British politics versus being human

A lot of vocal, determinedly anti-politics people demand two things from their representatives: they want ordinary people not ‘in it for themselves’, and they want people who are honest and speak the truth. Except they don’t want the first. When politicians act human they are considered a walking gaffe and, if vying for the highest office in the land, un-priministerial. And the latter is often a euphemism used by racists demanding politicians speak a universal truth about migrant hordes.

Thus, it seems, our politicians cannot be normal; but by not being a certain definition of normal, and speaking personally and openly, they are hated. And thus a cycle of anti-politics has been in motion.

For me, I have since the election considered this impossible trade-off to be an absolute truth you have to oblige by and somehow master. I have caught myself speaking not for myself, but for the Labour party. Or more specifically, the shadow cabinet member reading focus groups, head in hands, trying to work out how the hell to reconcile Labour to the public’s increasingly rightward shift on issues like welfare and immigration. Instead of offering my opinion on immigration, I offer to be the devil’s advocate so Labour can win. I have caught myself losing my once deeply held principles as I desperately try to ponder where Labour went wrong. Because when Labour lost (and if we vote Brexit), it meant all my values had lost as well. Surely I am wrong, I pondered. The public are always right. The guy telling me about Turks taking over is right, I justify to my Turkish self.

I can’t do it anymore.

I sometimes worry, often feel guilt, when I catch myself changing my own personal positions, particularly on welfare and immigration, two issues I am passionately pro for. Why do I feel this need for devil’s advocacy?

I presume, by being pro-welfare and pro-immigration, I am the metropolitan elite. A few years back, I’d shrug at use of such a phrase, see it as something euphemistic, racist and even a bit classist (because working class people can’t be socially liberal, see*). But in the past year I have used it sincerely and genuinely. To the point I am scaring myself.

(*this is also linked to the patronizing idea that working class expression of patriotism is inherently based in blood and soil, or that social conservatism about queen, flag and country is the same social conservatism that always gives fuel to this bigotry -the first is wrong and the second is overly simplistic.)

I understand in not indulging in certain principles to see your party succeed. I get that. Socialism is the language of priorities. What your priorities are is a value judgement. Though in the case of a Bennite is seems sort of obvious. I still get angry at Jeremy when he talks about Trident or the Falklands or whatever. But on issues like immigration? The line between morals and electoral necessity are beginning to be drawn more deeply in the sand. It feels dichotomous. It feels like our culture has become so aggressively xenophobic, driven by fear and hate, far now beyond pragmatic, rational grievances with immigration and conditions, that it is becoming impossible for a social democrat or socialist to keep up with the rightward shift in debate. I can’t keep up. I don’t want to keep up.

I cannot lend my credence to virulent anti-immigration voices truthfully or sincerely. As I said, I don’t want to. I can’t.

The more I do, the less true to myself I become. It is not my job, and frankly – it shouldn’t be anyone’s job. It is not my job because, while I like to commentate all grown-up on how Labour can win and how it must do XYZ to do so, I am not burdened as a politician and I never intend to be burdened as a politician as it is now. Certainly not like this. I do not aspire to any office if, as I have been warned, my views on here -from welfare to private schools- will be screenshotted and vetted by The Sun and carried in a story decrying them as making me unfit for said office. I cannot function in a world wherein my, for me (this is selfish, for sure, but personal un-aired views are always “for me”, that is individual freedom that knows no constituency), rational and decent views on issues at the core of who I am and that I prioritise as necessary for a just society are used against me and my very election would depend on me keeping my mouth shut when trying to defend the stigmatised.

This is not my being elitist, my being a metropolitan elite not understanding the concerns of immigration. Mine are principles from an ~urban~ place, sure. But it isn’t about that. Our politics has become all or nothing. The mainstream is becoming hardline. Dissent by defending migrants, even refugees, is legitimately met with gasps. You see politicians defend immigration and you fear for the backlash against their respective parties. I can’t keep up. I don’t want to.

I used to want to be an MP.

When I was in secondary school, we had to do this creative writing task. I chose to write an article on how MPs don’t care about the poor and live in mansions outside their (poor) constituencies. Like most of the population today, I thought politicians were ‘in it for themselves’, that they didn’t care for us. You have to know that this was at a particularly awful moment in life where financial realities were dropped on a teenager far too early. I get it. I get the post-crash world. I see the backlash against globalisation and I understand. I took it out on my representatives and the ‘elite’. I had no faith in our politics to change my world. That could have been preyed upon, in another context, by the likes of Farage.

That was until I got involved, only briefly, in Movement for Change, and through that saw the work Stella Creasy, my local MP, was doing regarding payday loans -the very predators that had preyed on my own household at our time of need. A few various good deeds later, And I had a sudden faith in politics beyond scapegoating to irrevocably impact our fates and fortunes. As did my mum, as did my brother. I became involved. Inspired.

Then this happened. This blog post. Everything in it. The growing despair that I would have to become something I am not to become something. British politics’ way of turning you into a machine with an ‘off-switch’ for emotions and empathy.

There are a lot of ‘I’s in this blog, from a blogger all too aware she has preached about the need for compromise of the personal for political gain for the gain of the many. But this isn’t about me. The worst part is the wider effect it has, these culture wars, this rightward shift. There are going to be so fewer normal, outspoken champions of those without voices and with few advocates wanting to stand for office. Not just now. Our culture, one that permits only ever more vitriolic, antagonist, anti-immigrant views and rhetoric is becoming a place where but two sets of people can thrive: One, the racist that genuinely believes and has conviction in what they are saying; and two, those who are trained to say it anyway.

That is why I have so much respect for outspoken (especially female) MPs who continue on, battling for what they believe to be true. They are the last defendants of Britain’s most vulnerable and most hated. Even with consequences as horrific as this.

But this is at the same time I feel belligerence toward the leadership for saying contentious things that jeopardize the party’s chances of winning in this increasingly toxic country. That paradox is impossible to mend.

My fear is that others who should be in Parliament and in Cabinet and Prime Minister, fighting against the grain, will have to make a choice between being true and being effective, and will understandably choose to remain the people they are. The effect will be that fewer and fewer voices will exist for those with none.

I hope British politics can one day be a place where decency can prevail openly and without threat once more. It’ll take a platform of powerful voices to change an entire consensus, to find that balance between the realities of opposition and the infamous shift in the Overton window, a thing I’m not entirely sure is actually a thing in its purest sense. I know something like it has happened before, from suffragettes to civil rights to the LGBT+ movement. I stand with the people with guts carrying that fight to change and challenge Britain’s increasing xenophobia forward, ones that can find a place between being true and being effective, so we can one day win to govern by our truth and build that better world. To change an entire culture to get there. To fight Jo’s fight.

Her fight has certainly reminded me to be true and good and courageous. To be human. And to fight for other humans.

The leftwing case for leaving the NUS

The case of the NUS has proven emotive. Either side has been guilty of demonstrating ‘the righteous mind’. By that, I mean questioning the very moral fiber of their opponents. From the perspective of this Leaver, I see this include Remainers suggesting all who vote to leave are, erm, Tories. Absolutism is not attractive. Both sides are entirely legitimate, and I can be a sincere leftwinger, devoted to liberation (and of it) and social justice, and want to leave the NUS.

Not only is this ‘righteous mind’ not true, but it also damages the debate. More so, it damages the case for Remain. The more I hear implications of my lack of compassion, the more stubborn and determined I grow. I grow determined to prove I can make this case as both a leftwinger fighting for liberation causes and as a member of liberation groups, and sure of the leftist and progressive case for leaving.

What comes after -and referendums on disaffiliation are not forever- is a key point of difference for me and some campaigners on this side. I have no intent of lying about uncertainty. I would like to rejoin, should the NUS present to us a platform that is worth rejoining for. Our disaffiliation would be the beginning of negotiations, as it were for clubs that left Labour Students, only to build a stronger Labour Students (Well, we’ll see!). It puts us in a stronger position to demand a stronger Union, and puts the NUS under more scrutiny than ever -which is perfectly healthy. What differentiates myself from some others on this side is that I want a national union of students. We all have our moral arguments, and this is mine: it is riskier and more uncertain to go down the path we are on. That path being the validation of a moribund and increasingly irrelevant organisation that does not act like a guard between us and Tory ministers. The guard is well and truly dead.

That, of course, is not to say there haven’t been unsavoury characters on this side. There have and there are and there will be. I do not subscribe to the Free Speech Case. I will not stand up for a bigot when I see one any more than Kate Hoey would stand up for Nigel Farage.

I share a campaign with Labourites and Tories and Liberals. There are but two things we share in common: our passion to leave the NUS; and the fact we are all seasoned in the art of activism.

We all interpret what we are ‘active’ against in different ways, but in this game it matters. When I ran for SU President, I, somehow, got Tories on board. I got them on board because I defined the enemy as common against the student body: the university. This in turn would limit my grievances. There were no Israels or ISIS here, no motions on internal Labour politics. For me, student activism has not been about left versus right, even though I have always been on a Left platform; it is about the student body versus the university, or in this case, the government. The government is Tory. That, for me, is bad. Whatever government it is of the day will naturally need to be opposed (and for what it is worth – the more Blairite leadership did not oppose the government enough). Inherently. But you do it as a collective student body for collective student issues we can all rally around. Believe it or not, there are many. Just solely out of self-interest. From grants to fees to deportations. You do it as a student voice. It can be a leftist means. Sometimes just by being a student against grant cuts you adopt a leftist platform. In my view, unionism is inherently leftwing. But it does not have to be partisan or divisive and certainly not geopolitical, and a smart leftwing activism has its priorities in order, too. And priorities are important when you are leftwing – because people will pick apart your weaknesses and expose them in the Telegraph. Recognising that reality is necessary, but I’ll come back to that.

I have also had the argument that, as a leftwing activist, I should by default be pro-a national union of students. Indeed, a year ago, had you told me I’d be rallying against a ‘Union’, I’d have bemoaned future me. But that line is so sweeping and so disingenuous that it’s difficult to choose where to begin.

Firstly, trade unionism does not deliver by being bad or by its members being passive and not demanding more from it. Here I am, demanding more.

Secondly, the NUS isn’t a trade union.  The NUS does not have the structures nor the culture of a functioning trade union. On the contrary, it acts as a Parliament, and pretends to be so. This is most evident in its sweeping statements on quite literally everything that happens. It forgets its very capacity, so it is laughed at. It is not a trade union as we know it, and it has not the democratic processes to tell it to act like one. Think for a moment of automatic membership. I do not suggest anything else should be in its place: Thatcher used the ingenious tactic of weakening student unions by forcing through self-enrollment. But the simple fact of the NUS’ membership having chosen not to be a part of it in the first place means that the NUS has not got the same accountability as a true trade union, and is under less pressure to actually deliver for its constituents. OMOV would go some way in aiding this, even if it is a heavy and flawed undertaking (Shelly Asquith makes the legitimate point that this would mean big, Russell Group unis have more sway). Otherwise, the sweeping argument about the NUS being a Union like all others and me abandoning my leftist roots in wanting to leave is obsolete.

More importantly, as a constituent, and one that it claims to speak for -I am not exactly from the home counties- I feel let down by the NUS. I have for years.

But what about the fact of the new leadership replacing the managerial one just passed? I do not feel there is substantive evidence to suggest it will change under the new, leftwing leadership -just because it is leftwing.

Being leftwing does not make you, by automatic right, a good activist or opposition. Having principled positions does not mean they will be fulfilled. You can betray those you champion if you prove to be a bad champion. By pretending you are a champion and real, strong opposition because you have signed up to a declaration of principles equates to only one thing: dogma.

In a lot of ways, I am sure you would have noticed, this mirrors my discontent with Corbyn’s Labour. So often it is said that just by his quality of leftwingedness, his opposition to XYZ, he is by default a good leader and his party a good opposition. Activism and strong opposition, clearly, requires a lot more than that. It requires good media management, it requires the constituents to take you seriously. It requires your opponents to fear you. Corbyn fails on all those fronts, and so does the NUS. Because the NUS is not seen as competent, it goes into negotiations from an inherently weak position, even if it is angry and shouting and waving placards. It’s a bit like PMQs, where Corbyn will talk about academisation and Cameron can literally just make a pun about Hezbollah. Why would the government fear an organisation that others laugh at? Divided or not is barely the point, its very foundation has cracked from years, even decades, of humiliation and public ridicule, justly or otherwise. That doesn’t change with a more leftist leadership. It may even be exacerbated by it. But this is not even about a rotation in leadership. It’s got to the point that without a huge reset, the leadership will barely make a difference to the strength of the NUS.

The NUS can even have noble campaigns, but it barely matters. For instance, the existence of a campaign to prevent grant cuts is just and necessary (alongside all the NUS’ grounded campaigns from Prevent to Bursary or Bust), but its existence is not a guarantee of a good outcome, and not a good enough reason to convince me of that good outcome. Good outcomes have been few and far between. I do not trust the NUS to deliver for those that need this or any campaign. Both because it boasts with self-congratulation of its sparse and often old victories (council tax exemption happened in 1992) in the shadow of huge failures (the maintenance grant cut, as one glaring example, or even self-inflicted ones like that time the NUS sent anti-Lib Dem vans to Lib-Dem marginals only for them to f*cking return Tory MPs) that let down so many vulnerable and poorer students, and it fails because it is mocked. These campaigns are never fulfilled because they are overshadowed by -even if they are rare- the politics that gives rise to motions on ISIS. Even if these are rare and ‘misconstrued by a media narrative’, the fact they happen is a weakness you cannot erase and one that damages the brand forever. In the exact same way as Corbyn fails in bad PR (and the importance of PR cannot be overstated in good activism), so too does the NUS. And it makes its campaigning all the weaker for it.

Yes to activism, yes to understanding the nuances of what makes for strong activism, no to insisting the very existence of activism justifies bad activism. Bad, ineffective activism from an organisation that no-one takes seriously, that lets the government get away with unholy damage, but still yells at it, is a betrayal. Legitimizing how it is, to me, is a betrayal of everyone that I want to blaze a trail for. I exist as an activist to help the vulnerable. I believe the vulnerable are constantly let down by the NUS. I believe they -we- need a national voice, but I don’t think we have one.

So what of the argument, “stay and fight”? That’s noble, sure. I, in many fights, would feel instinctively in favour of it. It is also naive. Any other Union would have a democratic means for me to air my discontent if it were doing a bad job. The election of a new executive and General Secretary, switching to another Union. The NUS offers neither. And, anyway, doing either of those things will still not repair the damage.

What about putting myself up for delegate and then Officer elections? Again, such an argument is merely procedural. Student politics doesn’t work like that. Heck, politics doesn’t work like that. Any who air this argument from the inside know they do so disingenuously. I wouldn’t have a chance. Anyone challenging cliques would not have a chance. We’ve seen this with the rather against-all-odds disaffiliation campaigns versus the machinery of the SUs and NUS.

Cliques and slates prevent rogue crusaders, even organised crusaders. The culture, as well as the structure, prevents real reform. Bloody hell, I would know, I’m on the soft left of the Labour Party!

By sustaining the NUS as it is, and not challenging it or negotiating a future for it from a powerful position, I feel I am letting down all those that deserve and need a strong Union, myself included. There are no other democratic ways, at least not plausibly, to express my discontent, hurt and betrayal and being left at the mercy of forces that will see my successive peers from similar backgrounds so much worse off. The only way I deem viable to the establishment of a better Union is by challenging the mandate of the NUS in the only way I can and the only way that has actually grabbed the attention of Officers: a referendum.

I’ve seen people say “now is not the time when government is destroying HE!”. For me, that’s exactly the time to start questioning whether the NUS -with all my knowledge of all the battles lost- is fit for the fight. Because I know, given the weakness of the NUS and its brand, exactly how that fight will end: with government victory. Now, more than ever, is the time for a reset. Not a reset of leadership but a reset of the institution itself. Question it, challenge it, test it. And if we end up rejoining on new terms and conditions, on a negotiated, renewed, democratic mandate, it resets a brand that, right now, is so broken it prevents the NUS being a functioning national union at all just when it needs to be. Then it can get on with being the champion it purports to be. This time, maybe, not from a starting point of ridicule.

Whichever way this goes, the NUS cannot see this moment as one of vindication. Even if my or other universities do not challenge it by leaving, it ought to start challenging itself and stop self-congratulating. Letting people down, refusing to take on board their criticisms, and patting itself on the back is not what I’d consider to be left wing.

 

 

What my time at an elite university taught me

When I first came to Durham University, there were three questions that dominated fresher conversations, in a universal, desperate attempt to ease the awkwardness:

  1. What did you do for A Levels?
  2. What are you studying?
  3. Where did you go to school?

The first two were standard fare, but the last? It was like seeing a question you didn’t know the answer to in an exam. A deer caught in headlights. Looking around the room to see if anyone else was stuck. No, no one is. Shit. It took me aback because I was surprised it was even being asked. What do you mean? How would knowing I went to Rush Croft School just off the North Circular help this conversation? I quickly got the hang of it: it was a way of gauging networks, hoping that they would know a friend of a friend of a friend. Because the school was supposed to be, invariably, one they had heard of, prestigious and of their circle.

It was at that moment I should have known Durham University would be an incredible culture shock. In the next three years, I had various conversations with peers about their time at boarding school, I would learn the names of The Perse school or Wimbledon School. I would learn dropping ‘t’s wasn’t a thing other people did. Even little things, like teaching others slang. Seeing pictures on Facebook of extended families in huge houses. I would even have to fight for the university’s grant not to be taken away from ‘poorer’ kids, the definition of ‘poor’ in such a circumstance extending to kids from households with the nationally median income of £23k.

The privilege of these types of Universities is as true as the fables you read. The matriculation where they swear you in with Latin. The damn formals with their damn traditions, like f*cking spooning. That means you have to hit your spoon on the table in a pattern then like, the head or president or whoever the shit changes the pattern. During this formal, if you go toilet, you’re literally fined. Drinking in a bloody castle. Getting drunk in a way only Rugby lads with their suppressed familial issues borne from a decade of boarding school can teach you. The bloody lad culture borne from boarding school misogyny. The weird cultishness emanating from this ridiculous collegiate system. The merchandise with the stupid crests. Of which I, actually, am wearing right now. The homogeneity of The Accent. Even the f*cking beautiful architecture makes me angry. At first these were novelties, but at this point I’m happily, ostentatiously, po-faced and moany about it all.

These universities feel like bubbles that exist so wealthy public school dudes don’t have to leave the nest and see the nasty, nasty world outside the greens of the village. It does, it really does drive me up the bloody wall. I will message friends about the rich-kid-of-the-day. I have moments, despite what I am about to write -and in fact these ingrained prejudices make this blog post innately and humanly contradictory-, where I find myself despising a lot of the people I live in this city with. I probably will dislike a lot of them regardless of what the message of this blog is. I don’t intend to be friends with everyone here, because while others are nice, many are made ignorant by and about their backgrounds in a way that is often impenetrable and defensive. Many may get offended at a blog post that is inherently about an institutionalised problem. That is their problem. I find inherited privilege to be an incredibly immoral and awful thing in and of itself, and I always will. Durham has affirmed that for me more powerfully in three years than living in East London did to me in seventeen.

I knew this world existed, but I never thought I’d collide with it. It’s not necessarily a hindrance, it doesn’t stop me having fun or rising up ranks or succeeding, though I’ve never quite got used to it. It is, and will remain, a source of grievance and shock and outrage and something I want to change.

Far from being an obstacle, I saw it as something to challenge. Not challenge by way of fighting my peers, dueling in a nightclub, competing with them for better grades. On the contrary, the network of friends I have now is diverse. Rather, the institutional privilege I encountered became a driver for me as an activist. More than the injustices I had seen and experienced at home, it was the lack of injustice in this cosy town that got me off my ass and empowered me to get involved in politics. And so I did. I, in essence, became radicalised. I forced myself to be empowered to fight power. Seemingly immovable power. I wanted to take on the world.

But, then, these years were punctuated, quite literally down the middle, with the general election. I was on the  campaign trial with friends, I had found a home with Labourites, a sort of sanctuary amid the clash of civilisations. I hit the ground running, fueled by the outrage whizzing through my head that my peers had the world at their fingertips just because their parents’ had it at theirs. Nothing could surely beat us on our quest to destroy this rotten system. Bloody hell, I remember walking through campus after a good poll and gleaming to myself. Everything would change, suckers.

And then that exit poll.

The radicalisation that had been building up came crashing down in a sudden and awful moment of realisation. The realisation that those in the general public, oh so different from the bubble I had populated for the past two years, were not as angry at my perceived injustices as I was. I learnt that, actually, there would be people like me, outside of Durham, that don’t compare themselves to private-schooled kids as I did now. Just as I wouldn’t have had I not attended Durham. The very privilege of attending Durham had afforded me an insight into a world that was simply incomparable to many ordinary people. So they wouldn’t compare at all. As I had written for this blog on my changing views on what it means to be radical; people compare themselves to neighbours, not to bosses. It just so happened, for two years, my neighbours had been rich. Any sort of radicalism I wanted to put to others would have to be based in the world they knew.

So my formation was punctuated, firstly, by my conflict with privilege, but then by May 2015, and the realisation that outrage at inequality itself- that pet peeve that had became all my own and so integral to who I was, nay, am- was not enough to build a convincing case to make change in the world. The realisation of the first gave me the will to change things, and the second gave me the sense of powerlessness that that ‘will’ meant nothing. How do we tackle inequality in a world where two different worlds simply don’t know nor care for the other?

But then, each step has been a learning curve. My bubble had to burst, my sense of injustice had to be challenged; both by intelligent and kind peers I would otherwise be prejudiced against; and less happily by an election that proved not everyone is as outraged as I am about the issues I care about.

That doesn’t mean I am still not outraged. I am very restless to hop aboard that train, for the last time, and leave Durham without looking back. For all the magic, and all the drunken escapades and the things I have learnt, I am very willing to leave it all behind me and get on with the rest of my life back in my modest home that I now realise I took for granted. I have still yet to grow accustomed to someone nonchalantly dropping into conversation that they attended Harrow. I have still yet to grow accustomed to wealth, to grandeur. I don’t want to get used to it.

The concept of private school still makes me upset and angry. I am very excited to leave to go back home so I can be just a little bit bitchy with old mates about the issue. A lot of them feel the same way. The thought of all the kids that could not attend Durham or Exeter or Oxford because they did not have the same resources makes me seethe with anger. Now, it still is on the verge of driving me absolutely nuts. Just the other day, I heard, and rubbed my temple at, a student professing his hatred of the ‘socialist r*tards’ that had went after Cameron over the Panama papers because they were merely jealous of his inheritance. Like, OH MY GOD. I messaged my friend, “I want to get out of here.”

But the difference now is that I want to challenge him instead of writing him off as evil. That I want to debate him into the ground. Ruthlessly, but…constructively, I guess. I would never be friends with him, I doubt, and I’d want to destroy his ideas. But I’d first have to actually engage and debate.

Just as I had never met anyone like him before, it’s likely he had never met anyone like me. It was his world versus mine. And I would now happily challenge it, probably, probably, without punching him in the face. And I’d hope it would get better results. I might not – as I said, there is impenetrable ignorance here- but I also might. An example of this is that my flatmates this year, heralding from different backgrounds to mine, have heard me recite (by the way, tragic-sounding but not meant to be) tales of why I am the way I am, and their perspectives have changed, just as mine have changed in response to their own tales. Listening, and being listened to, is far more powerful and convincing than deciding someone is wrong and bad and beyond the pale. (And, I don’t know, going after non-voters instead.)

I have matured, and I have learnt there is no point in outrage without being constructive with it. Durham bursting my bubble and exposing me to privilege was formative and necessary, I see now, but so was growing up and learning to deal with it, not seeing it as an obstacle but a challenge, and knowing that overcoming that challenge is more than moaning to confidants but rather putting it into something useful. Which is why I stood for SU president, and lost, with no regrets. Which is why I became Co-Chair of the Labour Club almost immediately after the election. Which is why I’ve chucked myself into various, reckless campaigns. Which is why I will continue to do so. Which is why I write. Which is why I am very excited to be joining a social mobility charity after graduation. If what I have got out of all of this is the necessary and pragmatic will to improve social mobility and to put my case for social mobility to whatever world I inhabit, to make sure there are new inhabitants that jump between worlds, then that is good enough for now. As the two worlds of Britain grow further apart, having the confidence to jump between both, just as I did at Durham, and make this case and also ensure others jump with me, is imperative. Even if that world is scary and out of your comfort zone. Challenge it and let it challenge you. And maybe, just maybe, those worlds will grow closer together again.

So I’ve learnt three things at my time at an elite university: I am angry at institutional privilege and it drives me; but it doesn’t drive everyone; and that my righteous mind would have to adapt to see the change I want to see. It has made me both a radical in outlook but far less dogmatic, more open-minded, more combative and happy to debate, to challenge and be challenged. I have begun to notice the power in words. The privilege I have seen I still see as an injustice, and it drives me in everything I do, but in order to overcome that injustice I will have to learn how to make constructive use of my outrage, rather than expecting everyone else to be outraged with me. I would have to convince them to be outraged. In such a way, my journey through university has shaped my journey as an activist. I hope I can change the world now, just a little bit, with a bit of vigorous and open debate about privilege and how to tackle it.

And, I suppose, as a big, fat metaphorical lesson to be applied to my philosophy, that’s the Left I want to see: confident in what it sees as injustice, but far more open to dissent and disagreement both within and without its ranks, and happier to be challenged, less morally righteous, but still the extremely pissed off kid I was at freshers’ week. I am every bit as radical as when I started University, I just hope I have learnt what to do with it.

Onwards, I guess.

It’s not in the left’s interest to pretend this week was great

I made the same mistake. I would dismiss warning signs leading up to 2015. Because it made me feel safe and good. I would see bad by-elections and hear worrying reports, but I shrugged it off out of suggestion it was mere doom-mongering. Until the exit poll. Today, I see it happening again.

The Left trying to claim the loss of more than 20 councillors -regardless of exceeded expectations- does it no favours. The Left trying to suggest that the first Opposition to go backwards since the abyss of the 80s is a victory and suggestion Jeremy will bloody be PM is delusional at best and catastrophic at worst. Not just for the Party, but for its own wing. If we continue to define ourselves and the Left by awfully bad standards, saying we beat hilariously shit expectations, then expect nothing other than ridicule.

Jeremy faces a bullish PLP and critics with no answer, that much is true. He defied them. But when we lose in 2020 because of this spectacular complacency, you will defy no-one. When they are proven right, you will defy no-one.

Worse, by defining a loss as a victory, you are betraying the very people you claim to fight for. No, defying them too. No working class person benefits from a Labour clearly headed for defeat (yes, yes it is.). You poking fingers in your ears is a betrayal. It is thoroughly middle class. As well as the art of winning, you risk handing the claim to working class representation over to Corbyn’s critics, too. And rightly.

But there are lessons too for Corbyn’s critics: if you set a low expectation, the Party will overcome it. Politics is an expectation game and even Seamus can spin this.

Thus, a total failure by most accounts – and without a doubt a clear sign of wipeout in 2020- has been rewritten into a win for Team Corbyn. Against the interest of the Party and certainly the interests of the Labour Left.

London was different, because our candidate did not play by the Party’s tactics. Sadiq’s victory is despite of the Party, not because of it. One clear example is that not only were journalists mocking the ‘son of a bus driver’ line, but we were having it parroted back to us on the doorstep – just like the Tories had in May. Sadiq locked down exceptional message discipline that I always wished for from the Leader’s office. Sadiq learnt from the mistakes of May in a way the Party leadership have failed to do. They believe they are above convention. Sadiq molded it to his favour. Sadiq, from the soft-left, proved that you can win on a leftish platform so long as you manage your rhetoric. It is the ‘bank manager’ theory. It is one John Smith exemplified and George Osborne prior to his misgivings exceeded at. The Left elsewhere in the Labour Party fails to grasp this obviously successful strategy that pushed Sadiq well over the line. He is now in a position – for the first time in my Labour membership- to make a tangible difference to the lives of millions. You are not.

It is in the interests of the Left of this Party to look back over these results with nuance. We did badly in England, ok in Wales, and awful in Scotland. Absolutely nothing suggests we will be catapulted to the highest office in the land in 2020. Only Sadiq’s campaign truly represented a winning formula, with or without its exceptional circumstances of being in a Labour city. The Left can’t cannibalise this exceptional result, it has to learn from it. And it has to learn that its triumphalism is completely misguided on both that count and in claiming victory elsewhere.

I go back to where I was under Ed: despite me shrugging off the mistakes of the Party, I was fearful that should we lose, the Right of the Party would claim moral victory and safely and easily usurp him. The Left should fear that today, too. By handing electability over to your internal enemies, you expose an incredible feat of self-defeat. By being triumphant now, in the face of bleakness, you are setting yourselves up for a very, very loud “I told you so.”

I’ve always wanted my part of the Party, the soft-left, to be more ambitious. Always the interim and never the winner, we have let ourselves be defined as a bridge to true success, “just one loss left!”. I want to see us be more than this, and I reckon Sadiq is the answer. The wider Left should have an election-winning ambition, too. It shouldn’t let other wings decide what it takes for the Party to win. It shouldn’t dismiss them on the basis of a ‘mandate’ that, should we (and we will) lose in 2020, will mean diddly-squat. Start having ambition, start self-reflection, self-criticising, and stop making yourselves look like complete revisionist fools. It is not in your interest to lose. It is not in your interest to make out these council elections were nothing more than awful.

 

A Sadiq victory would be a victory for the Labour I joined

It’s little surprise that Corbyn’s Labour does not enthrall me. I have been half-hearted in my campaigning, increasingly uncomfortable getting told on the doorstep by working class voters that Labour has lost its way, and constantly banging my head against a wall at the Leader’s Office. I feel well and truly on the opposite side of people that I want to stand up for. On the contrary, I feel like Labour as it is are as far from the ‘People’s Party’ as we have ever been.

Except for in London.

Posting my ballot for Sadiq Khan was the first sincere action I have taken since last Summer. Because I was voting for the Party I joined.

Everyone has their own version of Labour. I am in no position (not that that will stop me…) to de-legitimise any one version. But Labour today is not mine. I cannot recognise it. I cannot recognise or ally myself with a Party that dismisses genuine concerns as ‘smears’ against a leadership that has developed a cult of personality around it. It’s an exclusive party that is becoming increasingly toxic and self-absorbed. It refuses to engage with the people outside the hall.

Fair, my version failed to win the general election. I have my diagnoses just as everyone else has theirs. But Sadiq encapsulates everything that I thought Labour was supposed to stand for, without the rough edges that have come to define Corbyn’s leadership.

He is radical on housing without talking about the Falklands; he is for affordable transport without the obsession with Trident; he is a champion of the Living Wage without an inability to handle antisemitism. He is good at the media; indeed, he has overcame bias in a paper with a circulation of 900,000 without a hint of complaint on his behalf. He did so because he is a good candidate; he is a far, far better candidate than his rival.

London is different from the rest of the country, I know that. It voted by about 45 to 32 for Labour in the general election. Its demographics are favourable for Labour. It is a city where I feel most at home and need not worry too much about being in a bubble.

But we must not forget what Sadiq has faced and what he has successfully fought. This has been a racially-charged campaign against a convert to islamophobia. He has faced the Conservative machine. His campaign and his candidacy was simply superior. I do not believe for a second that Corbyn’s version of Labour could have beat it. Sadiq is a serial-winner. His version of Labour wins.

His candidacy has been superior because he has confronted issues that matter to London and to the vast majority of people. He encapsulates Labour at its most competent and its most in-touch. A left-wing progressive who talks bread and butter. Who talks inequality and housing with not a squeak of the gesture politics and distractions of the leadership. It is not an ideological difference more than it is a difference in priority. And what it has berthed is a vision for an alternative Labour administration that gets down to the grit. I am proud to campaign for it.

The best part is, I see a Labour administration under Sadiq in City Hall that is responsive to the needs of the public: and he will be the first Labour ‘leader’, as it were, in quite a while with not just a mandate from the narrower and narrower party but from the people. His victory will mean a victory for what I always presumed was what a ‘people’s party’ should look like. It is the party I joined and the party I joined for again.

I am not complacent; I am aware of the error of polls in the past. But for once I believe in this version of Labour. I believe it can win. I believe in it.

 

On why I’ll be campaigning to leave the NUS

I have friends in the NUS, in Labour Students, in the students’ movement, and further afield. It should not have to be said that when I criticize XYZ, I do not criticise them. On the contrary, there are individuals within bodies I view as defunct that work their asses off for their constituents as best as they see fit.

But I’ve rarely shied from controversy, either. Way back whenever, I stood for President for my own Students’ Union on a ticket, well, berating the union itself, and the managerial culture in which it existed. Not the people, but the culture. A culture that was closed off. As I read Yaks berating even the action of voting, I realised that for 3 years, I was them. That, despite my political nature, I never turned to the Union for a solution. The one time I did, when my grant was delayed and I found myself under considerable financial stress, they told me they couldn’t do anything about it. I instead became a co-chair of a society, and worked for activism outside of the formal framework.

In reality, I’ve never been one for student politics. I’ve always thought the best way to contribute to helping students would be through the Labour party as an ordinary activist. For two years prior to the election, I did just that, hoping to oust a Tory government that had gone out of its way to raise a generation to hate it. That, clearly, did not pan out. From thereon, I grew aware that the only thing standing between students and the government was the unions and The Union – that being the NUS.

So far, so exhausted.

There are three Bad Types of student politics that have came to be the mark of the NUS and its components, all of which grate me considerably.

The first is the Managerial. The type that has defined my own union. No matter how far the University goes, a ‘student consultation’ is the answer. I know a lot of people within the Union itself often find this grating, but no-one seems to look to activism in any form to resolve issues beyond The Consultation. I had a chat with a mate recently on what she’d do: she’d do what other Unions do successfully, which is, for want of a better description, cause havoc. Sit-ins, pranks, artistic protests that grab headlines, and proper relationships with the media, be it the student paper or The Tab. There is little tradition here in Durham for this, though our recent Funeral For Affordable Education, where we designed a coffin and held a service going through town was an example of where we should head. Other than that, there is little light at the end of the tunnel for Universities with managerial Unions.

The second are the Politicos. The main controllers of the NUS for quite a while before Malia. For the life of me, my friends in NOLS know I’m not an asshole (often), and know this is not personal, but it, does, indeed, exist in NOLS. There is nothing innately wrong with this, and its berthed some good ‘uns. A chat with Stephen Twigg is enough to convince you he deserved to be on that stage on that fateful May night in 1997. But there’s no point ignoring that this road to politics is well-tread. Far too well tread. And there is a lot of dislike for it.

The third are the Radicals. The incumbents. People who’d be great at a protest, sure, but who are too partisan, divisive, distracted, to head an organisation representing 7 million students. A passion for global politics is great, but it does little to serve or represent students who just bloody want a maintenance grant. Malia’s passion for BME issues is commendable, and she has undoubtedly done a lot of work for BME students. It is not that activism for which we should, or do, condemn. It is the rhetoric of war and peace, of global conflicts, and of moral relativism, East and West, which simply serves no-one in the NUS. Never mind the controversy surrounding the ISIS motion, why was there an ISIS motion to begin with? Will that stop the march of a death cult in the Middle East? Recognising the limits of an organisation for students, and what motions that could actually benefit campuses within the capacity of the NUS, would be a great start. It might put faith back into the movement. Instead, the Radical subset sees the NUS as a Parliament, rather than the trade union and union movement it should emulate.

None of these types serve to protect students from the ills of this government. From student consultations to motions on ISIS, there is a real reason why Unions and the NUS are facing a massive deficit in participation and enthusiasm.

Which is why, before I graduate, I will be involved in a campaign for my University to disaffiliate from the NUS. I am not a great exiter of Things and Stuff (I am of the ‘let’s reform the EU!’ persuasion, after all). But there is only one way to fight the apathy that fuels an unresponsive student politics: it’s scaring the absolute shit out of the incumbent powers that be. And that means a referendum. As always.

If it leads to the NUS and to the wider student movement pricking its ears at the prospect of a financial crisis, to get it out of its cartel of the Three Bad Types, then that’s bloody good enough for me. I don’t see any other way to get the attention of a cosy student politics that relies on low turnout than trying to enthuse the student body to tick yes or no. It’s the best way, the most exciting way, and the most democratic way, to inject a sense of realisation into a movement that bloody well needs it.

That’s gonna be my last act, then I’m totally getting the shit out of here.

When it comes to tax, we need courage

We have all heard the leftist motif that “tax is a subscription for a civilized society”, we may even roll our eyes at it, but at times like this I cannot think of a cliche more worthy of repeating until Lord Ashcroft’s ears bleed.

I am reminded this week of JK Rowling’s interview from some time ago:

I am indebted to the British welfare state; the very one that Mr Cameron would like to replace with charity handouts. When my life hit rock bottom, that safety net, threadbare though it had become under John Major’s Government, was there to break the fall. I cannot help feeling, therefore, that it would have been contemptible to scarper for the West Indies at the first sniff of a seven-figure royalty cheque. This, if you like, is my notion of patriotism. (x)

Wealthy people, who owe the soil they were born on for their fortunes, cannot claim the mantle of being patriots.

So it is an uncomfortable paradox for Labour to have a deficit on this.

We must ask, how is it that the Conservative party have a stranglehold over patriotism when they starve our nation of treasured public services? When they cut back the institutions we hold dear? I have written before about how we should argue that the Tories are the antithesis of ‘institutional patriotism’, that the steel industry collapsing, threatening the BBC, and NHS starvation are uniquely anti-British. Now we have another, obscene example, compromising the Prime Minister himself. Labour ought to question why we are seen as the Anti-British party.

But this time, it’s more than just party politics.

Panama, and the Tories’ inevitable inaction in its wake, provide us the perfect opportunity to reset the debate, to turn the taxation conversation off and on again. To make it about the love of your society. Not jut for a Labour rebranding, but for a rebranding of a political consensus that has seen taxation as a burden rather than a hallowed subscription.

For so long, our conversations on tax have been narrow, cautious, and conducted with eyes over the shoulder. Any talk of demanding more radical action than a 50p top rate to offset widening inequality sees our opponents retreat to the same lines over capital flight, with no-one questioning the loyalty and patriotism of those threatening to flee. We need to advocate, right now, for a renewal of the social contract, and to demand the wealthy sign up to it.

If capital flight is, as it inevitably will be, yanked out and shoved in our faces as a justification for inaction, with the equally inevitable Fraser Nelson graphs on the Laffer Curve -which is questionable at best and an entirely false pseudo-religion at worst., we should do what no-one has done in high politics for decades: ask, “what the fuck?”

“What the fuck?”. We’re supposed to roll over and accept that it’s mother nature that the rich ought to flee, that they would flee, and that our economy’s growth rests on being as hospitable as to prevent this devastating prophecy?

Look, undoubtedly, in a globalised economy, mobile assets and wealth is a problem -it’s a matter of contention for economists far smarter than me. And I am not here to argue as an economist. I would lose. I’m here to argue from the viewpoint of a writer. Albeit, not a particularly good one, but one that believes in the power of words and debate. There is a powerful debate to be had, about rolling over and accepting our fates are entangled with compromising with the super-rich just cos’. That’s fatalist bullshit. It’s also bullshit that leads to conspiracy theories about a world elite and the spontaneous explosion of far-right parties and Donald Trump. Centre-left and centre-right mainstream politics ought not to let those guys win the argument. We ought to take the mantle first, and be brave enough to question, head-on, the go-to, whiplash rebuttals we are all used to when we discuss taxing the rich, taxing capital, and simply asking for the contributory principle to extend beyond the poor. Question capital flight as the go-to riposte. It cannot be the end of the story. If it is, what is the point in an autonomous nation state that collects taxes? That’s right, this is about sovereignty too, and right back to where we started: patriotism.

In fact, it doesn’t stop at capital flight. We also roll over when we hear ‘legal loophole’. Oh, Cameron never did anything illegal, he just did what rich people always do! This shouldn’t be a reply. Again, morals, ethics, patriotism? He’s a PM, for Christ’s sake. More than that, we are all citizens that preach contribution, by God we know Cameron does. Enough rules and exemptions. Scrap that riposte too.

We also need to ignore the inevitable cries of the ‘politics of envy’ that have been making the similarly inevitable rounds in the aftermath of Cameron’s tax controversies. Basically…no? I mean, I’m not even going to bother. If you’ve ever said ‘politics of envy’, the door’s over there. We’re gonna get this shit a lot, especially from columnists in the Daily Mail who think the ‘death tax’ is a literal, valid thing to say. Someone with enough resilience is gonna have to one day dare to challenge it. Which is why strengthening Labour’s deficits on things like patriotism, but also competence and leadership are so essential – not just for winning elections, but for national debate. People listen to strong leaders.

But, as I was all too aware of at Saturday’s protest, outrage isn’t enough if we do not provide an alternative. Jeering about the ‘neoliberal consensus’ keeps us in a comfort zone. The Left is very good at grievance. I would know, I haven’t stopped moaning since I could speak the letters “smh”. As with Ed Miliband, we are good at diagnoses, but not at treatment. We can open up this debate, and we should, but we have to have rebuttals to the Right’s excuses for inaction, answers for globalisation and for the secrecy and opportunities it hands to the super-rich.

But solutions are not easy to come by.

Take inheritance tax. Inheritance tax is unpopular. George Osborne prevented a snap election way back when on the back of it. Voters often consider themselves to be middle class, or aspiring to be so, which in turn has such a wide definition that apparently a tax imposed on just the 7% richest threatens YOU AND YOUR FAMILY. Look, this sucks, but it exists. It’s there. It’s been unpopular for a long time.

We need new ideas, maybe even to replace the old, like IHT.

Once upon a time, we were masters of language. Masters of storytelling. Look at tax credits, and the nation’s disgust at the thought of cutting them even when other welfare is fair game. Language is important.  The ‘mansion tax’ was, actually, a good example, kinda, for a subset of voters. But it also spooked a lot of people. So it was also a bad idea for another subset of voters.

We need to look at options for wealth taxes and a ‘new deal’ with higher taxes on the rich. Right now is the time to demand it and to reshape the consensus. But it needs to be done masterly. If we are going to talk about a Picketty-style capital tax, not only do we have to not roll over at the first sight of someone yelling ‘BUT CAPITAL FLIGHT’, we have to be creative with the story behind it. Something that is clearly aimed at the super-rich and cannot be redefined to ‘HIT YOUR FAMILY’. And also about patriotism and duty. Call it ‘Asset Contribution’ or ‘Wealth Contribution’. Something contribution-y.  I’ll leave that up to people better than me. But I go back to what I was saying before: it should be based on patriotism, on principle, on ethics so often swept under the rug cos ‘ya’ know, rich people do this’, ‘they’ll just leave!’ and ‘it was perfectly legal!’. Let’s start questioning this bullshit, cos, you know, it really is bullshit.

Contribution is popular. Fairness is popular. Tax can be popular. Now is the time to be courageous.