Capitalism

Michael Moore (Primary Contributor). Paramount Home Entertainment 2010, DVD, £3.07

I am not a big fan of Michael Moore’s work. This isn’t because of a big difference in political outlook, but rather, it’s because he suffers from a condition endemic in Hollywood: a tendency to oversimplify. I do understand that the market he is trying to reach generally require more punchy messages than complex facts, but it is a penchant of mine to prefer the latter to the former.

That said, I had read a number of positive reviews of his latest work, “Capitalism: A Love Story”, which suggested that I should take a second look. I also thought that the discussion of a theme as broad as our present economic system perhaps would be more conducive to the type of film Moore likes to make.

Early indications were good: Moore unearthed a clip from a 1950′s documentary regarding the fall of Ancient Rome. The narrator described the factors which led to its fall: a widening gap between rich and poor, a lack of suitable employment for the unskilled, the deployment of violent spectacle in order to distract the populace, and the concentration of power into the hands of an elite. As if these similarities weren’t jarring enough, Moore interspersed pictures of modern Washington and today’s television programmes in order to drive the point home. Moore then delivered another killer blow by showing a forcible eviction occurring in Lexington, North Carolina: thanks to the evictee possessing a video camera, we see the view from the inside as well as out. The pounding on the entrance by what looked like half-a-dozen officers, then the final taking of the door off its hinges was horrific: but again, the point is clear, this is what recession in America looks like, in all its gruesome detail.

Moore’s penchant for oversimplification reared its head soon afterwards: he described a “Golden Age” of capitalism, i.e., the period during which he grew up. While he accurately mentioned that the wealthy paid a 90% tax rate, he ignored the entire global system which had been constructed to maintain the economic order: he never mentioned Bretton Woods (I take it that John Maynard Keynes isn’t on Moore’s bookshelf). Nor was the subsequent collapse of Bretton Woods mentioned; the oil shocks and rise of inflation were also ignored. Rather, we jumped to a powerful and relevant speech by President Carter in which he stated that consumerism was undermining human identity.

The film was at its best when sticking to particular narratives. I was utterly horrified by his expose of a case in Pennsylvania in which a privately run youth detention centre had made an arrangement with a couple of corrupt judges. The officials agreed to funnel almost any young offender into the “care” of the centre, both sides thereby making massive profits in the process. Even more appalling were the stories which described “Dead Peasant” insurance; apparently, companies take out life insurance out on their employees with the firm as the beneficiary. In some cases, it is indeed to the company’s good if their employees die. A bereaved wife found out that her husband’s employer made $5 million out of his death from cancer; a former Wal Mart employee found out that the company made $81,000 when his wife died due to a severe asthma attack.

Having established that capitalism leads to immoral and depraved behaviour, as well as wrecking neighbourhoods across the United States, Moore failed to land a knockout punch: as a number of academics including David Harvey have stated, capitalism (at least in its present form) simply doesn’t work. Moore was right to highlight the complexity of derivatives and show modern finance as being little more than a glorified casino. However, he missed out on how Merck nearly was wrecked by producing Vioxx, a drug it had to withdraw: this was a consequence of an innovation model which no longer works in a era of diffuse information. He also seemed to suggest that the collapse of the financial system was an elaborate swindle: not quite. Moore may not have been aware of Harvey’s calculation that for capitalism to endure that it has to get 3% return, year on year, but the opportunities to achieve that are becoming more and more limited. As a result, capital is attracted to fictions which eventually detonate; we are living in a “post-detonation” period at the moment. The environment also received no mention in Moore’s film; it’s all very well to be nostalgic for a previous era, but even that way of life couldn’t endure simply because the earth can’t take it.

A final oversimplification was Moore’s referral to the “rich”. It’s difficult to take this broad brush description too seriously as Moore isn’t precisely poor himself, though he did his best not to let on. It also failed to make a distinction between the Lloyd Blankfeins of this world and say, the Andrew Carnegies: as much as the latter was a “robber baron”, at least he produced products that people wanted, and left behind educational (Carnegie Mellon University) and cultural (Carnegie Hall) institutions which persist to this day. What can certainly be said is that the parasites do outnumber the benefactors at the present time: however Moore didn’t say this, and it blunted some of his argument.

Moore seems to hope that the election of Barack Obama was a significant political moment, and that somehow Franklin Roosevelt’s agenda for a “Second Bill of Rights”, which had full employment and health care at its core, will be fulfilled. While there have been steps in the right direction, given the presence of people like Larry Summers and Tim Geithner at the heart of government (who Moore rightly castigated), this hope seems somewhat forlorn. But as ever, it was individual stories which made the film sparkle: Obama may not represent a turning point in and of himself, but the tale of the sit-in by the workers at Republic Windows and Doors in Chicago certainly showed that the boundaries of possibility have been extended by Obama’s election. Indeed, this one tale may represent the best of Moore’s film and his message: it is not necessary to accept things as they are. Given a bit of leverage and a willingness to say “no”, the world can indeed shift.

So David Laws, Chief Secretary of the Treasury, is gay. The revelation was exploded forth by the Telegraph and has all the appeal and grace of a Friday night expulsion of cheap lager from the guts of a inebriated teenager. There are already rumours circulating around the internet that Alistair Campbell, New Labour’s chief bile merchant, is responsible: if so, this would hardly be a surprise. There is a grubbiness, a griminess that surrounds this entire episode which speaks of New Labour’s once formidable spin machine. It says much that after its defeat, it is reduced to spewing tawdry gossip.

There are financial issues, of course. Laws claimed rent for a room in his partner’s home, which is apparently a breach of rules set out in 2006. However, had he not claimed, it is entirely possible that he feared the tabloids might start asking questions: there is no doubt that he was firmly ensconced in the closet and had no desire to leave its confines. Every newspaper I’ve read so far suggests that he had hidden his orientation from everyone, including his family. People who feel bound up by secrets tend to do silly things in order to keep them: I recall Harold Wilson’s peculiar attempts to mask some of his communications with Barbara Castle by assigning zoological nicknames for various people. Castle was labelled “Peacock”, for example, and Harold Wilson was “Eagle”. We laugh at this in retrospect, but it proves a point: absurdity and secrecy go often go hand in hand. The absurdity has been revealed, secrecy is no more, Laws is going to pay the money back. Job done? Well, hardly.

At the time of writing, it does not appear that any senior member of the Government, David Cameron or George Osborne or even Nick Clegg, have stepped up and defended their colleague. This may change of course, but this speaks of a serious issue within the Government, much more problematic than a failure to report expenses accurately. The question should be asked: are you, Coalition, a team or not? If you are, do you not realise that a failure to stand up for each other is out of order?

I have experience of managing employees, and I am well aware that people make mistakes, sometimes very serious ones. However, teams are made or broken by how errors are handled. If they are treated as learning experiences, then the atmosphere is improved: solidarity creates an opportunity for sharing and discussing problems before they become more grave. If the reaction of the leaders of a particular team is to throw those who make mistakes to the wolves, this engenders a jumpy, nervous and fearful environment, hardly conducive to creativity or productivity.

More importantly, the team leader should be willing to defend the individual who made the error. I look over my work history in private industry with some satisfaction, but the one episode of which I am most proud occurred after an employee had made a perceived (rather than actual) mistake. At that time, a manager more senior than I was going to go to the CEO of the company to lay the blame at his door. Enraged, I made a point of going down to the company head office and getting in the senior manager’s face to lay out the facts. After a period of silence on his part, I set them out again. In the end, he relented; the crisis passed. Afterwards, the team was more “together” than it had been hitherto; we were also more productive. To this day, we still are in contact with each other.

George Osborne, theoretically at least, is David Laws’ boss. What he should be doing, provided there are no further facts to scrutinise, is stepping outside the door of Number 11 and calling down the thunder. He should tell the press that his faith in Laws’ ability is undimmed. He should say that forcing Laws out of the closet was to the press’ shame. He should say that he believes that Laws has made and will make sound and prudent judgements about the economy and looks forward to continuing to work with him through a very difficult period. In other words, he should be willing to step into the line of fire for his colleague. Showing this amount of courage could turn the Coalition into a team; the spectacle of a Conservative defending a Liberal Democrat would do nothing but cement trust. It would also be an eloquent statement to the Alistair Campbells of this world that their form of political discourse no longer works. Campbell may rant and scream and rave about it, as is apparently his wont, but in essence, he is a very small man in an ever diminishing circle.

Personally, I disagree with Laws and the Coalition on a large number of issues, including the cuts they intend to make; the £6 billion already taken out is going to have a very detrimental effect. However, unlike Alistair Campbell, I believe such arguments should be addressed through reasoned discourse, not by trawling through the back alleys and dark corners of a man’s life. We gain nothing by continuing to allow this kind of politics to live and breathe; indeed, our democracy will only be improved if “governance by spin” is utterly destroyed. The Coalition has a chance to put public debate back into order by defending David Laws: they should take it.

Nothing to Envy

Barbara Demick. Granta Books 2010, Paperback, 272 pages, £10.94

If there was a competition for the “most pointless” country in the world, North Korea would be a strong contender. It has built up a preposterous cult of personality around a political non-entity, and military might on top of a base of impoverished people. It attacks others for no reason, indeed, even when such an action is undeniably detrimental to its own interests. It is a wasteland of blighted lives, stunted hopes, and futile dreams.

The reaction in the West to North Korea’s antics reflects a dilemma: yes, it may be the moral and necessary thing to do something about it, but really, what can be done? All-out war is not the answer. Further sanctions would hurt the average citizen far more than the leadership. Bruce Anderson, a columnist for the Independent, recently expressed the exasperation of many by suggesting the best solution for all concerned would be if China arranged a coup.

Whatever decisions are taken in the capitals of the West or in Beijing, there is one set of victims that should be at the forefront of everyone’s mind: the North Korean people. Barbara Demick’s recent book, “Nothing to Envy” provides a powerful reminder of their continued suffering.

Demick’s study focuses on the industrial city of Chongjin, which is not far from the Chinese border. Rather cleverly, her narrative is not a recitation of cold facts and statistics outlining the stagnation, oppression and decline within North Korea; instead, she focus on individual narratives of those lucky few who have escaped the regime’s clutches.

One of the first revelations is that propaganda, even in our modern, cynical age, still works. A thread of patriotic fervour does run through the North Korean populace, albeit its effect is muted when people are reduced to eating tree bark. With so few sources of outside information, the idea that elsewhere is worse still retains some potency.

Another revelation is the presence of a very rigid class structure: if one has family or origins from south of the border, that immediately makes one suspect, lower class. Anyone from a higher echelon dare not associate with someone from the lower levels. This stuffy hierarchy leads to one of the more touching stories in the book, that of a young lady of a lower caste (named Mi-ran), and a young man from a higher one (called Jun-sang). They could not meet in broad daylight, and the usual awkward fumblings of a blossoming romance were not open to them. Rather, expressions of affection were confined to long walks in the darkness: these sojurns were facilitated by the lack of night time lighting in North Korea, a phenomenon that has been observed from space. They would talk, they felt the pull of love, but the regime’s cultural impositions were so stultifying and blatant that their burgeoning romance was strangled by it.

But even the more-privileged classes have nowhere really useful to go: Jun-sang was admitted to one of the finest universities in the country (described as the North Korean equivalent of MIT), in Pyongyang. He trained in the sciences and technology. However after he defected to the South, he found out that his knowledge was entirely out of date (for example, North Korea doesn’t teach their technologists how to use the internet); his education proved to be utterly pointless. I couldn’t help but think of this as a metaphor for North Korea’s aspirations and efforts.

North Korea’s aspirations for equality were bunk as well. We are presented with the plight of older people; as the economic crisis bit down, factories were closed, and workers told to go home. Many simply starved to death; Demick gives estimates ranging up to 2 million dead due to famine and disease, and we are acquainted with the horrors behind the statistics. Although private enterprise was and is illegal in North Korea, those who wanted to remain alive were forced to become entrepreneurs. Some of the businesses mentioned were stomach churning: I’d rather not think about the faux North Korean version of ice cream which includes bean paste as an ingredient. Another individual whose life is described in detail, a Mrs. Song, sold the North Korean equivalent of cookies, which also sounded less than appetising. Others were forced to become outright criminals; we are also presented with the tale of another young man named Kim Hyuck who was forced to steal in order to live. He was eventually jailed for his offences.

For those with a bit more gumption or perhaps desperation, the Chinese border represented another opportunity: Ms. Demick describes the wonderment of those who are able swim across the Tumen River, even in freezing conditions, only to find that the Chinese are well fed and prosperous. It was via this route that most defected, either alone, or with the assistance of criminal gangs. All in all, however, we are left with the spectacle and travesty of a so-called “workers state” that criminalises its own people in their plight just to remain alive.

One might think that the defectors’ arrival in the South would allow them to pick up the pieces of their lives. Indeed, Jun-sang and Mi-ran, the couple who took long walks in the dark, were reunited: however, their romance was unable to continue in the new setting. Mi-ran had married someone else by the time Jun-sang arrived; the changed circumstances meant that the initial spark was no longer there. Those defectors who were closer to their lives’ sunset than sunrise find it difficult to cope with the sheer din of a truly modern society. At least, however, they now live outside the shadow that threatened them, bullied them, made them enemies merely by existing.

Demick’s book provides an important service: as the international community struggles with North Korea and tries to figure out how best to reconcile with it, we need to be mindful that it is not just other nations which are fighting with the regime, it is its own citizens. The threat to them is far worse than any promises of war that Pyongyang may make. One day, the regime is likely to collapse (to use a Marxist phrase) due to its own contradictions. “Nothing to Envy” reminds us that this moment can’t come soon enough.

A barnstormer of a speech from the MP for Brighton Pavilion and Leader of the Green Party:

About two years ago, the term “coping classes” came into vogue to describe a set of people who were ostensibly middle class, yet felt squeezed by the prevailing economic circumstances. The term has since fallen out of use; such is the fate of many media inspired catch-phrases. I myself wondered what precisely was meant by “coping classes” at the time: when the articles were penned, I was in a well-paid job, my finances seemed reasonably secure, credit was more-or-less available. Yes, the economy was in trouble and I was worried about it; that said, it seemed churlish to complain too much given my relative good fortune. However, given the dawn of our new, more austere era, I wonder if it is time for the term to be resuscitated.

Late in 2008, I had to change employment: this was partially due to the recession and partially due to choice. I accepted a 20% pay cut in order to work in academia. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy my new life and what I do. However, I am aware of others who have had to accept cuts that were as big or deeper and under less providential circumstances. Meanwhile, the mortgages and loan payments, though done in prudence rather than haste, still remain. Council tax has gone up. Inflation continues to rise, particularly in fuel and energy costs. I have an overdraft and have to visit it every month in order to keep the precarious balance: yes, I have been and am paying down debt, and eventually, the worst will be behind me. However, for the moment, there will hopefully be no further disruptions or changes: things need to remain as they are just so I don’t get really squeezed.

It’s an easy matter to say, “just cut back”. It’s much more difficult to see how it can be done: I am cautious in how I shop. It’s always Tesco own-brand shredded wheat rather than the market leader, for example. Visits to the cinema have become rare, visits to the theatre have been eliminated entirely. Weekend trips have also been shelved: entertainment seems to reside exclusively on the internet and Freeview. There were no extravagant foreign vacations to cut, no retail therapy to push to one side: I’ve even reduced the amount of books I purchase which to a PhD is a form of intellectual amputation. Yet, the upward pressure on the basic bills remains: my eyes water when I fill up the car, public transport is too expensive to be a viable alternative, my heart sinks when I look at my bank balance.

I describe my personal situation in this painful detail for a simple reason: I’m fully conscious of the fact that there are millions experiencing the same pain or worse. As we look into the yawning abyss of terrible cuts, there are many who are even more precariously placed. Those who work at quangos like SEEDA spring particularly to mind: how many employees there are just as finely balanced? What provision can they make to adjust? What will they have to do in order to continue walking along the tightrope? Will they have to “downsize”, as I intend to do, and what will be the knock on effect on the wider economy? Will that bring still more cuts, more austerity, even more lives put under strain? At what point do we stop, turn around, face the bond markets and say “This far, no further”?

More depressing is the fate of the “other” coping classes: i.e., the people who require the help of public services on regular basis. Last night, as I drove home, I listened to a programme on Radio 4 which described some of the cuts which could be made to mental health services. One woman who was interviewed mentioned that she was sufficiently articulate to ask for what she wanted; she had a means to protest changes to her care. Others aren’t so lucky; another patient who was susceptible to incoherent tantrums was also described. Soon, there will be group of people who are more neglected than they used to be; what happens to them? If Cameron states that the “Big Society” is the answer, then who is going to contribute to it, given that so many are trying to just stay afloat?

The Labour Party didn’t get much right in the last election, but one part of their spin that was absolutely correct was their assertion that the present situation is “fragile”. This was used to describe the state of the overall economy, however, there is a pervasive brittleness, a subtle fibre of spun glass woven through the present order which threatens to snap. The Coalition Government will probably proceed undaunted: it is likely they will try to avoid hurting any media-friendly constituencies, but this does not represent the vast bulk of those who feel the noose tightening. Some groups’ plight is too large to be encapsulated in convenient sound-bites and slogans.

There are a large number of people to blame for this state of affairs. The previous Government was swept up by hubris, and now we face nemesis. The financiers who believed they could magic up money out of fancy acronyms and dodgy debts are also at fault, and maddeningly, they still refuse to pay their due to the society which just rescued them. Each of us contains a certain kernel of responsibility, because to a greater or lesser extent we were gullible enough to believe the promise made by both politicians and businessmen that the upward arc of our prosperity would continue unabated. However, we are left with the iron law which states that everything has to be paid for: it is always a question of who, and how much, and when. Hopefully we’ve learned to pay up front, because that generally means paying less. Hopefully we are learning that who should pay are those who are most responsible, not coincidentally those who have gained the most from our economy and society, and thus have a duty to support the country as a whole. Sadly, however, few politicial parties are stating this clearly, and the coping classes, such as they are, and such as I am, will continue to pray, to work, to grit our teeth, and one day, with a bit of luck, emerge.

The budget cuts have already hit close to home. Prior to the election, Gordon Brown and his minions had promised my university a large share of a £30 million grant in order to set up a high-technology research institute. Everyone here was elated. It was announced far and wide. However, the cheque hadn’t been signed prior to May 6; thus when the Chancellor and the Chief Secretary of the Treasury had to make choices, they had no problem rescinding the funding. I have not yet spoken to the academics affected, but my understanding is that they are naturally livid. In any case, there will be a prevailing sense of gloom hanging over higher education until we know the full extent of the cuts: this is going to be ugly and painful. It’s impossible to forget that what has been announced so far represents less than 10% of the structural deficit: a lot more horror is on the way.

The Coalition Government, by and large, will get away with this, particularly if they front-load the pain and subsequently take the credit once the all-but-inevitable recovery arrives. Those who believe that recovery won’t arrive are fooling themselves: almost nothing gets worse forever, and it is very likely that the bond markets will help out this particular administration. The blame for this state of affairs partially belongs to a feckless and servile media, but Labour deserves a share of the opprobrium too: indeed, Labour has done left-of-centre politics a terrible disservice by implanting a dreadful idea in the mind of the British public. They’ve made it seem like prudence and thrift are qualities which are the exclusive province of the centre-right.

This fate was not pre-ordained. Norwegian Independence Day was commemorated again last Monday, the 17th of May. They have much to celebrate: Norway has had a rather better recession than most, with unemployment and economic growth more moderately affected. Norway is led by a left-of-centre government which has been in charge for the larger part of the past twenty years. Their abundance of natural resources have been invested into one of the largest sovereign weath funds in the world. Furthermore, their books are balanced: when the oil eventually runs out or another crisis comes, they have an admirable financial cushion which means that the most vulnerable will be protected. There, it is the right, in the form of the Progress Party, which wants to splurge, while the Norwegian Labour Party and its allies exemplify caution.

Chile is another potent example. They have been led by Socialists since the year 2000. In their case, the abundance of natural resources is in the form of copper ore. However, they too “saved for a rainy day”. When the economic crisis hit, Chile was able to use what they had kept aside to stimulate the economy. This led to a rather uncomfortable moment for Gordon Brown: during a press conference while he was visiting Chile in March 2009 the redoubtable President Bachelet stated that her country was better able to weather the global recession “because of our decision during the good times to save some of the money for the bad times.”

Some might argue that Chile and Norway are special cases because of their relatively small populations and their ability to export valuable commodities. However, I would suggest that these factors are relatively insignificant in comparison to a difference in philosophy. Brown loudly proclaimed that he had abolished boom and bust. Despite being in the possession of apparent abundance, the left-of-centre parties in Norway and Chile weren’t so sure. Scepticism turned out to be a valuable ally.

It can also be argued that Labour used to exemplify Norwegian and Chilean virtues. Few may recall or want to remember Labour’s real Iron Chancellor, Sir Stafford Cripps. Teetotal, vegetarian and parsimonious, he was responsible for managing the nation’s finances through the tricky post-war period. He often had to say “No”: rationing was particularly severe and it grated on the nation’s sense of fun. But no one doubted his seriousness, nor did they feel Labour was being slack in trying to get to grips with the nation’s financial problems. His boss, Clement Attlee, possessed a quiet and modest style which also helped: neither the Prime Minister or Chancellor appeared to be spendthrifts nor at all complacent. Subsequent Labour governments were neither so lucky nor so brave. Worse, Brown refused to believe in the limits of his prescience: as Andrew Rawnsley made clear in his recent book, “The End of the Party”, he pushed spending to limits which the Treasury considered dangerous. Furthermore, he didn’t rein in the City to the extent that even he has stated that he should have done. In essence, New Labour proved to be the ultimate wastrel government, a “have your cake and eat it too” mob, which believed that both equality and unlimited greed could be maintained at the same time. We couldn’t and we can’t. Now there are many lives which will be thrown into the metaphorical meatgrinder because of this awful mistake; Labour’s future attempts to stand up for equality will look particularly hollow, especially if they choose a leader who was part of the previous administration which did politically idiotic things like spend as if there was no tomorrow during their final days. The Coalition can and will lay the blame for the cuts on their predecessors, and they will likely get away with it.

Labour should remember: there are moments in history when political parties lose their reputation for a particular virtue; the Conservatives lost their perceived ability to manage the economy and the country on Black Wednesday in 1992. It was an undeniable humiliation and New Labour’s massive victory in 1997 can be charted from that moment onwards. From a historical perspective, Labour’s abandonment of prudence could be even more dear, for the suffering will not come in the same form as a shock adjustment of a currency’s value, but rather it will be seen in unemployment queues, pared back public services, and higher tuition fees, in other words, it will be pain that stretches over a long period of time. It may even be that Labour cannot recover from this in its present state; in that case, it will fall to the other parties of the left to pick up the cause of equality. In the words of the Green Party motto, “fair is worth fighting for”: however, in order to restore the reputation and the integrity of the Left, it must also be stated that its benefits have a pricetag.

The Royal Family has rarely been the focus of my attention. To me, they’re rather like the colour of paint in some public buildings: the unconvincing shades of green or beige may be distantly unpleasant, but at the same, they’re not glaring enough to make me grab a can of white Dulux and a brush. Perhaps we should thank the Duchess of York for being so outrageous that she has made the Monarchy a topic worthy of scrutiny once more.

There is little one can say about the “cash for access” scandal that hasn’t already been vomited forth by the tabloids. Fergie is in dire financial straits, a situation which is likely due to a combination of her own mismanagement and her perception of what a “royal” lifestyle entails. Her grasping for cash was both sad and ridiculous at the same time. No doubt some sort of sanction will be applied, the cracks will be papered over by a combination of discreet absence and charitable works, and life, such as it is, will go on much as it did before.

However, a fundamental question is being lost in the mix: why do we need to have the Royal clique at all? I have no doubt that the Queen is doing a good job: it would be bizarre if her vast array of experiences didn’t give her some valuable insights and a sense of moderation. However, what comes after her are the “media generation” Royals, the ones who have had to fully adapt to the world of 24 hour news. Already, this change has been nothing if not awkward: we’ve discovered things about Prince Charles’ private life, e.g., his longing to be Camilla’s personal sanitary item while he was still married to Diana, which pass the “too much information” threshold. We’ve seen the emergence of “celebrity icon” Royals too, as exemplified by the lower end of the media’s continuing obsession with Princess Diana. What many seem to lose in the pop of flashbulbs is the following thought: these aren’t a bunch of film stars, these are people with an automatic place in government. They didn’t run for office, they had no manifesto to set out, no debates to endure: they are just there and put in place by an accident of birth. Charles has tried to carve out a role as an environmental spokesman; Andrew is a spokesman for British business. While I do not doubt their sincerity in either case, the fact remains that they hold these positions because of their surname, and ultimately because the public doesn’t find them sufficiently irritating to do anything about it.

I’ve read that a secretary to the Royal Family once refered to Fergie as “vulgar, vulgar, vulgar”: but perhaps her cruder qualities are useful in raising our awareness of aristocracy’s fundamental obscenity, given we live in an age which largely eschews unearned merit. The public nods its approval when Nick Clegg says that the House of Lords will become an elected chamber: for too long it has become a place to stick politicians who are too awkward to put before the voters such as Peter Mandelson, or worse, those figures whose careers are so faded that their sole contribution to present politics is the writing of cranky diatribes. Making the chamber elected is correctly perceived as reinvigorating it, providing it with fresh legitimacy. Why is it so difficult to make the same connection and draw the same conclusions about the wellspring of the order from whence the Lords arose?

There is no reason to accept the contention that the monarchy provides some natural beacon for stability; even countries as historically quarrelsome and chaotic as Italy have been held together by mere Presidents. Furthermore, it is doubtful that the Queen herself would want to say she is any more venerable than the long-serving former German President, Richard von Weizsäcker. Indeed, Herr von Weizsäcker was able to capitalise upon his political legitimacy to talk about important national issues, such as tolerance and social responsibility; given the political constraints on the Monarchy, Britain’s Royals find it more difficult to engage in such discussions.

It is also not particularly logical to assert that the Monarchy is a natural beacon for tourism; for example, no Royal lives in the Tower of London, yet the last time I went there it was overwhelmed with visitors. We perhaps need to accept that it is the Monarchy’s past, as well as the country’s, which make the tourists come rather than some obsession with our present political arrangements. No doubt, there would be a falling off of some tourists to see the “Changing of the Guard” if the ceremony was republican rather than royal in nature: however this could be more than offset by opening more of the Royal Palaces to visitors. The National Trust and English Heritage certainly know how to make the most of such opportunities.

Additionally, it need not be destabilising to abolish the monarchy. Indeed, it can and should be orderly: I would suggest that nothing changes until after the present Queen passes away. The Civil List can be wound up, a final settlement arranged with the remainder of the family, and eventually, the noble titles abolished. I suggest Buckingham Palace should remain as the official residence of the President of the British Republic. Continuity can go hand in hand with change.

Finally, there is reason to doubt the contention that the role of President would attract politicians who were more interested in pomp than circumstance: while there is the possibility that the likes of Jeffrey Archer could run for office, it is difficult to see how he would gain a direct mandate from the nation. Time and again, British democracy has indicated that the public has generally good taste: yes, ridiculous figures like Boris Johnson do get elected. However the hung parliament was an eloquent verdict on all three major parties’ failure to convince. The 1945 and 1997 elections were a stunning indication of the nation’s appetite for change. To cling to monarchy given the evidence of such resilient common sense is an act of bad faith lacking any reasonable justification.

Nick Clegg has promised that his political reforms will be the most wide ranging since 1832; this statement has been rightly dismissed as hyperbole. However, it is likely that at least some of what he proposes will be significant, and portions of it may even be worthwhile. Perhaps monarchy will be eroded still further as a result, and the wounds it receives from the likes of Fergie may indeed one day strike the final blow. We need not fear this: the nation should be confident that its vast and storied history is sufficiently understood and respected to no longer require a superfluous reminder. We rightly aspire towards self-governance, meritocracy, and equality. These ambitions should mean that as we continue to say “God save the Queen” in the meantime, we realise that eventually we will not want to indulge in the same exclamation for the Monarchy.

An impassioned plea for reason from one of Europe’s leading Greens:

I’ve been reliably informed that around about the time of Gordon Brown’s departure from Downing Street, a rainbow briefly appeared in the skies above Westminster. I haven’t seen a photograph or a video clip of the phenomenon, yet I believe it. Whether one has faith in a diety or not, it doesn’t stretch matters too far to suggest that there is a natural order which works towards achieving an equilibrium: a hint from circumstance or the weather is perhaps a perceptible outcome of this cosmic balancing act. The car crash which occurred at the launch of the last round of Labour posters could have been one such demonstration, the heavens providing an outburst of colour at the end of an era may have been another.

At my university, the shift in the natural order has led to a widespread sense of relief. With the departure of Peter Mandelson, the higher education sector feels, albeit temporarily, that the grip around its neck has slackened. The Prince of Darkness has been replaced by Uncle Vince; yes, the future remains uncertain, but at least the deeply offensive Labour manifesto, which labelled universities a “global export business”, is now consigned to the recycle bin. We will still have to contend with budget cuts, and Lord Browne’s report on the future of Higher Education looms omniously in the near distance. However, at least there is the comfort that our agenda will no longer be dictated by what the super-rich friends of Mandelson require, no doubt requested at cocktail parties held aboard giant yachts cruising beneath the warm Mediterranean sun.

There are other benefits. While I dislike this particular political configuration, I see this an opportunity to pick up wholesome political habits. The terms “Liberal Democrat” and “Conservative” do not raise a smile from me (to say nothing of the sickeningly saccharine talk of a “bromance” between Cameron and Clegg): the word “Coalition” does.

Coalition! The word in this case is neither a noun covering up a series of shenanigans, nor a historical term which indicates a necessity born of crisis: it looks like both parties mean it. Upon reading the news this morning, I discovered that Sarah Teather, Liberal Democrat MP for Brent Central, has been appointed as an education minister, and Steve Webb, a man of the Liberal Democrat left, was given a post in the Department of Work and Pensions. Neither could be said to be particularly friendly to the Conservatives, and yet they have been granted offices of state: these are just two examples. The cabinet has weaknesses to be sure: there are so few women, the Conservatives still retain the most influential posts, Theresa May is a homophobe and frankly not up to the job of Home Secretary, but overall it is remarkable. That old mongrel known as British politics has performed a new trick: it fetched pluralism out of an inconclusive result. As a consequence, we have joined most of the rest of the world and found out why they do things the way they do. Historically, we have had a peculiar vanity about handing all power to a single party, as if absolutism somehow makes our system healthier and stronger. Coalition, if it is enshrined in repeated practice, will upend this strange logic which is alien to so many of our European partners.

Good habits are beginning to jell already: the Liberal Democrats and Conservatives have not only shared ministerial posts, more importantly, they have agreed a common programme. They’ve even created a means for solving inter-party disputes, namely a committee which will meet in secret: while I understand the libertarian impulse for these discussions to be held openly, a modicum of privacy is perhaps the price of pluralism. Furthermore, constitutional reforms appear to be on the way which may make coalitions happen more frequently: the alternative vote system for the Commons, an elected House of Lords based on proportional representation, are proposals which bode well for all those who believe that politics should not be about one voice being raised above all others, but rather the coming together of different views into a salubrious synthesis. In this model, partisan rancour is not ended, but stilled in the national interest. Discussion and genuine debate predominate over spin. Ideas separate themselves out from marketing.

The benefits of coalition, however, should not be read as an endorsement of this Government: while the form is to be lauded, the substance is another matter entirely. It is a shame, however, that Labour apparently doesn’t understand what’s happening. Last night, David Miliband began his tour of “lost” constituencies by stating that Labour aspired to be the voice of the centre and centre-left, as if all faction could somehow be best subsumed within his party’s confines. He’s lost the plot and missed the point: as a nation, we have more choices and voices to represent us than ever before. The system should reflect this and the outcomes of that system should be equal to what an increasingly diverse society demands and requires. Any potential Labour leader should be wholeheartedly embracing this paradigmatic change for a future coalition with much improved content is possible. In my mind’s eye, I can easily see a smiling Caroline Lucas walking down Downing Street, holding an overstuffed folder and pausing only briefly to wave towards the cameras as she proceeds to take up a post as Deputy Prime Minister serving alongside (for the sake of argument) Prime Minister Cruddas. Adrian Ramsay could be a minister for Climate Change, Darren Johnson could take up the portfolio at Transport. No doubt Greens and Labour would argue, they would debate, they would compromise, and in the end they would represent a majority, and we would move on. Miliband’s mildly pathetic statements, and the utterances of other Labour figures suggest that all they want to do is to rewind back to 1997 and do it as quickly as they can. I suggest that is not going to be possible. I also believe that Labour will continue to falter so long as they hang on to this outdated dream. If they continue to cling to it to the point of absurdity, they may find that their self description as “New Labour” will be seen as ever more ironic; in which case, they will be a national joke. But perhaps the natural order demands they spend a period in purgatory: according to Biblical legend, God condemned the Israelites who worshipped the Golden Calf to wander in the wilderness until the generation that done wickedness in His eyes were consumed. Who can say how long the Labour Party, which fell to its knees before the gilded altar of Mammon, is likely to wander in the wilderness of its own making. No doubt it will end, but perhaps the outmoded members of “New Labour” generation will need to be consumed. If so, we will be the better for it.

In retrospect, the formation of the Coalition Government was probably inevitable. The mathematics largely dictated this outcome; however the situation was exacerbated by Labour’s ineptitude. It should have been obvious that a “progressive alliance” was not going to happen once it became clear who was negotiating on Labour’s behalf. First and foremost, there was Lord Mandelson, who has many gifts, but a description of whom as an “honest broker” or “trustworthy negotiatior” can only elicit rueful laughter. Additionally, Ed Balls was on the team; to describe him most accurately, it can be said that he is sort of a younger, English version of Gordon Brown, except he lacks Brown’s charm, wit, intellect and anger management skills.

The whole sorry episode highlighted the parlous state of New Labour: it was rather like a diseased, tottering elephant, gangrenous and stumbling, its open wounds infested with flies, while buzzards named “The Daily Mail”, “Sky News” and “BBC” circled overhead. The moment it fell over, it was a relief to the beast itself, but the force of the impact split the carcass open and gave us a gruesome view of the rot within. We were warned: the Liberal Democrat negotiators could smell the stench of death. According to reports, the Labour Party was much more interested in its forthcoming leadership battle than forming a government with them. So what else could Lib Dems do? If they had prevented the formation of a stable government, they would be damned by the voters. If they had tried to create a rainbow coalition, they would have chained themselves to the damned and again been damned. This was the only reasonable outcome from their perspective, and even respectable, leftish Liberal Democrat figures like Dr. Evan Harris have said so.

But what is tactically right can also be strategically wrong. We have seen all three big parties throw away the mantle of progressive politics. In fairness, the Liberal Democrats did so out of necessity and with some reluctance; no doubt there will be Liberal Democrat activists who will be having antacid along with breakfast for the next few years. The Conservatives wanted the progressive label but never did anything to earn it; their embrace of the Lib Dems is more a symbol of continuity than change. To explain: the Tories remain the most electorally successful political party in Europe, largely because they rarely let ideology get in the way of obtaining power. Labour said “good-bye” to being progressive when they became “intensely relaxed” about the super-rich earning billions and worse, when they signed up to George W. Bush’s adventures, both curious positions for a party that was established by the trade unions and once was the leading advocate for nuclear disarmament. Labour’s deathbed utterances have only proven how far gone it is: Lord Mandelson claimed that the New Labour project was “alive and well”, Alistair Campbell made the extraordinary claim on Newsnight that Labour was the “only” progressive party available, an assertion which sounds rather curious to Green, Scottish Nationalist and Plaid Cmyru ears. Labour is not going to make anything better by having a leadership election: apart from the bumptious Mr. Balls, the other choices feature a range of Milibands, who are more or less cloned from a New Labour vat, and Jon Cruddas, whose credibility as an authentic radical voice is only surpassed by the unlikelihood of his obtaining the top job. Perhaps a symbol of how un-progressive things have become can be discerned in both Labour’s and the Tories’ strange revival of the spirit of Richard Nixon: first Cameron summoned up “Tricky Dick” by invoking the “ignored majority” (which was a remix on Nixon’s “Silent Majority”). Brown followed: his Nixonian appearances on the television debates were supplemented by a Nixonian outburst of bad temper, followed by a farewell speech filled with Nixonian pathos. If you want an idea as to how genuinely progressive such motifs are, ask students who attended Kent State in 1970.

So who will take up the progressive cause? While the Scottish Nationalists and Plaid Cmyru are genuine left-of-centre parties, they are by definition locked into their respective nations. The far-far left seems to be locked into a perpetual set of splits and counter-splits which gives Monty Python’s “Judean People’s Front” gag continued currency (at last count, there are ten Communist Parties in Great Britain, to say nothing of Trotskyist organisations). It is indeed only the Greens, in both its England & Wales and Scottish variants, who are united, serious, modern, purposeful and fresh. To suggest that progressive politics will revive in the form of the Green Party may sound far-fetched at this moment; after all, the Green Party has only one MP, and indeed, its vote was squeezed in the local component of the recent election. However the Party fills a vacuum, which democratic politics as well as nature abhors. Who else is going to stand up for public services in the face of impending cuts? Who else will be free of the tension of coalition, and thus be able to give full voice for the need for civil liberties? Who else upon whom can the trade unions rely? Who else will be credibly saying that a complete re-think of foreign policy needs to occur, and that Britain’s involvement both in Afghanistan and in the deployment of nuclear weapons must end? And lastly, who is going to be trustworthy and seen to be trustworthy when it comes to demanding changes in how the economy is run? As Caroline Lucas looks to her left, she will see few. As she looks to her right, she will see a wasteland. While the pomp and glamour of the new government’s arrival may obscure this perspective for a time, once the progressive majority gets over being blinded by the flashbulbs, it will see it has few other places to go and certainly nowhere else that will call upon that most precious of political emotions, enthusiasm. It will be a gradual process to be sure, and the opportunity will need careful cultivation, but just as a “new politics” may have arrived, so too may have the Green moment.