Wednesday April 14 1999
The Guardian
Two and a half years ago, I wrote the first of these columns for
this paper, an attack on the pessimistic idea that the best we could hope for was Tony
Blair. As a result, the following morning I was contacted by Robin Cook, who asked me to
write jokes for his conference speech. I declined the offer, but admit I was flattered. As
I thanked him for asking, my instincts were to shout ‘Sodding Ada, are you really Robin
Cook? Hang on, I’ll get the neighbours, they’ll never believe this.’ His war colleague
George Robertson has not been such a fan, complaining about those columns which have
opposed bombing assorted foreigners. He prefers coverage such as last week’s photos of him
waving from a bomber, like a three-year-old in one of those planes in the corners of
supermarkets, where he looked as if he was yelling ‘Look at me, mum. Put some more money
in so I can blow up a car factory.’ So it may be him who will be most pleased that this
paper has decided this is to be the last of these columns. I suppose the press is so
packed full of anti-Nato Marxist columns with jokes, that there just isn’t room for all of
us. Which is a shame, because there are an enormous number of people who yearn for a
greater radicalism than anything offered by New Labour. Every test of opinion, from polls
on taxing the rich and privatisation, to ballots inside the Labour Party, shows this.
Blair remains apparently popular, not out of endorsement of his policies, but from a
reluctant feeling of ‘I suppose so, because what else is there?’ Who do you know who
genuinely likes him? No one. He must be the most unpopular most popular person there’s
ever been. So he feeds off pessimism. But to all those who used to demand a radically
different society to the free-market butchery we live in, but now accept, however
reluctantly, the Blair agenda, I would ask you to ask yourself when you felt most
inspired. It may have been during the CND protests, or fighting apartheid, during the
miners’ strike or campaigning against the poll tax. Not many will say ‘I’ll never forget
the exhilarating moment when I decided we couldn’t scrap nuclear missiles or support
asylum-seekers, because it might cost us votes in Stevenage.’ Which is why the greatest
privilege of writing this column has been that it’s put me in touch with some of the most
resilient, tenacious battlers, imbued with an inspiring optimism; characters such as the
Liverpool dockers, the deported but reprieved Onibiyo family, the Jubilee Line
electricians who had the audacity not only to strike but to win, refugee groups, Kurdish
centres, and countless people who have kindly sent me letters and information, which I
suppose I’ll now have time to reply to. ‘People only care about themselves,’ say the
pessimists, as an excuse for giving up. But if people are naturally selfish, why do so
many people give blood? Pessimists must think ‘Ah, trying to get a free biscuit off the
state.’ Why do people knock on your door to say you’ve left your headlights on? Are they
thinking ‘Well I don’t want his battery to run flat, ‘cos I’m going to nick it in half an
hour.’ Similarly, most people prefer a fighter against injustice to someone who
compromises with it. That’s why one of the most popular films of all time is Spartacus,
and not one in which the Romans say ‘Who is this Spartacus?’ And the slaves all reply ‘The
one over there, mate. He’s nothing to do with us, we’re all New Spartacus.’ Abandoning the
hope that mass action can bring about a fairer society is not just to find another way of
achieving the same end; it involves treading on the very people you became a socialist or
campaigner in order to support.
Dribble by dribble the compromises happen, each one justifiable by
itself, until a man who must have joined the Labour Party to create a more equal society,
and even two and a half years ago had contempt for the pessimism of New Labour, justifies
and orchestrates the slaughter of civilians. I tell you what Robin, you can use that if
you like. So maybe my best move is to write one of those lifestyle columns the press seem
so keen on, and see if I can slip in the radicalism without them noticing. For example ‘I
rarely have a starter in our local restaurant, but my girlfriend always does. This leaves
me with a difficult choice. Do I order a starter I don’t want, or sit there feeling
superfluous and somewhat embarrassed, as she nibbles on mozzarella salad? If we all stand
together, there’s nothing the bastards can do, not even that rancid warmongering weasel
Blair. So I pass the time by perusing the bathroom fittings section of the latest Habitat
catalogue’ Bye-bye.