mandeville hospital for spinal injuries, a noble but rather prosaic derivation.
But just for a moment I heard the alarums and excursions of a vanished but cherished England. Was it not Sir John Wenlock who fought on so many sides in the Wars of the Roses that the historian Alison Weir dubbed him “Prince of Turncoats”? Wenlock’s ultimate come-uppance was entirely appropriate; ending up on the Lancastrian side at their last hurrah at Tewkesbury in 1471, he was forced to retreat. His fellow Lancastrian general the Duke of Somerset misinterpreted this as yet another convenient change of allegiance, and split Wenlock’s bonce down the middle with a mace. I suspect that in a few months’ time we’ll all be wondering where the Duke of Somerset is when you need him.
Strangely enough Sir Geoffrey Mandeville, 12th century Earl of Essex, was another notorious side-switcher, this time in the Stephen-Matilda fandango. He got his earldom from Stephen for supporting him against Matilda, then went over to Matilda after Stephen’s capture at the Battle of Lincoln, changed sides again on Stephen’s release, and finally abandoned the King after a dispute over some castles in 1143. By now neither side would trust him as far as they could throw him, and he set up on his tod as an outlaw in the Fens around Ely, as Hereward the Wake had done before him. The next year Stephen put an end to the yo-yo act by putting an arrow in him.
Neither really seems an ideal mascot for a great national enterprise; both civil warriors and notorious double-dealers. Or does someone perhaps know something we don’t? Perhaps our javelin throwers will all turn on each other (mascot Mandeville had better watch where he is standing) or we’ll find our athletes defecting to Australia halfway through the 1500 metres. Nothing is impossible in the Olympics, or in English history – last time round, we even won a few medals.
Friday, 21 May 2010
Let’s hear it for Diane Abbott – if it’s audible
A bit of colour – and I mean this entirely in the metaphorical sense – was brought into the otherwise monochrome Labour leadership contest by the entrance of Ms Diane Abbott into the competitors’ enclosure. She says, absolutely correctly, that the current crop of candidates all look the same. How many smooth, clean-cut male early fortysomethings can we cope with? Surely the opposition to a government led by Ant and Dec should offer some sort of contrast? So I unequivocally welcome Ms Abbott’s candidature.
Besides, I like Diane Abbott. I had lunch with her once, and she was great company. Labour women are often described, fairly or unfairly, as screeching harridans; but Ms Abbott is something far better: a reformed ex-harridan. Round about the time she decided she really must send her son to a selective school, she dropped the class-and-race-warrior bit and adopted a wonderfully self-deprecatory, foot-in-mouth style which is a welcome contrast to so many of her buttoned-up colleagues. Her double-act with Michael Portillo on Andrew Neil’s sofa has been a must-watch in my family for ages.
But there is a serious point behind her candidature: how important is it that Labour gives a clear sign of embracing diversity? It’s not just a question of showing willing by putting a token woman on the short-list; it’s a question of utilising the qualities that diverse sectors of humanity can bring to the table. Now, generalising in public about the differing qualities of men and women is taking your life in your hands, but, what the hell, I’ve got two ex-wives and I can take it. I would say that, on the whole, women possess great single-mindedness but are not so well equipped to deal with nuances, counter-arguments and unintended consequences. I will stick my neck out and say that seeing the issue from the other person’s point of view requires a Y chromosome.
This is no question of superiority or inferiority. Margaret Thatcher, love her or loathe her, was a prime example of a politician who knew what she wanted to do and got it through, scattering objectors like chaff. It’s clear that both approaches, the dialectic and the bulldozer, have their place in politics. What has no place is any sort of tokenism. Diane Abbott is no more “token” than Mrs Thatcher was, but I hope no-one votes for her just because of her gender or colour. As it is, I for one will be observing the performance of Labour MPs selected from “all-women shortlists” fairly closely.
But, inevitably, Ms Abbott’s performance in the leadership election will give some indication of just how important or unimportant “gender” or “diversity” issues really are in Labour politics. I rather suspect that, when push comes to shove, that competence and clarity of vision will prove to be rather more significant factors. Not that I am suggesting that Ms Abbott is deficient in either. But that’s for the party to decide.
I don’t think I’ll be voting for Ms Abbott – she’d be bound to put her foot in it to an extent which would endanger my ageing heart – but I’m glad she’s standing. Give ‘em hell, Diane.
Besides, I like Diane Abbott. I had lunch with her once, and she was great company. Labour women are often described, fairly or unfairly, as screeching harridans; but Ms Abbott is something far better: a reformed ex-harridan. Round about the time she decided she really must send her son to a selective school, she dropped the class-and-race-warrior bit and adopted a wonderfully self-deprecatory, foot-in-mouth style which is a welcome contrast to so many of her buttoned-up colleagues. Her double-act with Michael Portillo on Andrew Neil’s sofa has been a must-watch in my family for ages.
But there is a serious point behind her candidature: how important is it that Labour gives a clear sign of embracing diversity? It’s not just a question of showing willing by putting a token woman on the short-list; it’s a question of utilising the qualities that diverse sectors of humanity can bring to the table. Now, generalising in public about the differing qualities of men and women is taking your life in your hands, but, what the hell, I’ve got two ex-wives and I can take it. I would say that, on the whole, women possess great single-mindedness but are not so well equipped to deal with nuances, counter-arguments and unintended consequences. I will stick my neck out and say that seeing the issue from the other person’s point of view requires a Y chromosome.
This is no question of superiority or inferiority. Margaret Thatcher, love her or loathe her, was a prime example of a politician who knew what she wanted to do and got it through, scattering objectors like chaff. It’s clear that both approaches, the dialectic and the bulldozer, have their place in politics. What has no place is any sort of tokenism. Diane Abbott is no more “token” than Mrs Thatcher was, but I hope no-one votes for her just because of her gender or colour. As it is, I for one will be observing the performance of Labour MPs selected from “all-women shortlists” fairly closely.
But, inevitably, Ms Abbott’s performance in the leadership election will give some indication of just how important or unimportant “gender” or “diversity” issues really are in Labour politics. I rather suspect that, when push comes to shove, that competence and clarity of vision will prove to be rather more significant factors. Not that I am suggesting that Ms Abbott is deficient in either. But that’s for the party to decide.
I don’t think I’ll be voting for Ms Abbott – she’d be bound to put her foot in it to an extent which would endanger my ageing heart – but I’m glad she’s standing. Give ‘em hell, Diane.
How was your Everybody Draw Mohammed Day?
Ms Molly Norris, a Seattle cartoonist, called a few weeks ago for May 20th to be declared Everybody Draw Mohammed Day. This was in protest against the self-censorship of Comedy Central, producers of the notoriously iconoclastic South Park series, when they pulled a provocative cartoon of the Prophet PBUH in a bear costume. She has since retracted the call, apologised to Muslims in general and taken down the relevant Facebook page. Why? Well, you can guess.
Now, I enjoy a wind-up as much as the next person, but I did not participate. Largely because I can’t draw to save my life (and perhaps it did save my life). I feel extremely ambivalent about this sort of think, as I expect a lot of people do. When I say I enjoy a wind-up I mean I like winding up the pompous, prissy and cocksure; not that I burn with passion to offend peaceful people who do or wish me no harm. I do not remove my copy of “The Satanic Verses” from the bookshelves when I have Muslim guests; but I do not wave it in their faces. Like most British people, Muslim and Christian alike, I am a determined live-and-let-liver. (I wish more of the atheists were. I am tempted to suggest that next to Rushdie’s magnum opus on my shelves stands a copy of “The Good Writer Philip and the Scoundrel Pullman”.)
But something gnaws at me. Essentially, it is one of those “elephants in the room”; truths which everybody knows but feels compelled to ignore. We have large Muslim communities in Britain, and other Western countries, whom we welcome in the name of liberalism and diversity, provided that they hare here legally. But why are they here? I am no fanatical anti-immigrationist, and I accept that the post-war influx of sub-continentals was a natural concomitant of the end of Empire. But there is no corresponding inrush of Geordies, Scousers or Cockneys to Bangladesh. Now, one must tread carefully here, but is it permissible to mention words like “flush toilets”, “electricity”, “central heating”, “political freedom and stability” etc.?
And where did those come from? No serious historian will deny that the scientific revolution of the seventeenth century and the industrial one of the eighteenth derived at least in part from the freedom of thought generated by the Reformation and the Enlightenment; i.e. to put it crudely, the freedom to flout religious taboos. People come to us because our society is better, and it is better because we do things they won’t. And no, it isn’t better just because of our previous imperialist exploitation. To cite just one example, societies which bar women from socio-economic activity out of terror that they might develop a sex life get poor, and get poor quickly. China was the world’s leading civilisation before they started binding women’s feet.
And if they do come here, they shouldn’t be demanding that we become more like the society they left. Britons of Pakistani or Bangladeshi background are here, or at least their parents were, because Britain is not Pakistan or Bangladesh. And, with all respect, we don’t want it to be. Any of it. Is this crass racism? If it is, then shoot me. But I don’t think so.
Now, I enjoy a wind-up as much as the next person, but I did not participate. Largely because I can’t draw to save my life (and perhaps it did save my life). I feel extremely ambivalent about this sort of think, as I expect a lot of people do. When I say I enjoy a wind-up I mean I like winding up the pompous, prissy and cocksure; not that I burn with passion to offend peaceful people who do or wish me no harm. I do not remove my copy of “The Satanic Verses” from the bookshelves when I have Muslim guests; but I do not wave it in their faces. Like most British people, Muslim and Christian alike, I am a determined live-and-let-liver. (I wish more of the atheists were. I am tempted to suggest that next to Rushdie’s magnum opus on my shelves stands a copy of “The Good Writer Philip and the Scoundrel Pullman”.)
But something gnaws at me. Essentially, it is one of those “elephants in the room”; truths which everybody knows but feels compelled to ignore. We have large Muslim communities in Britain, and other Western countries, whom we welcome in the name of liberalism and diversity, provided that they hare here legally. But why are they here? I am no fanatical anti-immigrationist, and I accept that the post-war influx of sub-continentals was a natural concomitant of the end of Empire. But there is no corresponding inrush of Geordies, Scousers or Cockneys to Bangladesh. Now, one must tread carefully here, but is it permissible to mention words like “flush toilets”, “electricity”, “central heating”, “political freedom and stability” etc.?
And where did those come from? No serious historian will deny that the scientific revolution of the seventeenth century and the industrial one of the eighteenth derived at least in part from the freedom of thought generated by the Reformation and the Enlightenment; i.e. to put it crudely, the freedom to flout religious taboos. People come to us because our society is better, and it is better because we do things they won’t. And no, it isn’t better just because of our previous imperialist exploitation. To cite just one example, societies which bar women from socio-economic activity out of terror that they might develop a sex life get poor, and get poor quickly. China was the world’s leading civilisation before they started binding women’s feet.
And if they do come here, they shouldn’t be demanding that we become more like the society they left. Britons of Pakistani or Bangladeshi background are here, or at least their parents were, because Britain is not Pakistan or Bangladesh. And, with all respect, we don’t want it to be. Any of it. Is this crass racism? If it is, then shoot me. But I don’t think so.
Thursday, 20 May 2010
There's a Con-Dem coalition in Germany, and it's creaking ominously
Over in Germany for a few days, to see what happens in a land where Con-Dem coalitions are a chronic condition. Helmut Kohl led one for about 15 years, and now Frau Merkel is having a go. But she has reached that tricky mid-term stage where things begin to go pear-shaped, and I thought it might be a good idea to look into the precise form and composition of the pear.
Actually the situation in Berlin appears reasonably stable: the permanent tensions run along different lines to our own, with the Free Democrats imbued with the spirit (or virus) of Thatcherism pitted against the more staid, don’t-frighten-the-horses approach of Frau Merkel’s lot. (Could she be Ted Heath in drag?) But in the country at large, ominous creaks are audible.
We have by-elections to demonstrate how a mid-term Government’s performance is perceived. The federalist Germans, by contrast, have state elections, which are rather more sweeping in their scope. Especially when the state in question is North Rhine/Westphalia (NRW), which covers about a quarter of the German population. Until last week NRW had the same Con-Dem coalition as the Federal Republic; but now the voters, as voters will, have stuck a great clumping foot through the carefully constructive edifice. Not only was the general preference unclear (the Merkelite CDU beat the Labourish SPD by a mere 0.1 per cent), but the arithmetic is such that either of the two main parties will need not one but two coalition partners to form a government. Oh, the joys of PR and five-party politics!
The Free Democrats want to remain true to Frau Angela and the CDU, but that would only work if one of the left-wing parties, the Greens or the Left Party, come in to make up the numbers. And the same would apply if they tried to set up a coalition with the SPD. But the Free Dems, who run more to smooth suits and Friedmanite economics than to beards and sandals, have a big problem with lefties. They cut them dead in the street, and give the impression that they’d rather form a coalition with Al-Qa’eda. The central party in Berlin is trying to make the NRW branch see sense, but trying to talk sense into liberals is rather like trying it with a 15-year-old.
So it would seem that Con-Dem coalitions can be addictive, withdrawal symptoms and all. But what’s the likely result of the NRW hissy-fit? There are two possibilities. One involves the SPD and Greens bringing the Left Party (a sort of independent Old Labour) into a Western state government for the first time, an idea to make German conservatives choke on their Bratwurst. Of course it would not be easy to form a government with two parties with a distinctly ambivalent attitude to governmental responsibility; however, if it worked, it could lay a platform for a revived German Left, strengthened by moving leftwards.
However, that isn’t the sort of thing one bets the ranch on. So NRW may retreat to what in Britain would be unthinkable but what in Germany is the tried and trusted: the “grand” or Con-Lab coalition. This, of course, is a tried and trusted recipe for institutional stagnation, cosy carve-ups and general evasion of responsibility. But, hardly surprising given their recent history, the Germans have no objection to the odd bit of stagnation. They’ve had it for years, and the place still seems to function.
But we’re not Germans, you may say; and we aren’t. But it does seem that Germany provides a glimpse of what political life might become under PR. It should at least induce us to ask the question: is this a price we are prepared to pay just for the sake of being “fair” to Nick Clegg and his band of dozy students?
Actually the situation in Berlin appears reasonably stable: the permanent tensions run along different lines to our own, with the Free Democrats imbued with the spirit (or virus) of Thatcherism pitted against the more staid, don’t-frighten-the-horses approach of Frau Merkel’s lot. (Could she be Ted Heath in drag?) But in the country at large, ominous creaks are audible.
We have by-elections to demonstrate how a mid-term Government’s performance is perceived. The federalist Germans, by contrast, have state elections, which are rather more sweeping in their scope. Especially when the state in question is North Rhine/Westphalia (NRW), which covers about a quarter of the German population. Until last week NRW had the same Con-Dem coalition as the Federal Republic; but now the voters, as voters will, have stuck a great clumping foot through the carefully constructive edifice. Not only was the general preference unclear (the Merkelite CDU beat the Labourish SPD by a mere 0.1 per cent), but the arithmetic is such that either of the two main parties will need not one but two coalition partners to form a government. Oh, the joys of PR and five-party politics!
The Free Democrats want to remain true to Frau Angela and the CDU, but that would only work if one of the left-wing parties, the Greens or the Left Party, come in to make up the numbers. And the same would apply if they tried to set up a coalition with the SPD. But the Free Dems, who run more to smooth suits and Friedmanite economics than to beards and sandals, have a big problem with lefties. They cut them dead in the street, and give the impression that they’d rather form a coalition with Al-Qa’eda. The central party in Berlin is trying to make the NRW branch see sense, but trying to talk sense into liberals is rather like trying it with a 15-year-old.
So it would seem that Con-Dem coalitions can be addictive, withdrawal symptoms and all. But what’s the likely result of the NRW hissy-fit? There are two possibilities. One involves the SPD and Greens bringing the Left Party (a sort of independent Old Labour) into a Western state government for the first time, an idea to make German conservatives choke on their Bratwurst. Of course it would not be easy to form a government with two parties with a distinctly ambivalent attitude to governmental responsibility; however, if it worked, it could lay a platform for a revived German Left, strengthened by moving leftwards.
However, that isn’t the sort of thing one bets the ranch on. So NRW may retreat to what in Britain would be unthinkable but what in Germany is the tried and trusted: the “grand” or Con-Lab coalition. This, of course, is a tried and trusted recipe for institutional stagnation, cosy carve-ups and general evasion of responsibility. But, hardly surprising given their recent history, the Germans have no objection to the odd bit of stagnation. They’ve had it for years, and the place still seems to function.
But we’re not Germans, you may say; and we aren’t. But it does seem that Germany provides a glimpse of what political life might become under PR. It should at least induce us to ask the question: is this a price we are prepared to pay just for the sake of being “fair” to Nick Clegg and his band of dozy students?
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
Labour's future: please, no more hatchet-men or aping the rich and greedy
Well, there’s going to be an indefinite spell in opposition. When I was blathering just now along the usual lines of “a short interval to regroup and reassess”, a friend replied: “Like 1951 or 1979, you mean?” Touché. But, despite the unprecedented move to fix the date of the next election in 2015, a spread bet on when it will actually happen would be quite interesting.
So Labour has to elect a Leader for opposition, and keep its powder dry in case things in Downing Street go pear-shaped. First, of course, the fairground spectacle of the leadership contest. The sooner the personality-cult stuff is dispensed with the better. It’s only a pity the process takes so long. Young Miliband seems to be taking the initiative; let him have it, for all I care. There’s no especially attractive alternative. So long as he brings Jon Cruddas into the team; I doubt Cruddas has the necessary profile to land the job himself, but he has retained the ability to think for himself (which the Brown inner circle will painstakingly have to reacquire) and he is able, almost uniquely, to locate his constituency without recourse to Google Maps.
Then of course there’s a strategy to develop. Clearly there will be much fun to be extracted from the gyrations of the Cameron-Clegg pantomime horse; but Labour must not be too clever in scheming to create or magnify splits. (Someone sit on Lord Mandelson, please.) Labour can’t allow its approach to the agenda to be too reactive; but it can’t try too hard to set it either. (Macmillan’s “events” will do that.)
More important than either personalities or detailed policies will be the style and tone. In government we were not popular, and not pretty. I believe Gordon Brown was a good man, but to say he lacked the popular touch is somewhat of an understatement. And it wasn’t just his personality; it was the perception, justified or not, of his style of government. We don’t want any more hatchet-men or hatchet faces; people who know where you live and will waylay you in dark alleys if you step out of line. We want MPs who know their constituencies and have channels through which local views, however uncomfortable, can be fed into the centre. The next party leader must be properly prepared for Mrs Gillian Duffy.
We need to face up to the changing face of employment; yes, we can now blame our woes on the Tories and Lib Dems, but we’ll need to argue convincingly that we could do it better. We need trade unions which concentrate on improving their members’ pay and conditions, not on power-broking within the party like the old 1970s barons. In fact we need smaller unions to serve the smaller and more diverse workplaces of today, not the recently emerged megaliths with their six-figure executive salaries.
We need an end to clinging to the coat-tails of the rich and greedy. Even if we’re no longer soaking the rich, we don’t need to ape them. That lay at the heart of the expenses scandal. If we see sound economic reasons for allowing and encouraging the acquisition of great wealth, then we must be absolutely clear that Labour people do not belong in such circles. Nor is there much point in chasing their votes: our own people have hundreds of times as many. If we can get them out, which we almost didn’t this time.
The new Government will face plenty of opportunities to fail the ordinary working people of Britain. They’re bound to take some of them. Labour, under whatever leadership, must make sure that it puts itself in a position to benefit.
So Labour has to elect a Leader for opposition, and keep its powder dry in case things in Downing Street go pear-shaped. First, of course, the fairground spectacle of the leadership contest. The sooner the personality-cult stuff is dispensed with the better. It’s only a pity the process takes so long. Young Miliband seems to be taking the initiative; let him have it, for all I care. There’s no especially attractive alternative. So long as he brings Jon Cruddas into the team; I doubt Cruddas has the necessary profile to land the job himself, but he has retained the ability to think for himself (which the Brown inner circle will painstakingly have to reacquire) and he is able, almost uniquely, to locate his constituency without recourse to Google Maps.
Then of course there’s a strategy to develop. Clearly there will be much fun to be extracted from the gyrations of the Cameron-Clegg pantomime horse; but Labour must not be too clever in scheming to create or magnify splits. (Someone sit on Lord Mandelson, please.) Labour can’t allow its approach to the agenda to be too reactive; but it can’t try too hard to set it either. (Macmillan’s “events” will do that.)
More important than either personalities or detailed policies will be the style and tone. In government we were not popular, and not pretty. I believe Gordon Brown was a good man, but to say he lacked the popular touch is somewhat of an understatement. And it wasn’t just his personality; it was the perception, justified or not, of his style of government. We don’t want any more hatchet-men or hatchet faces; people who know where you live and will waylay you in dark alleys if you step out of line. We want MPs who know their constituencies and have channels through which local views, however uncomfortable, can be fed into the centre. The next party leader must be properly prepared for Mrs Gillian Duffy.
We need to face up to the changing face of employment; yes, we can now blame our woes on the Tories and Lib Dems, but we’ll need to argue convincingly that we could do it better. We need trade unions which concentrate on improving their members’ pay and conditions, not on power-broking within the party like the old 1970s barons. In fact we need smaller unions to serve the smaller and more diverse workplaces of today, not the recently emerged megaliths with their six-figure executive salaries.
We need an end to clinging to the coat-tails of the rich and greedy. Even if we’re no longer soaking the rich, we don’t need to ape them. That lay at the heart of the expenses scandal. If we see sound economic reasons for allowing and encouraging the acquisition of great wealth, then we must be absolutely clear that Labour people do not belong in such circles. Nor is there much point in chasing their votes: our own people have hundreds of times as many. If we can get them out, which we almost didn’t this time.
The new Government will face plenty of opportunities to fail the ordinary working people of Britain. They’re bound to take some of them. Labour, under whatever leadership, must make sure that it puts itself in a position to benefit.
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
Is this a happy ending after all for Cameron and Clegg?
Whew. Sighs of relief and trebles all round at Collard Towers (aka the Lancaster Lubyanka). For a moment we were almost convincing ourselves that the wild and wacky idea of the Progressive Alliance, or Uncle Tom Cobbleigh coalition, might actually fly. And it seemed that the Tories did too; my, my, weren’t they angry and abusive about the man with whom they’re now going to find themselves working? It’s now clear, as it should have been all along, that Clegg was just firing a shot across Cameron’s bows by flirting so outrageously with Labour. The green-eyed monster was duly roused, and it looks as though jealous Dave will after all be consummating his inter-species marriage with the creature my son calls “the Long-Legged Cleggy-Weggy”.
For it was clear that the “Progressive Alliance” idea was principally of value as an irritant for Tories with a sense of entitlement. (Let me repeat: 306 seats out of 650 does not constitute what the Chinese would call the Mandate of Heaven.) After we discovered, even before the election, that Dave was prepared to buy Ulster Unionist support by promising exemption from spending cuts for Northern Ireland, it was rather nice to be able to come back at them with what would have been similar offers to the Scots and Welsh. But it clearly would not have been a winner in even the medium term; the Tories would have whipped up enormous resentment in England, and one could hardly have blamed them. Such a broad coalition would have been inherently unstable, and even if it had held together it could not but have made itself intensely unpopular.
No – let the Tories and Lib Dems take the strain. No less a personage than Mervyn King pointed out that this election was not a bad one to lose. If the new Government proves a stunning success and pulls us out of economic misery, both parties will receive electoral credit – and they’ll deserve it. But few would bet the ranch on that. Far more likely that it will all end in tears and recriminations. While this may not hurt the Tories too badly – Tories are ineradicable, like weeds – the Lib Dems are on the most terrific hiding to nothing.
In half the country they will be regarded as Tories Mark II. In Scotland and Wales, which are unlikely to do particularly well out of the new dispensation, they will face obliteration, despite their long traditions there. They could be forced back on positioning themselves as the enlightened element of the comfortable English bourgeoisie. And what price their hard-won successes in Burnley or Redcar then?
And we in Labour? Well, as defeated parties always say, we’ll renew ourselves in opposition. It might well be the best place to manage the transition from the Blair/Brown generation to its successors. If this strange coalition works, we’ll accept it gracefully for the sake of the jobs it had better create. If not – well, guess who’ll pick up the pieces?
For it was clear that the “Progressive Alliance” idea was principally of value as an irritant for Tories with a sense of entitlement. (Let me repeat: 306 seats out of 650 does not constitute what the Chinese would call the Mandate of Heaven.) After we discovered, even before the election, that Dave was prepared to buy Ulster Unionist support by promising exemption from spending cuts for Northern Ireland, it was rather nice to be able to come back at them with what would have been similar offers to the Scots and Welsh. But it clearly would not have been a winner in even the medium term; the Tories would have whipped up enormous resentment in England, and one could hardly have blamed them. Such a broad coalition would have been inherently unstable, and even if it had held together it could not but have made itself intensely unpopular.
No – let the Tories and Lib Dems take the strain. No less a personage than Mervyn King pointed out that this election was not a bad one to lose. If the new Government proves a stunning success and pulls us out of economic misery, both parties will receive electoral credit – and they’ll deserve it. But few would bet the ranch on that. Far more likely that it will all end in tears and recriminations. While this may not hurt the Tories too badly – Tories are ineradicable, like weeds – the Lib Dems are on the most terrific hiding to nothing.
In half the country they will be regarded as Tories Mark II. In Scotland and Wales, which are unlikely to do particularly well out of the new dispensation, they will face obliteration, despite their long traditions there. They could be forced back on positioning themselves as the enlightened element of the comfortable English bourgeoisie. And what price their hard-won successes in Burnley or Redcar then?
And we in Labour? Well, as defeated parties always say, we’ll renew ourselves in opposition. It might well be the best place to manage the transition from the Blair/Brown generation to its successors. If this strange coalition works, we’ll accept it gracefully for the sake of the jobs it had better create. If not – well, guess who’ll pick up the pieces?
In defence of Nick Clegg
I’ve never had much time for the Liberal Democrats. At best they seem like wet Labour supporters who won’t make their minds up, and at worst, ruthless opportunists. But to my surprise I have discovered that the pasting Nick Clegg has received in the last 24 hours from the Right-wing press has engendered strange feelings of sympathy for the man.
To an extent he has only himself to blame. Having tried before the election to talk up the importance of votes cast over seats gained, he can hardly chide the Tories for their current attitude: that their own preponderance in both votes and seats gives them an unassailable status as Only Possible Coalition Partner.
This is politics, it’s not a display of personal holiness. Clegg knows, as pragmatic politicians always have, that in order to put one’s principles into practice one has to get into a position to do so. And he’s perfectly entitled to negotiate with the two larger parties to establish which of them will provide him with a better platform to bring his party’s views into the next government’s plans. Even before the election, Clegg indicated that, in the case of a hung parliament, he felt an obligation to turn first to the holder of most votes and seats. He honourably did so. But that did not constitute an obligation to agree to a deal on Cameron’s terms, whatever they might be. I’m sorry, but if you are negotiating with A, and B comes in with a better offer before you have reached agreement with A, you are perfectly entitled to start talking to B.
But, you might say, it’s supposed to be about political principles, rather than about an ugly squabble for power and office. Well, in what way are the LibDems denying their principles by talking to both sides? Politically they are certainly no nearer to the Tories than to Labour; in fact they fear a coalition with the Tories precisely because it might go down badly with their grass roots. And the principle for which they are best known is that of electoral reform: their current tergiversations are mainly aimed at furthering that principle. We may not like it, but we can’t fault it morally.
Finally, it is precisely the relative electoral failure of the LibDems which tend to exonerate them from the charge of unprincipled behaviour. Had they done as well as they had hoped, with 100-150 seats, then they would have felt both entitled and obligated to negotiate matters of principle with the major parties, more or less as equals. With only 57 seats they are a minor party and must take what they can get, trying to extract the highest possible price. That’s hung parliament politics, chaps; no point in getting on a moral high horse about it. The only question is whether we want more of it in the future; for that will follow electoral reform as night follows day.
To an extent he has only himself to blame. Having tried before the election to talk up the importance of votes cast over seats gained, he can hardly chide the Tories for their current attitude: that their own preponderance in both votes and seats gives them an unassailable status as Only Possible Coalition Partner.
This is politics, it’s not a display of personal holiness. Clegg knows, as pragmatic politicians always have, that in order to put one’s principles into practice one has to get into a position to do so. And he’s perfectly entitled to negotiate with the two larger parties to establish which of them will provide him with a better platform to bring his party’s views into the next government’s plans. Even before the election, Clegg indicated that, in the case of a hung parliament, he felt an obligation to turn first to the holder of most votes and seats. He honourably did so. But that did not constitute an obligation to agree to a deal on Cameron’s terms, whatever they might be. I’m sorry, but if you are negotiating with A, and B comes in with a better offer before you have reached agreement with A, you are perfectly entitled to start talking to B.
But, you might say, it’s supposed to be about political principles, rather than about an ugly squabble for power and office. Well, in what way are the LibDems denying their principles by talking to both sides? Politically they are certainly no nearer to the Tories than to Labour; in fact they fear a coalition with the Tories precisely because it might go down badly with their grass roots. And the principle for which they are best known is that of electoral reform: their current tergiversations are mainly aimed at furthering that principle. We may not like it, but we can’t fault it morally.
Finally, it is precisely the relative electoral failure of the LibDems which tend to exonerate them from the charge of unprincipled behaviour. Had they done as well as they had hoped, with 100-150 seats, then they would have felt both entitled and obligated to negotiate matters of principle with the major parties, more or less as equals. With only 57 seats they are a minor party and must take what they can get, trying to extract the highest possible price. That’s hung parliament politics, chaps; no point in getting on a moral high horse about it. The only question is whether we want more of it in the future; for that will follow electoral reform as night follows day.
Monday, 10 May 2010
Gordon Brown's resignation puts the cat among the pigeons: O Dave, where is thy victory?
Every day another surprise, every day another wild card is played. Firstly the predictions of a nice smooth Lib-Con coalition deal which dominated this morning – and William Hague sounded so optimistic as to be almost human. Then there were clear signs that it had All Gone Wrong, and that the projected marriage would not now take place. So the Lib Dems had to turn to Plan B. Everyone had predicted that this would founder on Mr Clegg’s unwillingness to do a deal which would allow Mr Brown to remain Prime Minister; and so Labour cunningly unlatched the door in advance of Clegg’s battering ram. Gordon came up with a surprisingly gracious promise of resignation, and suddenly all the balls are up in the air again.
Obviously this is to some extent a move by the Lib Dems to pressure the Tories into upping their offer. But it has raised a whole new possibility, of what the Prime Minister called “a progressive coalition”. As a “coalition of losers” aimed purely at propping up a desperate lame-duck Prime Minister, this would have looked unattractive: but an association of the anti-Tory parties, representing almost 60% of the popular vote, is a different matter. I’m not sure it’ll really work, as the arithmetic is a bit stretched and any such government could be held to ransom either by small parties or by a handful of Labour or Lib Dem dissidents, but it’s a good idea to throw into the mix.
And where does this leave Dave and his myrmidons? I have said that Gordon Brown’s resignation statement was gracious, but it wouldn’t have been Gordon if it hadn’t contained a couple of subtle barbs. Brown acknowledged that Labour’s failure to achieve an absolute majority must be seen as a judgement on him: the subtext is that Cameron’s failure to achieve one must be seen in the same way. He may now have to choose between giving in to more Lib Dem demands than he is comfortable with and being left swinging in the wind. In the latter case, his only consolation will be that this may be a good parliament to be in opposition in.
And now whither Labour? The PM has said that his colleagues should refrain from campaigning for the leadership for the time being, and that he himself will not be supporting any candidate. Pinches of salt are being consumed all over the country, in my case with lime and tequila. But in principle that is sensible enough: before choosing a leader the party would prefer to know whether they are electing the all-things-to-all-persons leader of a rainbow coalition or an abrasive opposition street-fighter.
Gordon Brown has not yet resigned: he has merely announced his intention to resign. He won’t be able to go back on that, but the timescale is fairly loose; there won’t be a new Labour leader until September, which means another four months of Gordon as Prime Minister. Unless he plays another wild card, by offering Nick Clegg the job to seal the deal. Sounds unlikely, but we are suddenly in a zone where anything is possible.
Obviously this is to some extent a move by the Lib Dems to pressure the Tories into upping their offer. But it has raised a whole new possibility, of what the Prime Minister called “a progressive coalition”. As a “coalition of losers” aimed purely at propping up a desperate lame-duck Prime Minister, this would have looked unattractive: but an association of the anti-Tory parties, representing almost 60% of the popular vote, is a different matter. I’m not sure it’ll really work, as the arithmetic is a bit stretched and any such government could be held to ransom either by small parties or by a handful of Labour or Lib Dem dissidents, but it’s a good idea to throw into the mix.
And where does this leave Dave and his myrmidons? I have said that Gordon Brown’s resignation statement was gracious, but it wouldn’t have been Gordon if it hadn’t contained a couple of subtle barbs. Brown acknowledged that Labour’s failure to achieve an absolute majority must be seen as a judgement on him: the subtext is that Cameron’s failure to achieve one must be seen in the same way. He may now have to choose between giving in to more Lib Dem demands than he is comfortable with and being left swinging in the wind. In the latter case, his only consolation will be that this may be a good parliament to be in opposition in.
And now whither Labour? The PM has said that his colleagues should refrain from campaigning for the leadership for the time being, and that he himself will not be supporting any candidate. Pinches of salt are being consumed all over the country, in my case with lime and tequila. But in principle that is sensible enough: before choosing a leader the party would prefer to know whether they are electing the all-things-to-all-persons leader of a rainbow coalition or an abrasive opposition street-fighter.
Gordon Brown has not yet resigned: he has merely announced his intention to resign. He won’t be able to go back on that, but the timescale is fairly loose; there won’t be a new Labour leader until September, which means another four months of Gordon as Prime Minister. Unless he plays another wild card, by offering Nick Clegg the job to seal the deal. Sounds unlikely, but we are suddenly in a zone where anything is possible.
Sunday, 9 May 2010
Clegg's followers were all students. They spent all day on their computers, then turned up too late to vote
And so to the detailed autopsy. Blogs and tweets and emails pour in from every side, trying to make sense of what’s happened and what’s coming next. I’ve surprised myself: yesterday I thought I never wished to think of domestic politics for several months, and now here I am psephologising, along with most of my friends.
First of all, my stubbornly Labour soul is gladdened by the fact that the bedrock Labour vote remained firmish. That was the nearest we’ve come to getting pushed into third place (except for 1983), and it didn’t happen and won’t in my lifetime. But there were a few warning signs. The first results of Thursday night, from Sunderland as always, looked really rather ominous for us: there were very large anti-Labour swings in the first two. But they were safe seats; in Sunderland Central, the one we really had to fight, the swing was much smaller. Right across the country horrendous swings were seen in safe Labour seats, with much smaller ones in the marginals. The lesson surely is that we have got away once more with neglecting our traditional core vote, but we won’t be able to do so again. I mean, for Pete’s sake, Lib Dems in Redcar?
And then the great mystery – the Lib Dem surge that wasn’t. Here in Lancaster traffic in most city polling stations was depressingly slow – we in Labour found this rather ominous for us, and we weren’t wrong. But reports from the university campus told of hour-long queues at the polling station, consisting entirely of eager but patient young Liberal Democrats. The conclusion I have come to – doubtless unfair but all’s fair in love and politics – is that Clegg’s following consisted entirely of students, and I shall refer to the LDs henceforth as “the students’ party”. And – again unfairly – I strongly suspect that an awful lot of them spent all day fiddling with their computers and then decided en masse to roll along to the polling stations at ten to ten, with chaotic results. Students are great devotees of the last possible minute.
Not that I have anything against students, as the extremely fond father of two of them. Nor against Lib Dems – anybody who genuinely “agrees with Nick”, or has grasped the gist of their policies and personally endorses them, may vote for them with my blessing. But I suspect that many students vote Lib Dem thinking: “I’m too cool to take sides, so I’ll vote for someone vaguely in the middle. It would spoil my pose to look too enthusiastic for one side or the other.” And students really are the most appalling poseurs, and always were. But there aren’t enough of them to put Clegg in Downing Street, and with upcoming higher education cuts there never will be. Heh-heh.
And one reflection based on freely acknowledged envy: How on earth do the Tories manage to get their vote out so effortlessly? Throughout the campaign I never saw a single Tory poster displayed in the constituency. There were the odd couple of leafleters in town on market days, but no real sign of intensive campaigning on their side. While knocking-up on Thursday in the company of a very experienced senior local councillor, I mentioned this in an attempt to raise our spirits. “It doesn’t matter,” she said wearily. “The Tories always come out.” Campaigning by osmosis, it would seem. We must try to steal the secret: ours is bloody hard work.
First of all, my stubbornly Labour soul is gladdened by the fact that the bedrock Labour vote remained firmish. That was the nearest we’ve come to getting pushed into third place (except for 1983), and it didn’t happen and won’t in my lifetime. But there were a few warning signs. The first results of Thursday night, from Sunderland as always, looked really rather ominous for us: there were very large anti-Labour swings in the first two. But they were safe seats; in Sunderland Central, the one we really had to fight, the swing was much smaller. Right across the country horrendous swings were seen in safe Labour seats, with much smaller ones in the marginals. The lesson surely is that we have got away once more with neglecting our traditional core vote, but we won’t be able to do so again. I mean, for Pete’s sake, Lib Dems in Redcar?
And then the great mystery – the Lib Dem surge that wasn’t. Here in Lancaster traffic in most city polling stations was depressingly slow – we in Labour found this rather ominous for us, and we weren’t wrong. But reports from the university campus told of hour-long queues at the polling station, consisting entirely of eager but patient young Liberal Democrats. The conclusion I have come to – doubtless unfair but all’s fair in love and politics – is that Clegg’s following consisted entirely of students, and I shall refer to the LDs henceforth as “the students’ party”. And – again unfairly – I strongly suspect that an awful lot of them spent all day fiddling with their computers and then decided en masse to roll along to the polling stations at ten to ten, with chaotic results. Students are great devotees of the last possible minute.
Not that I have anything against students, as the extremely fond father of two of them. Nor against Lib Dems – anybody who genuinely “agrees with Nick”, or has grasped the gist of their policies and personally endorses them, may vote for them with my blessing. But I suspect that many students vote Lib Dem thinking: “I’m too cool to take sides, so I’ll vote for someone vaguely in the middle. It would spoil my pose to look too enthusiastic for one side or the other.” And students really are the most appalling poseurs, and always were. But there aren’t enough of them to put Clegg in Downing Street, and with upcoming higher education cuts there never will be. Heh-heh.
And one reflection based on freely acknowledged envy: How on earth do the Tories manage to get their vote out so effortlessly? Throughout the campaign I never saw a single Tory poster displayed in the constituency. There were the odd couple of leafleters in town on market days, but no real sign of intensive campaigning on their side. While knocking-up on Thursday in the company of a very experienced senior local councillor, I mentioned this in an attempt to raise our spirits. “It doesn’t matter,” she said wearily. “The Tories always come out.” Campaigning by osmosis, it would seem. We must try to steal the secret: ours is bloody hard work.
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