News that the Palace of Westminster will be out of bounds for six years for a £4bn mother of all restorations has provoked a stream of predictable responses. A strange coalition of metropolitan Guardianistas like John Harris, nationalists and devolutionists are angry that Parliament won’t be moving to a new building outside London, either permanently or temporarily. Traditionalists have welcomed the news that Parliament should move back to a restored palace in 2029, six years after the restoration begins in 2023. But just about everyone has questioned the logistics of decanting the Lords to the QE2 conference centre, and the Commons to the Department of Health building off Whitehall, in between times.
Oddly, hostility to the palace has focussed as much on its supposedly elitist Gothic style as on its London location. Few have stopped to think about the building’s form, size and shape – its bones – rather than its superficial architectural style.
I worked part-time in Westminster as an MP’s researcher from 2008 to 2012. I am known to love Victorian architecture and was often asked by friends how much I loved working there. The answer was not that much: although I worked for an MP (Nick Raynsford) I admired, and alongside some great colleagues, I found Parliament a difficult place to work in. Continue reading
Hours after the EU referendum result came in Boris Johnson stood at a podium stating how much stronger Britain would become, and staked his claim to be Prime Minister. Just a week later, on June 30th, he was gone from the Tory leadership contest. Then just two weeks after that, on July 13th, he was made Foreign Secretary by new Prime Minister Theresa May. In many ways Boris Johnson’s career trajectory is the perfect metaphor for Brexit: every week its direction, and its definition, changes.
What does Brexit mean? Seven weeks after the UK voted to leave the European Union at the on June 23, the country remains divided over a result that many believed wouldn’t or couldn’t happen. To some, Brexit must mean a complete break from the European Union; to others it is “taking back control” while still remaining part of the single market, while many people hope that it doesn’t mean anything.
Even those who pushed hardest for Brexit seem uncertain about what it now will mean in practice. In post-referendum interviews Daniel Hannan and Nigel Farage both seemed to backtrack on two key pledges of the Leave campaign: £350m extra for the NHS and an end to free movement. Now even the Brexit-backing Institute of Economic Affairs (or one of their bloggers at least) is backing British membership of the European Economic Area, whereby Britain would continue to be part of the single market but would almost certainly have to commit to free movement. Continue reading
One Saturday morning a few weeks before the referendum there were two Vote Leave stalls on the streets of Thrapston, the Northamptonshire market town a few miles from my home. I was in a hurry, buying eggs and vegetables at the market, and in no mood for a political discussion when I was approached by a friendly-looking 60-something man in a red Vote Leave T-shirt. I had to think on my feet to politely decline the leaflet he offered. “No thanks, I’m a Labour voter,” I told him foolishly. “So am I,” he replied.
Amidst the torrent of political shocks since the referendum – Cameron’s resignation, Corbyn’s leadership crisis, the defenestration of Boris Johnson and the voluntary departure of Nigel Farage – one question has been too little pondered. Why exactly did so many Middle Englanders – many of them Labour voters – vote to leave the EU?
In the ten days since the results trickled in, it’s been repeatedly claimed that this was a working class revolt: a two-fingered salute to globalisation, and the political establishment, by the dispossessed and disenfranchised. But if it was a working class revolution, it was a very uneven one. Although nine of the ten most prosperous local authority areas in the UK voted to remain, at the other end of the scale the picture is a lot more confused. Of the ten most deprived areas only four voted Leave by a landslide (Hull, Middlesbrough, Sandwell and Barking & Dagenham). Another three voted heavily for Remain (Liverpool, Manchester and Tower Hamlets) and a further three voted Leave by a narrow 51%-49% margin (Knowsley, Birmingham and Nottingham). Continue reading
The spectacular collapse of Boris Johnson’s Prime Ministerial hopes earlier today have a striking historical parallel. Boris is not – and never has been – the Donald Trump or Winston Churchill of contemporary British politics, or even the Falstaff or Dennis the Menace. Johnson’s career, and its apparent demise, now bears an uncanny resemblance to a half-forgotten giant of Conservative politics: Quintin Hogg, Viscount Hailsham (1907-2001).
The similarities between Quintin and Boris – both politicians who were almost always known by their first name only – are manifold. Not only are they both Etonians, they both studied Classics at Oxford (Hogg went to Christ Church, Johnson to Balliol), and they both served as president of the Oxford Union (57 years apart: Hogg in 1929, Johnson in 1986).
While still in their thirties, they both then became Conservative MPs for Oxfordshire seats (Johnson for Henley, Hogg for Oxford itself) and both soon acquired a reputation for changing their minds on matters of national importance. Hogg had been elected as a Chamberlainite, pro-appeasement candidate in the Oxford by-election of 1938, but later turned against Chamberlain and backed Churchill’s coup against him in 1940. Similarly Johnson has repeatedly changed his mind on the Iraq war, the European Union (and Turkey’s accession to it), and immigration over his 15-year political career. Continue reading
For two months in the run-up to Christmas 2015 I worked the night shift at a Royal Mail sorting office in Peterborough. Media commentators are often quick to appoint themselves as experts on the labour market, but most have never stepped inside – let alone been employed in – places where Brits work alongside Eastern European migrants. I have, and the experience made me even more determined to vote Remain in the EU referendum today.
If there is an EU migration crisis in Britain then Peterborough is its ground zero: the city has seen one of the biggest influxes of EU migrants in recent years. According to the 2011 census 9.3% of its population moved to the city from overseas between 2004 and 2009. The 2011 census found that 18.4% of Peterborough’s residents – and in reality probably more today – were born outside the UK: one of the highest percentages for any council area outside London.
The workforce at the sorting office was roughly a third EU migrants, a third working-class young Brits, and a third older British workers – mostly men like me – who wanted a bit of extra spending money for Christmas. Migration has caused pressures in Peterborough – the council is considering opening primary schools in converted railway depots – but in the sorting office there was little friction between the three groups. Continue reading
A month on, how mould-breaking does Sadiq Khan’s election as mayor of London feel?
Yes, it was a historic moment: the first time that a Muslim was elected as mayor of a western capital city. The message it sends to black and ethnic minority Londoners, and to Islamists who argue that there is no point in Muslims engaging in western democracy, is resonant. The New Statesman’s George Eaton was right to describe Sadiq Khan as “The anti-Trump [who] shows the politics of fear can be beaten.”
And amid generally lacklustre local election results for Labour the election of Khan – and a similar victory for Marvin Rees as Mayor of Bristol – were a vital lifeline for Jeremy Corbyn, helping to scotch talk of a leadership challenge.
But Khan’s victory is also a return to politics as usual. The 2016 mayoral election was in many ways just like every other mayoral election since 2004: a maverick Tory candidate (Steve Norris/Boris Johnson/Zac Goldsmith) is pitted against a left-leaning Labour candidate who has beaten off a challenge from centrist rivals (Tony Banks and Nicky Gavron in 2004, Oona King in 2012, Tessa Jowell in 2016). An acrimonious election campaign has been accompanied by accusations of dog-whistle messaging, name-calling and dirty tricks. He (the victorious candidate always has been a he since the post was created in 2000) distanced himself from his party’s leader, seeming happier to share platforms with members of other parties. And a newly-elected mayor has once again been accused of reneging on a key manifesto pledge within weeks of entering City Hall. In all these respects Sadiq Khan’s successful run for Mayor of London was identical to Ken’s and Boris’s. Continue reading
Northampton: so often ignored or ridiculed, it has great public spaces that put many large cities to shame
German has a good word – unheimlich – for this eerie feeling: when something mysterious or unfamiliar somehow makes uncanny sense. Over the last year I’ve felt it in the most unlikely of places: Northamptonshire. Let me explain why.
Nearly 18 months ago my partner and I moved out of London. We had grown tired of city life – not an active dislike, but itchy feet. After 35 years living in the capital – sixteen of them as a Labour councillor, the last two years much less happy than the others – I had hit 40 and stepped down at the elections of May 2014, no longer legally required to live in the borough of Greenwich. My partner Liz had enjoyed teaching in London for five years but wanted a fresh challenge. With our daughter approaching her ninth birthday, we knew that it was either move now – before decisions about secondary education reared their heads – or never.
Serendipitously we ended up in Northamptonshire (Northants for short), and to many of our London friends it felt like we had moved to the dark side of the moon. The county does not get a good press, if it gets any press at all. It’s often completely ignored by tourists, who flit directly from Shakespeare Country to Cambridge without pausing to explore Northants on the way. Continue reading