Spirit conversation, or my mother on why Labour has to be a Broad Church

My mother, a lifelong supporter of the Labour Party and member for nearly four decades, liked to tell me her party was a Broad Church.

The Duomo in Milan: one of the broadest churches I know

One of the proudest moments of her long life was the day in 1945 when she learned, in a roomful of her Labour Party staff colleagues, that for the first time Labour had a majority in the House of Commons. Clement Attlee was about to become Prime Minister, heading what was, indeed, a broad-church government. On its left, were men around the fiery Welsh orator, Nai Bevan; on its right, those who lined up with the wily old Trades Unionist, Ernest Bevin; in the middle, the mainstream around Attlee himself.

Not the least of Attlee’s skills was the capacity to hold that disparate band together. Above all, that meant compromise, so that no one felt they were being denied more than they could bear, or that someone else was getting too much. Even Attlee couldn’t handle it for longer than six years and, eventually, the government was brought down from the inside by Bevan’s intransigence. It achieved a huge amount in that short time, however, not least launching Britain’s most cherished institution, now under existential threat, the National Health Service. Ironically, it was that same Bevan who acted as its midwife.

My mother would probably have been shocked to see how contemptuously the notion of a ‘broad church’ is treated these days. The dominant group within the Labour Party these days seems much more intent on homogeneity than diversity. They want everyone to be a supporter of their faction, even though that faction has just taken the Party to a historically massive defeat.

It would be a great pleasure to welcome my mother’s spirit here in Spain, if she chose to visit us from the other world. She would, I’m ensure, enjoy a Christmas in better weather than she’d been used to in England, but I imagine the conversation would quickly turn more serious.

“Unfortunately,” I’d have to tell her, “the Labour Party’s being run these days by people who think we shouldn’t have to compromise any more. They think it’s time for a Labour government more aligned on a single tendency within the movement – the one Nai Bevan represented in your time, and Tony Benn later.”

“But,” I suspect she’d reply, “they need the others too.”

“It’s hard for me to speak for the leadership, but I think they like the idea of something purer, less corrupted by compromise, firmer on its principles.”

“Doesn’t that mean narrower?”

“I suppose it does.”

“Well, there you are then,” she’d exclaim triumphantly, “if it’s narrow it won’t be able to put together a majority.”

I can just see the gleam in her eyes as she points out the fallacy in the position I’ve been trying to present.

“Funnily enough, it couldn’t. We’ve just had an election and Labour won a bit over ten and a quarter million votes. The Tories took just shy of fourteen million. We got 202 seats.”

“202? But that’s worse than 1983!” she’d exclaim, “and… that’s after nearly ten years of the Tories in office!”

I’d hang my head.

“That’s the worst result I’ve ever seen, not counting 1935 when I was only eleven and not really paying attention. Extraordinary. How could they do that badly?”

“Well, it’s lousy, I admit. It means we need getting on for a couple of million voters to switch from the Tories to us.”

“That’s a big ask.”

“I know. Maybe beyond a single election. But we might do it in two.”

“Only if you broaden your appeal. You can’t do it by being pure and narrow.”

“You think we should become a broad church again? That wouldn’t be popular with the characters running the party at the moment.”

“Then,” she would say decisively, “it’s time for them to get out of the way. Broad churches win elections. Narrow ones lose them.”

“You know that. I know that. But they don’t want to hear that.”

“Explain it to them.”

“I try. I’m not getting far,” I’d point out thoughtfully, as I start mulling over a new idea, “couldn’t you have a go? You know, haunt them a bit?”

“Not a bad idea. I could try. I’ve always been good at making my views clear when people are being silly.”

“I know you have,” I’d say, shaking my head, partly out of some painful memories, but partly also out of doubt. “Trouble is, this lot seem terribly hard of hearing when you’re trying to tell them something true they’d rather not know.”

“Well, it’s up to them. If they’d rather stick with what makes them comfortable and lose, they’re even sillier than I thought. But you can only get things done when you’re on the winning side. Attlee knew that. He told me himself. Bevin knew. Why, even Bevan knew, before he brought the whole house crashing down.”

“Sadly, his heirs seem intent on bringing the house down before it’s even built.”

“Seems a hopeless case. You can’t save people who don’t want to save themselves.” She’d shake her head in turn. And then, as if making up her mind, she’d add, “Let’s have a glass of that red I brought you.”