Labour voters feel hope and despair; hope, because the Tories are doing no better than we, and despair, for that same reason. Left-wing politics are resurgent where it matters least — outside the Labour party. A body without a head is just a corpse, and frightening; no one wants to vote for Russell Brand, who thinks the concept of voting is idiotic, as he is. Left-wing politics wears fancy dress (the Million Mask March), occupies the biscuit aisle at Fortnum & Mason (UK Uncut) or is ‘preaching from a mansion’ to a cardboard box (Johnny Rotten on Russell Brand, again).
Ed Miliband is odd, say his critics. He has a funny face and he hates his brother. (I do not care about the funny face. David Cameron has a nice face, and look what he has done with it.) You can blame the Tory media for some of this junk masquerading as political discourse — the politics of poppy-wearing, or lounge-wear, or how to eat safely in public — but not all. When Ed challenged his brother David, like a child, he chose a narrative that would always be reported as soap opera, for policy is less interesting than fratricide; this is Gordon versus Tony again, more agony from the party of splits. Ed should have pondered this; but perhaps he thought that only he could save us? (He is hardly the only narcissist in politics.) Of course it is unfair that the Jacob/Esau story jinxes Labour — but who says that life is fair?
Labour follows Tory spending plans, and Ukip ‘rhetoric’ on immigration. (When I say ‘rhetoric’ I mean ‘filth’.) It tries to distance itself from the unions, to place a cordon sanitaire between itself and its own soul.
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