This has been a difficult year for me. For I have been compelled to break a pact I made with myself when I was 18 years old and do something I promised I would never do, something which goes against every cell and fibre of my being. I’ve defended a leader of the Labour Party.
I can’t tell you how alien this feels. Imagine if Princess Diana had become press officer for a landmines factory, or if the Pope started moonlighting for Marie Stopes. Now you know how it feels for me to say vaguely nice things about Labour, a party whose paternalism, illiberalism, killjoyism and cretinism have been rubbing me up the wrong way since I was a Trotsky-admiring teen.
But it has to be done. Because right now there’s something far worse in British politics than the Labour leadership, and that’s the critics of the Labour leadership: the Corbynphobes of the Blairite wing of the party and much of the media who spend their every waking hour bleating and tweeting about Corbyn being the most wicked man in Christendom.
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