The Pope’s English Gambit

An apostate's view

The Fire Window, Manchester Cathedral

We've heard a number of religious views about the Pope's extraordinary offer to allow Church of England priests who can't stomach women bishops to convert to Rome - even though some of them are married, and even being allowed to keep to some of their Anglican traditions. Some feminists have criticised it as predatory; some have predictably welcomed it, and some bishops look like taking it up. This is everybody's business, though, not just believers' business - just as much as private clubs' membership rules are in my view everyone's business, say, or political parties' candidate selection, or indeed political defections. Anyway, I've never noticed any reluctance on the part of Popes or Bishops to opine on non-religious matters. Here, then, is the view of an excommunicated apostate. Believers are more than welcome to correct me if there's anything I misunderstand.

I agree that the Pope is being predatory here, not to say wholly cynical: you have to admire the old man's chutzpah in trying to annex part of the C of E in advance of his state visit next year. Perhaps he hopes to Newmanise the whole of England.

What is most baffling about this affair though is how any Anglo-Catholic can see the issue of women bishops (perhaps together with a perceived liberal drift on homosexuality - one imperceptible to outsiders) as a reason to turn to Rome. Can any of them really, in conscience, now say they suddenly accept Catholic dogmas, having lived contrary to them all their vocations long?

Let's take the issue of whether scripture contains all things necessary for salvation, as we're told Anglicans believe. That's not Rome's position - it sees tradition as just as important. Do these Anglo-Catholic defectors claim to have changed their mind on this - or did they never agree with what seems the official Anglican doctrine in the first place?

Getting a bit closer to the bone, if the question of whether bishops can be women is so crucial, why do they attach so much less importance to the question whether priests can be married? Some of the potential defectors are themselves married - conduct in their own personal lives that is directly contrary to Roman Catholic belief about the nature of priesthood. And have they been living in accordance with Humanae Vitae? Do they propose to from now on?

Even closer to the bone, for some, is the issue of homosexuality. George Pitcher certainly thinks quite a few potential defectors are themselves gay. It's okay to be a gay priest in the C of E, so long as you don't practice it: as I understand it (from Issues in Human Sexuality, para. 5.19) clergy who come out as "homophile in orientation" but who accept abstinence are to be welcomed and employed; and candidates for ordination will not be quizzed about their celibacy unless there are strong reasons for doing so. But in the Pope's church, men presenting "deep seated homosexual tendencies" cannot be ordained at all, whether or not they practice their sexuality; and it is even prepared to use psychological tests to root out these tendencies. Again, therefore, to be conscious of ones homosexuality seems to this outsider just as contrary to the Catholic idea of priesthood as to be married. On reflection, some of these priests may be forced to conclude they are excluded from Rome just as they would exclude others from their own church. Only unmarried straight or effectively asexual Anglo-Catholics can, it seems to me, unashamedly aspire to be Catholic priests.

Most critically, though, potential defectors have, until now, been happy to be part of a church that rejects papal authority. Indeed, opposition to his authority was the rock on which the Church of England was founded almost five hundred years ago. How can these people now say that just because of women bishops that's all forgiven and forgotten - a little mistake - and that they're now happy to do as the Pope tells them? They may have convinced themselves that he's merely some sort of primus inter pares; but he certainly doesn't see things that way. The defectors have been happy to serve in a church that's at least partially democratic and to argue their case against reform; if they turn to Rome, they'll find they have no say whatever, for instance on whether offers like this should be made, or when some future Pope unilaterally decides priests can be married, or women, after all (as I predict he will within fifty, then within a hundred, years). The Pope in Rome may only rarely be infallible, but he's always the one who decides.

The gulf between Canterbury and Rome seems to me as wide as the Channel and as high as the Alps, and any Anglo-Catholic who defects now must explain why the prospect of women bishops has made him change his mind on other, more fundamental doctrines; or else, if he claims always to have accepted those doctrines, why he hasn't been a Catholic and lived by them before now.

Many atheists will, I think, conclude that in reality this is nothing to do with the details of the dogma of either denomination, and that theological disputation about it is just a thick cloud of incense. Isn't this really about some extremely conservative-minded people's deep-rooted commitment against women's equality - a commitment that transcends and overwhelms all other doctrinal, spiritual and ecclesiastical considerations and loyalties?

Dream no small dreams

Gordon Brown's conference speech

It wasn't the game-changer Labour was crying out for - but Gordon Brown's speech to the Labour conference today was a much better effort than many expected, and approaches, at least, the kind of argument and the kind of vision he needs to set out if next year's election is to be a contest.

He opened by talking of changing the world: it was good, for Labour supporters, to see him lift his vision. But the bread and butter of winning for Labour is to flesh out that vision in a programme. He followed up with a long, relentless, deliberately extended drumming out of Labour's many achievements in office. Labour does need to remind the public of this, but in a way that's heard instead of making people tune out with boredom. I don't know whether that'll work. More importantly, from early on and throughout his speech he focused on the clear choice Britain faces next year, and again and again he cast that choice in terms of opting to favour the interests of the majority or those of a privileged few - surely the right light for him to try to throw on Conservative policies. He came back to that attack at the end of his speech, too, showing a determination to get the message across.

I liked the way he explained how he had acted in the financial crisis and to stave off depression: I almost thought this passage was too quick, and that he could gain by taking more time to explain this, impressive part of his record to the public in more detail. He is really missing a trick on all this. He told an anecdote about a complacent bank chief, for instance, telling Brown his bank was in fine shape - only for the PM to discover than, in truth, it was shaky. A big problem for Brown is that he seems to be part of the financial establishment and to be on the side of bankers - he needs to reposition himself as the angry, parsimonious and grumpy champion of the taxpayer against the banks, and he could usefully express more astonishment about actions he has had to take and more anger about what some banks have done. Alistair Darling's planned legislation on bonuses is not nearly tough enough: it may not be morally admirable, but people want some of their anger taken out on rich bank employees, and Labour should be offering much tougher action. Anyway, if you believe in a fair society, huge bonuses aren't just wrong where the recipient has been negligent. And finally, he expressed determination to recover for the public all the money lent to support the banks - but I wanted to hear more of this, and for him to paint a grim, almost horrifying vision of Brown as the inexorable public bailiff-in-chief with a debt to collect over five years.

He made some good pledges - the one not to cut spending on schools but to raise it, for instance, was important. But there was, as last year, a bit too much schemery, with quite a few good and welcome but relatively small ideas that are too forgettable and cannot amount to a big vision in themselves. Examples were the skilled internships and green work placements he offered.

On fiscal responsibility I thought he was good. Last year I was impatient with his technique of setting medium and long terms goals by legislation - a target alone does nothing to reach itself. I can see the international credibility argument for a Fiscal Responsibility Bill, though, and he promised a similar approach to achieving a high and sustained level of overseas aid. Perhaps I was wrong and he is right - still, I'd like him to explain why this use of binding pre-commitments is not gimmickry but substantial policy. The best point he made though - and something I'd like to hear more of - was to remind conference he had squeezed spending before, after 1997, while still achieving important policies like the New Deal and minimum wage. To argue he can play the same trick again is a good argument he should make more often.

Half an hour in was when the speech began to get really serious. He made important policy pledges: that the minimum wage and working tax credits will go up every year under him. This is more like the substance he needs to produce.

Bravely, though, and impressively, he has dared take on and take forward some of Tony Blair's thinking with controversial proposals about housing for teenage parents - they will be given supervised accommodation and support, not simply the keys to a flat - and pledged the extension of Family Intervention Projects to Britain's 50,000 "most chaotic families". This is bold, interventionist talk that will displease much of the liberal left but that may offer a way to reconnect with core Labour voters. He hinted at applying the target-driven approach to improving public services more aggressively to community policing - an important idea that meets an increasing concern, especially after the Fiona Pilkington case.

Labour needs a really big idea, though - and Brown's proposed "National Care Service" may be the sort of thing required. Long term care is of course a massive social and financial problem that causes fear among many families and wipes out savings - the way illness and injury did before the NHS. If Brown can put real flesh on this idea and convince people he has a way forward on care, votes will follow. The challenge will be the detail, but his pledge of free personal care at home for those most in need of it is a decent start.

Finally, on the constitution, his proposals to allow recall of misbehaving MPs and to abolish the hereditary Lords were minor but welcome. His promise of a referendum on the alternative vote system was a real surprise, however. I'm not sure I'm in favour of it, and the move has a flavour of cynicism - almost all his cabinet and Labour critics seem to be behind electoral reform right now - but it is bold. It was the confirmation, to me, that he may now at least dimly "get" the need for him to offer much more daring plans for the next Parliament.

"Dream no small dreams," Brown said, quoting - well, I'm not sure yet whether it was Goethe or Victor Hugo. Warm, inspiring words for a Labour politician. More hard-headedly, they're good strategic advice over the next six months. He's finally offered some forward vision, and given some hope he can put forward big ideas. If this marks the start of a real change in Brown's approach, and he can work this sort of thinking up into a convincing manifesto platform - who knows? We could yet have a real election next year.

This post first appeared at The Wardman Wire

Blog break

You've not heard much from me recently - I've been taking advantage of the silly season to catch up on other things. And my blog break is going to continue for another week. I'm taking a complete break, getting away from everything, even the intarwebs thingy, and plan to recharge.

See you later in September.

Inglourious, stupid and objectionable

Inglourious Basterds, directed by Quentin Tarantino

© François Duhamel/The Weinstein Company

In this stupid and objectionable film, Brad Pitt plays Lieutenant Aldo Raine, a rhetorically and morally challenged Tennessee tough who, in advance of D-Day, recruits emigré German and Austrian Jews to form an irregular band of marauders to torture and murder German soldiers in occupied France. They plan to blow up Hitler and his Nazi high command at a film premiere in Paris: unfortunately, British intelligence has the same plan, as does the young, secretly Jewish woman who will welcome the Führer to her cinema. The plot is typical Tarantino, with everyone's plan of course going wrong, corpses piling up senselessly, and the plot resolving into an orgy of violence.

It's entertaining: there's no denying that. Inglorious Basterds is not dull, and many of the scenes build tension and suspense very effectively. It's also amusing at times, though not as funny as it seems to think it is. The performances, though overwhelmingly camp, are mostly pretty good (Mélanie Laurent is the best thing about it). But there are several things wrong. For a start, it's just the familiar Tarantino-world of guns, repartee and braggadocio we saw in Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, with flashbacks, parallel plots intertwining and random occurrences, all reheated and transposed uncomfortably into wartime France. A pity the historical subject inspired no stylistic innovation whatever from Tarantino. Second, it's anachronistic in more ways than one, with a highly unsuitable post-fifties and partly western movie soundtrack that simply underline the silly cartoonishness of the war setting and the utterly revisionist view of the war the film gives, in which the holocaust is known of and avenged by allied troops. Third, it's self-indulgent, with tricks (text superimposed on freeze-frames, graffiti-like arrows and text superimposed on action) included just for their own sake and silly cameos by Mike Myers and, I'm sorry to say, Rod Taylor as a redundant Churchill. The British are of course upper-class idiots whose incompetence royally messes things up for the plucky Americans; the film's wartime clownishness is less funny than that of 'Allo 'Allo, which is comparison looks like the work of Sir Martin Gilbert.

But the main problem with Inglourious Basterds is the way it glorifies violence and cruelty. Just as in Pulp Fiction Tarantino invited us to sympathise with a brutal gang leader and rejoice at the prospect of extreme torture – in that case, “legitimised” by the fact that the victim had attempted a rape – here, the fact that we are dealing with “Nazis” (Germans are ignorantly and wrongly identified with Nazis throughout) impliedly legitimises the most barbaric cruelties. We see a German soldier killed by being beaten in the head with a baseball bat, and a number of men scalped – none of which is necessary of even helpful in terms of plot – and we are invited to find deliberate disfigurement funny and right. In truth the violence in this film is both shocking and sickening, and it's difficult to respect the film-maker who has chosen to present it as entertainment.

Inglorious Basterds parades the director's love of cinema, with continual reference to earlier films and directors, its “film within a film” device and its cinematic climax. But it suggests that humanity is a weakness, and that the identification with others art can inspire is a fraud. Some might argue that Tarantino is somehow criticising screen violence – that the presentation of Goebbels's film Nation's Pride is a sort of satire on “shoot-em up” cinema. I can't see it myself. All I see here is exploitation, amorality and pretext. Tarantino doesn't ask us to condemn them for it, but Aldo Raine and his men are clearly war criminals; he for his part is guilty of something of a film crime. I admired Jackie Brown, but it remains the only one of Tarantino's films I'd like to see again. If Inglorious Basterds is the kind of thing he aims at now, then I look forward to his retirement. 

Equality, not merit

The past decade has seen widening differences in income and wealth, which taxation and regulation have failed to address. When New Labour was first elected, it established the Low Pay Commission to measure the claims of workers for a higher minimum wage against the wider economic impact, particularly on employment. There is now a compelling case for a high pay commission to measure the claims of top earners that their rewards are justified and necessary, even if they offend natural justice and our sense of fairness.

So wrote Vince Cable in yesterday's Guardian, supporting Compass's call for a High Pay Commission to investigate pay at the top, and come forward with proposals to rein it in. Compass's initiative deserves backing - but Cable's words of support worry me.

By suggesting the highest paid should be made to justify their incomes, he implies individual desert is the issue, and indeed he goes on to make clear he's fine about Bill Gates being worth more than the £31.1 billion interest Britain pays on its national debt. It's rewards for failure and uselessness that he really objects to, as David Aaronovitch has rightly pointed out. But why be so timid - so narrowly, individualistically moral about it? The point isn't whether such and such a banker has properly "earned" his six-figure bonus, or whether a premiership footballer has "earned" his six-figure weekly pay (I think Vince is slightly out of date about football salaries, at least at the very top). The real question is whether in Britain today where many of those who are lucky enough to have work survive on the minimum wage or less and where average income (distorted upwards by Frank Lampard and Stephen Hester) is twenty thousand or so it's right that anyone should receive such vast revenues, regardless of what they've done to "earn" them. It's not about market or merit, but equality.

Much greater equality would be better for us all. The only serious question is how to achieve it, although the evidence suggests that doesn't matter. I'd be happy whether we tax or, as David Blackburn suggests, "regulate" (another word for 'legislate") big bonuses and pay out of existence. A commission to look into it would be a start but it should not be a tribunal before whom the rich are forced - or allowed - to defend their privileges. It should work out a mechanism to reduce the greatest incomes, as the minimum wage aims at raising the lowest.

A French folly

Les Demoiselles de Rochefort directed by Jacques Demy

Hélène Jeanbrau/Ciné Tamaris

Jacques Demy’s 1967 musical is sheer nonsense. Enjoyable nonsense, undoubtedly, but nonsense through and through. Catherine Deneuve and Françoise Dorléac, sisters in real life, play twins here. Delphine Garnier teaches ballet while Solange composes concerti at her piano. Each dreams of Paris, and meeting her dream man. We get to know them and their circle, inhabitants of Rochefort each with his or her sad story – until a fair comes to town and, with a romantic sailor and Gene Kelly thrown in, magical sparkly fate makes everything right for all.

This 1996 restored version has all Demy’s chocolate-box colours, and at times the clothes look fabulous. An unashamedly superficial film - a sort of hommage to Hollywood musicals – it’s also a study in ironic chic. Some of the director’s mannerisms are attractive (the sisters are at times photographed straight to camera) but I think a lack of visual sense mars the experience: a lot of effort goes into costumes but little, apparently, to screen composition - a major flaw particularly in some of the dance sequences. Why have Gene Kelly dance, then show only his top half? It happens too much in Les Demoiselles: the dance sequences are fun, but not well filmed. Compare the famous dance from Singin' in the Rain - in which Kelly's whole body is kept within shot except when his feet are still and the camera focuses on his face for special effect, and in which every cut is timed to match the musical phrasing - with this dance sequence with Françoise Dorléac in which his feet are often cut off and there's at least one unhappy cut across the music. And compare the start of West Side Story, where the camera does not cut into the dancers' bodies except to make striking compositions - freeze-frame at 1 minute 8 seconds and again at 3.40 to see what I mean - with this effort from Les Demoiselles which ends decently but starts with our being unable to see much of the dancers at all. I'm afraid that where Stanley Donen, Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise knew what they were doing, Jacques Demy didn't really seem to.

Why Solange falls for the empty Andy, I don’t know. Monsieur Dame would be a better bet, you sense, but Solange’s mother gets her hands on him. Delphine’s happy ending is an absurd anticlimax. There is a dark subplot, with a woman being murdered and hacked to pieces, and at times you wonder if the whole pastel surface must obscure a strange, dark anti-musical. But I’m not sure Les Demoiselles is as good or clever a film as that.

By far the best thing in it is Michel Legrand’s music; particularly Solange’s concerto and the sisters’ signature song, Soeurs Jumelles. Otherwise, it’s a very silly film indeed. 

It's on at the BFI until 27 August, then in October at the Gulbenkian Canterbury, the Riverside Studios Hammersmith and Watermans, Brentford. It's available on DVD too.

Programmes and people

Moon, directed by Duncan Jones

© Sony Pictures Classics

Sam Rockwell plays Sam Bell, an astronaut living alone on the far side of the Moon working out his contract with Lunar Industries, a company that mines material to make alternative energy on earth. Sam’s looking forward to coming home soon: his contract’s nearly up. But as he watches taped messages from his wife and daughter, strange things begin to happen; following an accident, he begins to wonder how alone he really is.

The plot isn’t easy: Sam is confused by what’s going on for quite a while, and so are we. The audience needs to work to get this story. But it’s well worth it. This is a clever tale, intelligent science fiction about a real issue for humanity that could seem worthy if approached face on, but which Sam’s situation makes unexpected, approachable and fresh.

Sam Rockwell is great in his role, about which I can say no more, or I’d be giving away the film’s whole premise. It’s well directed by Duncan Jones, and Nathan Parker’s screenplay is strong, too. The Moon set is convincing enough to work (although I don’t think you can see stars on the Moon), and I enjoyed Clint Mansell’s hauntingly minimalist music. Kevin Spacey is heard, too, if not seen: he voices – and what a strange, unsettling voice he provides – the ever-present computer, GERTY, who Sam thinks is his only companion on the Moon, and who heals and wakes him following his accident. But does GERTY have his own agenda? Why is he communicating with Earth? And how, since Sam himself can only send and receive recordings? The truth about Sam’s predicament is revealed as his relationships are clarified, not just with GERTY, but with humans back on earth – and even with himself.

GERTY sounds a bit like HAL in 2001, I know, and he’s clearly intended to remind us of his cinematic forebear. Yes, the nature of artificial consciousness is one of Moon’s themes. But GERTY is not your standard space computer out of control – Moon is more original and more thoughtful than to repeat that trick. It’s also too concerned with human ethics: it’s a film of ideas. It’s much more about ourselves - where our identities are located, our relationship to the Earth and what it means to be human - than it is about machines or the Moon. It’s one of the best films I’ve seen this year, and certainly the best since Synecdoche, New York.

Lord Mandelson and cross-dressing

He should shut up about it

Policy Network/CreativeCommons

Lord Mandelson has today accused the shadow chancellor George Osborne of "political cross-dressing". One one level, fair enough: if Osborne is claiming the Tories are the progressive party, then Mandelson is right to contest that. He is trying to steal Labour's clothes, to use a more traditional political phrase.

What worries me about Mandelson's choice of words, though, is the way it recalls Damian McBride's e-mail suggestion that the proposed website Red Rag should spread false rumours about there being photographs of Osborne dressed in women's clothes. The Sunday Times's revelations about McBride quote him as using the phrase "cross-dressing" in relation to Osborne - and he did not mean it politically. The Guardian rightly called McBride's smear puerile: no grown-up could think it clever or funny, and certainly no adult could think it "progessive", to mix lies and intolerance in that way. If Mandelson thought the McBride smears were a serious matter - he said so at the time - then he should certainly not be using language that recalls those smears.

One of two things has happened here. Mandelson may have used the phrase in all innocence as a political metaphor. That would be uncharacteristically inept. I'd rather believe that, though, than the alternative - which would be that he used the phrase cynically in an attempt to reinforce McBride's disgraceful and stupid smear in the public mind, knowing he was pandering to prejudice. Were that true, it would be shameful.

In any case, Mandelson should not use that language, or anything like it, again. It's not only wrong, it's counter-productive and if repeated will hurt Labour, just as Damian McBride's activities hurt Labour. If this kind of recklessness is what Mandelson meant by his underdog strategy, he should forget it.

Labour’s underdog strategy

What could it mean?

Pixel Addict/CreativeCommons

On television last week, Lord Mandelson accepted Labour are the "underdogs" in politics now; and that therefore they'll have to work harder than they're opponents. It sounds as though Mandelson's been reading Morey and Miller's 2004 book The Underdog Advantage, on "using the power of insurgent strategy". Or perhaps Malcolm Gladwell's May New Yorker article on how David beats Goliath. Morey and Miller stress the importance for competitiveness of imagining you're an underdog, and of being perceived as underdog; Mandelson's suggestion that Gordon Brown could propose a televised debate with David Cameron can be read in that context as a public signal of Brown's underdog status. Gladwell argues that underdogs win, apparently against the odds, a surprising amount of the time, if they're prepared to commit to an unusual, outsider's strategy - and to effort well exceeding that of their more fancied opponents.

Well, of course Labour should behave as though it's the underdog: it's true, it is. Nor will it have any difficulty being perceived as the underdog, in the sense of being unlikely to win next spring. And it seems obvious that Labour politicians and volunteers will need to put in an overwhelming amount of work on the ground if the party is to have any hope next year.

But Gladwell's idea at least goes further than this. His point isn't simply that a successful underdog knows it's an underdog. His point is that an awareness that you're bound to lose in a conventional contest can drive you to adopt an unconventional, game-changing strategy that covers up your own weaknesses, exploits those of the favourite, and evens the odds considerably - or turns them in your favour.

So what might a genuine underdog strategy look like for Labour? What might be the equivalent, for Labour, of suddenly slinging a stone, a non-stop full-court press, or attacking Aqaba from the desert? We all expect a general election to take place next spring. Should Labour go on the offensive, and choose to fight in October? We all expect an election to be fought largely in key Labour-held marginals - should Labour adopt instead the apparently insane goal of making gains from the Conservatives? That would be magnifique rather than la guerre.

Better would be to leap over the current debate about future spending cuts with a set of new and big policy ideas - much bigger than anything Gordon Brown has suggested before, and much bigger than the normal piecemeal initiatives the government puts forward. Labour could propose democratic control of what are now state-owned banks - and over pension funds. It could plan a crusade to reconquer NHS territory lost over the last twenty years - in dentistry, for example, where private provision is increasingly the norm - and break new ground with a commitment to free long-term care as soon as resources allow. It could propose a ten-year plan to equalise incomes and wealth, with firms taxed more or less according to how much the pay of the top ten percent of staff differs from the average. It could announce a revolution in public service, with student fees and debt forgiven, and taxes reduced, in return for a period of service in education, the health service, social care, policing, probation and prison service and of course the armed forces. Going on the offensive in politics - like an outsider or underdog would - means refusing simply to defend a record. It means offering more, and more radical change than your opponents even conceive of.

Still, though, the most radically game-changing step Labour could take would be to change leader. Barack Obama won the US Presidency not in the autumn of 2008, but in the Spring: his primary contest with Hillary Clinton involved and fascinated America, and focused Americans even more than the general election on the choice they had to make in November. Labour could yet replicate that this winter: Brown's resignation at the conference could trigger a leadership contest later this year that could make voters look again at Labour, as the famous 1990 "House of Cards" contest and defeat of Margaret Thatcher captured Britain's attention for the Tories. A new Labour Prime Minister, betting the shop on an election within weeks of his or her taking office and asking for a mandate for a new programme - that would be a real insurgent strategy. The moment for this may well have passed. Labour has talked of being underdog before, and done nothing about it. MPs refuse to face how likely defeat is, perhaps devastating defeat, if sleeping underdogs lie, and Labour fights the normal, conventional, sensible election next spring under Gordon Brown. But as Morey and Miller say, every Labour supporter needs to

Think about your company in very personal terms. Are your greater personal regrets for the things you did or the things you failed to do? Are your greater regrets for the path taken or the one not taken?

 

This post first appeared at The Wardman Wire.

Totnes

The Tories' experiment deserves to succeed

Lawrie Cate/CreativeCommons

Needing to replace the ridiculous Anthony Steen, the Conservatives are choosing their candidate for his Totnes constituency by an open primary: all voters in Totnes have (in theory) been sent a voting pack with information about the would-be candidates and explaining how to vote by post. Michael Crick did an excellent report on the contest (beginning at 16.25 mins) on Tuesday's Newsnight, which is well worth watching. The process has had problems: Michael Crick suggested turnout may be very low, with some voters not having received voting packs and the whole process having been rushed; the selection may also be hit by a postal strike, the local newspaper suggests. Totnes Tories, Central Office and whoever insisted on this may end up looking very foolish.

But they ought to be congratulated. Any innovation involves risk, and this could turn out badly. But an innovation it is, and I applaud it. Whatever happens, it was right to try it, and it will be right to do it again elsewhere. Choosing candidates this way will be good for voters, as it will give them more control over who represents them than the choice of evils a general election often presents; in a safe seat, an open primary may be the best chance you get to change who your MP is in the end. It will be good for politics generally, as it will reduce the power of party activists and insiders, and put pressure on streams of opinion that flourish within parties but which are unpopular outside. And it will be good for the parties themselves as it will open them out to the public - to their opponents, even - and help keep them safe from internal groupthink.

I have a few suggestions, though, for making open primaries work better. First, it's important that wealth should not give anyone an advantage in this sort of contest (or any other candidate selection, incidentally), and it's important that the costs of the process be kept as low as possible. Michael Crick estimates the cost of the Totnes procedure to be around £40,000, possibly much more - which strikes me as excessive. I think a selection like this could be much cheaper. For a start, it seems to me that postal ballots are far too expensive: I know e-voting isn't easy or problem-free, either, but there must be potential for government to fund one central website, perhaps to be run by the Electoral Reform Society, on which every local primary could be conducted and at which people could register to vote. Once established I reckon that site could deliver voting more securely and more cheaply than arranging postal ballots for every primary individually. Second, I admire Dr. Sarah Wollaston for spending absolutely nothing on her campaign: there's no reason she should. I think candidates should be prevented from spending anything beyond personal travel expenses for themselves: there should be no leaflets and no posters in support of any candidate. Campaigning should be allowed online through blogs (on free platforms only), podcasts and vodcasts. I suppose there's a risk rich candidates could outspend their rivals this way, by having fancy cameras and mikes - but I think ways round that problem can be found. There'd be local media - where local newspapers exist and can be persuaded to take any interest.

Mainly, though, the primary contest should be conducted by walkabouts and public meetings: those wanting to be selected should get among people on the streets, in shopping centres and everywhere they can be found. Local authorities should provide rooms free for parties wanting to hold public meetings, and I suspect quite a few churches and pubs could be persuaded to make rooms available, too. Those meetings should be run by party volunteers, and the main local expenditure by the party should be in promoting them. The revival of the public political meeting would be a serious contribution to reinvigorating politics, and keeping MPs' feet on the ground. Open primaries could contribute to this revival.

A final point. I have no problem with Conservatives, say, helping choose who should stand as a Labour candidate, or vice versa; they will after all choose whether or not ultimately to elect that person and I think open participation in selection will make all candidates stronger. Few people are so sad and cynically partisan that they'll deliberately vote for a bad opposing candidate. Anyway, parties should not be so foolish as to shortlist anyone they think is unelectable. But one thing that might well bring open primaries into disrepute is if political parties actually instruct their members to vote in particular way to manipulate their opponents' primaries. That's why it's sickening that Adrian Sanders, the LibDem MP for Torbay, is so gleeful (19.40 mins into the Newsnight report) about his attempts to muck up the Tories' first effort: doing this sort of thing should be made a disciplinary offence in all parties. Sanders ought to be ashamed of himself: if this is his attitude to democracy, then he's not fit for his job.

I hope Totnes succeeds for the Tories, and confounds the cynics and Sanders - it deserves to.

 

This post first appeared at The Wardman Wire

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