Corbyn or ‘Soft Brexit’: Choose One

National Review Online, June 12, 2017

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Theresa May has just three key matters to attend to in what ought to be the death throes of her shattered premiership. The first is to cut a deal with Northern Ireland’s Democratic Unionist party good enough to give her a de facto, if precarious, parliamentary majority. As I write, that’s nearly, probably, maybe there. The second is either to postpone the first round of the Brexit talks with the EU (due to start in a few days) or to ensure that they proceed without any blow-ups. The third is to announce that she is resigning as leader of the Conservative party and will leave 10 Downing Street as soon as her successor is chosen.  

As she sorts through the statistics of her defeat — and even if the Tories emerged as the largest party, it was a defeat — there are some scraps of comfort. The Conservatives’ share of the vote (42.5 percent) was the highest since the 43.9 percent that Margaret Thatcher, still basking in Falklands glory, secured in 1983, and the Tories did better than they had in Scotland for a very, very long time, thanks mainly to the efforts of its charismatic Scottish leader, Ruth Davidson, someone who both adapted Conservatism to local conditions while preserving its essence and, while she was at it, helped take a second Scottish independence referendum off the agenda for quite some time.

But none of this counts for much when measured against the scale of the disaster that May has inflicted on her party and on her country. She has thrown away a small, if not entirely reliable, majority and (if she’s lucky) replaced it with a fragile less-than-coalition. She has greatly complicated the treacherous Brexit process. She has squandered one of Margaret Thatcher’s greatest legacies: The hard Left is now dangerously close to power. Labour won some 40 percent of the vote last week, its highest share since Tony Blair’s heyday, an era when it was a very different party.

Calling a snap election was a forgivable gamble, forgivable because it looked like a safe bet. Burdened by an extremist and in some cases none too bright leadership, Labour was vulnerable. A popular figure (particularly when compared with Labour’s Jeremy Corbyn), May seemed set for a substantially increased majority, maybe even a landslide, something that would have strengthened her hand at home during the Brexit negotiations.

 Meanwhile, pushing out her mandate to 2022 would buy her potentially valuable breathing space. Under the timetable set in motion when May gave notice under Article 50 of the EU treaty in March (an act of extraordinary irresponsibility if she was already contemplating an election), the two sides have two years to work out the terms of their divorce (which does not, incidentally, include sorting out what their post-separation relationship should look like). If they don’t come to terms, there is (in the absence of an extension or transitional agreement) simply a break, after which trade between the UK and the EU would be governed by, to use the shorthand, WTO rules. Whatever some Brexiteers like to claim, that would not be a happy state of affairs. There are signs that uncertainty over what may lie ahead is beginning to unsettle business. That uncertainty — exacerbated by May’s unwise decision to opt for a “hard Brexit” rather than one of the gentler “prix fixe” alternatives — will weaken the economy, at least for a while. May presumably calculated that by 2022 the worst of this turbulence would be behind her.

A gamble is still a gamble. Good odds are no reason for carelessness, for stupidity, or for hubris. May’s campaign displayed all three in abundance. One survey has shown that 57 percent of Labour voters swung behind the party in the last month before the vote, 26 percent in the final few days. To butcher a storied Sun headline: It was the campaign wot lost it.

Among many blunders there were two that stood out. The first was proposing changes to the rules governing state-funded “social care” (including plans for a predatory “dementia tax”) that were seen as an attack on the elderly (typically among the Conservatives’ most loyal supporters), especially those who had the effrontery to own their own homes and the desire to pass something on to their children, achievements and aspirations that once were at the core of Thatcherism. It was a gesture that might not have delighted those children either: According to one poll, 50 percent of 35- to 44-year-olds voted Labour, but only 30 percent for the Conservatives.

Throw in the suggested changes to a free schools meal program and, in just a few self-destructive paragraphs in a manifesto that was ill-conceived enough as it was, May had revived the legend — one of the most powerful in British politics — of the Tories as the “nasty party” (a phrase, ironically enough, that she had made famous).

Then there was the decision to base so much of the campaign on May. Say what you will about Stalin and Mao, mass murderers and all that, but they earned their personality cults. May, by contrast, had been prime minister for less than a year, and before that a home secretary (interior minister) whose time in office was notable primarily for its longevity and failures over immigration. What’s more, by becoming the centerpiece of her own campaign, May seemed to repudiate some of the qualities that Brits most appreciated about her — understatedness and, by politicians’ standards, self-effacement. Then, in a cruel paradox, she was brought low when those aspects of her character proved to be all too genuine. Awkward in the spotlight, she stalked from Potemkin event to Potemkin event, too grand or too unsure of herself (take your pick) for debate and serious questioning. Voters were offered the repetition of slogans (“strong and stable leadership”) and evasive sound bites that grew emptier and more embarrassing by the day. She was a more likable robot than Hillary Clinton, but one with even less vim.    

She also chose the wrong battleground, casting herself as the defender of the Brexit she had (tepidly) opposed, a battle that has already been won. (Most Britons now accept, if in many cases reluctantly, the referendum’s outcome.) And she did so not solely on the strength of her (much bragged-about but largely untested) negotiating skills, but also by promising that she would be going for a “hard Brexit.” That includes withdrawal from the “single market” in which Norway and other non–EU members happily participate, a promise that would not only prove economically expensive but also cost May dearly at the polls. Yes, the half-truth that “hard Brexit” would be hard on immigration delivered the Tories votes and some seats in working-class areas not previously known for their enthusiasm for May’s party, but the extra twist of the knife it applied to resentful Remainers in the south of England cost the Conservatives more.

With the Tories facing a Labour party led by Jeremy Corbyn, this was an election that needed to be about more than Brexit and May’s managerial skills. Corbyn, a man of the hard Left, an extremist ably backed by extremists rather brighter than he is, should have been confronted on his record and on his ideology. But despite some tabloid venom, Corbyn was treated by the Tories with disdain rather than subjected to the more forensic treatment that was called for. The result was that this courteous fanatic was able to get away with being repackaged as a genial old codger, progressive, pleasantly eccentric, and principled. The last, at least, was true, but those principles — atavistic, intolerant, and irreconcilable with respectable democratic practice — were never properly examined. To be sure, a good number of people liked what they saw of Corbyn’s program, but many were either beguiled by its mood music — “hope,” “fairness,” an end to “austerity” — or just used a vote for him as a vehicle to express annoyance with May and a more general resentment, sometimes justified (for example, real wage growth has been dismal for years), sometimes not.

That resentment is strongest among young voters, and it delivered them to Labour. Convinced that coffin-dodgers and boomers are robbing them of their future, whether by voting for Brexit or by imposing tuition charges for university or by driving up house prices beyond their reach, “generation rent” hit back, its choice of weapon — a vote for Labour — unaffected, willfully or otherwise, by any understanding of Corbyn’s past association with terrorism or, for that matter, of where his brand of socialism will lead, an ignorance reinforced by left-wing bias in the educational system and a convenient forgetfulness of what the 1970s were really like.

This rejection by the young means trouble for the Tories for a long time. But they have horrifying short-term problems to contend with too. Should May’s government fall any time soon, the momentum behind Labour is likely to sweep Corbyn into power. The most immediate threats revolve around Brexit and the search for a new Tory leader, two closely connected conundrums. Whatever she might think or hope, Theresa May is finished, and her party does not have much time to find a replacement. The idea that May would ever be able to negotiate a satisfactory “hard Brexit” was always, to put it mildly, unconvincing, but with the EU fully aware of her weakness, it’s now impossible. And there is no fallback. May has argued for a while now that “no deal is better than a bad deal,” a characteristically vacuous argument that sidesteps the distressing reality that “no deal” (which would mean trading under those WTO rules) is a bad deal, a very bad deal indeed.

A breakdown of the Brexit talks would create chaos in Parliament and trigger the election that would take Corbyn to Number 10. As mentioned above, May should, given the circumstances, try to suspend the negotiations for now, and there were signs over the weekend that the EU is expecting just that. Failing that, begin the talks, and do everything possible to keep them going. In the meantime, the Tories must pick a new leader, a process complicated by the small matter that, at the time of writing, the incumbent shows little sign of wanting to go. But assuming that she can be prevailed upon to accept the inevitable, there are a number of alternatives.    

Naturally there is talk that Boris Johnson (the former mayor of London and current foreign secretary) is “on maneuvers.” Naturally, he has denied it. But Johnson has been left badly tarnished — a joker turned into a knave — by his role in the Brexit campaign and the turmoil that followed it. He’d be unlikely to tempt errant Tory voters back into the fold, and as he appears to be loathed by much of the EU leadership, his chances of striking a decent Brexit deal would be minimal. David Davis, the tough and intelligent Brexit minister, would normally be someone to consider, but his bewildering failure to master his EU brief ought to rule him out — although it may not. In the last few days Davis has, intriguingly, edged — just a bit — away from hard Brexit. Ruth Davidson’s triumph in Scotland saved May on Election Day, but she still has plenty to do in her home country. She has also said that she’s not interested in the national leadership, for which she’s not, in any event, eligible (as she doesn’t sit in the British parliament). Davidson, who like most of her compatriots favored remaining in the EU, has now suggested that the Tories should consult with other parties on the shape that Brexit should take. Those other parties would probably run a mile, but in principle she’s not wrong.

If I were in a position to choose the next Conservative leader, I’d either skip a generation and opt for, say, a promising up-and-comer such as Priti Patel or — spoiler alert, crazy thoughts ahead — perhaps look for a Nixon to go to China. Ken Clarke may be 76, a euro-fundamentalist and a man on the Tory left, but he was an effective chancellor of the exchequer (finance minister), and he’s a well-liked figure both in the UK and, I would imagine, within the EU’s hierarchy. If Clarke could be persuaded to stand (unlikely) and to endorse a soft Brexit (maybe less unlikely), he — or if not him someone of similar views, such as Dominic Grieve (a former attorney general, respected in Parliament on both sides of the aisle and a holder of the Légion d’honneur, no less) — might be best placed to deliver the “soft Brexit” (of which the ‘Norway option” continues to be the best variant) that is the only realistic way for the country and the Tory party to get out of the current mess.

Even suggesting those last two individuals (however improbable it is that they would want the job) will shock euroskeptic readers, but whoever the new Conservative leader turns out to be, the reality of what lies ahead is clear. Corbyn or “soft Brexit”: Choose one.

Could Theresa May Actually Lose to This Guy?

The Weekly Standard, June 7, 2017

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When British Prime Minister Theresa May called a snap general election back in April (the vote will be held this Thursday) the governing Conservatives were seen as a shoo-in. They were roughly 20 points ahead in the polls, May was liked and the Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn—seen as dangerous, dimwitted, or both—was not.

That was then. It was to be expected that the gap between the two parties would narrow. It was not to be expected that the most notable feature in the Conservative Party's manifesto would be an idea—the now-deservedly notorious " dementia tax"—that for all intents and purposes took aim at people over the age of 65, a group that leans fairly heavily Tory and votes in large numbers. Coupled with a scheme to reduce spending on free school meals for young children, it did a lot to revive the caricature of the Tories as the "nasty party," a caricature that Brits are all too willing to believe.

May partially backtracked on the dementia tax. The retreat was not quite enough to reassure the nervous, but it was enough to undermine her already weakened reputation as a strong leader. (There had been a reversal over taxes some months before.) This was a harsh blow to a campaign which revolves to a remarkable degree around the person of May, who is a politician with neither the record nor the personality capable of sustaining a cult.

These Tory missteps were bad in themselves, but they also drew the public's attention away from where it belonged—on the extremism of a Labour leadership that at times (most notably—but not only— when it came to its association with Irish Republican terror) was strikingly at odds with much of Labour tradition. The result was that the election's inevitable tribal pull looks stronger than had been anticipated. Disaffected Labour voters appear to be returning to the fold, their ranks swollen by young voters, many of whom are either unaware, indifferent, or willfully ignorant of Corbyn's poisonous past.

In England, at least (Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland play by different rules) the political battle has returned to a traditional two party contest, Labour versus Conservative—of a sort not seen for some time. Earlier talk of a fragmented left now looks overdone. The center-left Liberal Democrats, (the standard-bearers of the E.U. cause) may be boosted by Tory defectors still pining for Brussels. But they are not luring over enough Labour Party voters appalled by their party's hard left turn to make a difference. Meanwhile the collapse of support for the euroskeptic UKIP, a party widely regarded as having fulfilled its purpose, is seeing its voters returning from whence they came. Those on UKIP's right are going back to the Conservatives, those on its left to Labour. Tory hopes of gains in the Midlands and the North were based partly on the expectation that many of those 'patriotic old Labour' voters (as UKIP liked to describe them) would be marching their way. That migration doesn't seem to be going as planned.

The sense, fed by the Tories' shrinking lead in the polls, is that momentum has been moving in Labour's direction. This has led John McDonnell, Corbyn's closest ally, to boast of "a subterranean shift" in the electorate's mood, much of it due, he argues, to younger voters. There was indeed an impressive last-minute surge in voter registrations among the under-25s, although their turnout (traditionally underwhelming) remains uncertain.

After Brexit, few are prepared to rule out how far subterranean shifts might go, and worried Conservatives will have noted that betting on the election is following the pattern witnessed ahead of the E.U. referendum. The amount being wagered is encouraging for the Tories, as it was for those who wanted to stick with Brussels, but the volume of bets (typically in much smaller amounts) favors Labour, just as it did Brexit. On the other hand, the well-chronicled phenomenon of " shy Tories" means that, despite pollsters' best efforts, the likely Conservative vote is probably being undercounted. Perhaps even more so in a year when many previously loyal Labour voters may be contemplating a switch to the old enemy, thanks to Corbyn.

And then there is the wild card introduced by the horrific terrorist mass-murders in Manchester and London. Will those killings rally voters around May, particularly given Corbyn's past artful equivocation on terrorist violence—not to mention his former opposition to the shoot-to-kill policy that allowed the police to deal with the London Bridge terrorists in only eight minutes? Or will May be blamed for the attacks taking place on her watch, a theme which Labour has played up by emphasizing the substantial cuts in police numbers presided over by May while she was Home secretary.

So who's going to win? That Labour has closed much of the initial gap seems beyond dispute, despite anecdotal evidence " on the doorstep" that the party's recovery has been overestimated. Beyond that, pollsters are divided, with some raising the possibility of a "hung" parliament in which the Tories would, at best, be able to struggle on as a minority government. Others suggest that the Conservatives will obtain a decent, even relatively comfortable majority. For my part, I can report that two Tory friends have told me that they have had nightmares about a Corbyn win. So there's that.

If I had to guess (full disclosure: I was wrong about Trump, Brexit and the UK's 2015 general election) May will secure an overall majority of 20 to 30 seats. That's more than David Cameron managed, but not enough to restore the damage done to her prestige by a badly bungled campaign. To achieve that, she would (and calculating this is not a precise science) need a majority of 80 or more. It's worth adding that the lower May's majority, the more difficult her already treacherous path to a Brexit that works will be, and if she fails to land an overall majority . . .

Which brings us to the possibility of a "coalition of chaos" created by Labour winning sufficient seats to form a government with the Scottish National Party (tacitly backed maybe by the Liberal Democrats and other minor parties). If that's the outcome, jump to one side as the pound plummets past you.

Voting will end at 10:00 p.m. London time (5:00 p.m. EST) after which the exit polls will be released. The first concrete result will be announced about an hour later, probably from Houghton and Sunderland South in the industrial northeast. Labour will retain this safe seat, but this is Brexit country (UKIP came in second here in 2015) and the numbers may give some useful clues as to where UKIP votes are going.

Two to three hours after that, the results will start to pile up. If May improves her position in the North and the Midlands, then she's well on her way to a comfortable victory. By 11:00 p.m. EST it ought to be pretty clear who will form the next government. If it's still up in the air at that point, that will be bad news for May.

Six-hundred and fifty parliamentary seats are being contested on Thursday. The Conservatives held 330 at the time the election was called. Of the other major parties, Labour held 229 and the SNP 54. To secure the sort of majority that would repair her reputation, May needs the Tory haul to be into the 360s. As for the coalition of chaos, if Labour's total goes much beyond 260, pour yourself a very stiff drink.


Wok star: On the cult of the Kibbo Kift

The English countryside in the mid-1920s, near Stonehenge perhaps, somewhere, ideally, with the afterglow of ancient strangeness about it: the first harbinger of the Kibbo Kift is the sound of distant music, the strumming of a lute, the singing of what White Fox, Kibbo Kift’s “Head Man,” John Hargrave, a compulsive manufacturer of hopefully evocative compound nouns, dubbed a waysong

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Meet Mr. Corbyn

National Review Online, June 1, 2017

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Two years ago, in a vivid reminder of why Mensheviks have a way of losing out, Jeremy Corbyn was handed the chance to run for the leadership of Britain’s Labour party by some soft-headed members of the soft Left. To be eligible, Corbyn needed to be nominated by 15 percent of Labour’s parliamentary party. That was a problem. Corbyn was far to the left of most of his fellow MPs and had made little effort to build bridges to those who failed to show the ideological purity he expected — and that was almost all of them. There was also the small matter of his appeal to the broader public, which was then considered — happy days — to be minimal. The necessary 35 nominations looked beyond reach, but growing grassroots pressure and some deft work on social media persuaded a handful of MPs to “lend” Corbyn their support by agreeing to nominate him. Their justification for doing so was that it would be healthy if the hard Left were allowed to play its part in the debate over the party’s future direction. Corbyn received 36 nominations, one more than he needed. Pandora’s ballot box was now primed. On September 12, 2015, Corbyn became Labour’s leader. If some recent polls are correct, he now has an outside possibility of becoming Britain’s prime minister after the general election set for June 8.      

Margaret Beckett, a former deputy leader of the Labour party, later described those MPs who “lent” their nominations to Corbyn as “morons.” She confessed that she had been one of them. She was right: They had thrown a lifeline to someone who, given the opportunity, will strangle them with it.

Brought up in a left-wing family that was reasonably well-off, Corbyn could easily be mistaken for one of those 1960s student radicals who breathed in whatever was in the campus air and never got over it. Sadly this — how to put it — less than academic individual (he left the equivalent of high school with two Grade ‘E’ A levels — ask a Brit what that means, and he or she will tell you once the laughter subsides) was only able to stick with “Trade Union Studies” at the Polytechnic of North London for a few months.

Never mind: Family tradition, the spirit of the times, and the peculiarities of Corbyn’s personality were enough to do the trick. Before long, he was a hardworking and effective member of his neighborhood Labour party, austere, consumed by politics, a union organizer, an activist on his way up, a true believer on the march. He eventually arrived in Westminster in 1983 as the MP for Islington North, a part of the city being gentrified by the educated, metropolitan Left; Corbyn’s radicalism played well there.

It was also a part of London that hosted a prominent Irish diaspora, something that may have reinforced Corbyn’s focus on the conflict in Northern Ireland as the “anti-imperialist” struggle closest to home. It may have been an era of terrorism and sectarian violence in the province and of bombings on the U.K.’s mainland, but support for the Republican cause (Troops Out and all that) was nothing out of the usual in the redder corners of the British Left. Nevertheless, a number of Corbyn’s associates took it further than most, and Corbyn then took it further still. It was Corbyn who invited two convicted IRA members (one of them convicted for explosives offenses) to the House of Commons (to discuss, it was said, prison conditions in Northern Ireland) shortly after the 1984 IRA bombing of the Grand Hotel in Brighton that killed or seriously injured a number of leading Tories, while narrowly missing its main target, Mrs. Thatcher. It was remarkably tactless of John McDonnell, a longstanding friend of Corbyn’s with intriguing connections to the IRA himself, to joke publicly in 2010 that he wished he could go back in time to the 1980s and “assassinate” Mrs. Thatcher. (McDonnell will be chancellor of the Exchequer if Corbyn wins.) He apologized for the quip, but in 2014 he “jokingly” returned to his earlier theme, saying that there had been “massive support for actually assassinating Margaret Thatcher.” McDonnell was Corbyn’s campaign manager in the Labour leadership contest.

Corbyn’s association with the IRA was more than a matter of one meeting in the House of Commons. For years, he had dealings with leaders of Sinn Fein, the party often labeled the “political wing” of the IRA — a distinction, despite denials, without much difference, at least at its highest ranks. In Comrade Corbyn, her excellent biography of Labour’s new leader, Rosa Prince describes the reaction of Kevin McNamara, Labour’s “shadow” Northern Ireland secretary (the party was in opposition at the time), and a supporter of Irish reunification himself, to Corbyn’s decision to invite Sinn Fein president Gerry Adams to speak to a meeting at the annual Labour-party conference in 1989. Speaking of Adams, McNamara said that, as far he was concerned, “there is no place for people who defend murderers at the Labour-party conference.”

And yet, years later, Margaret Beckett was prepared to “lend” her support to the man who thought that there was.

Corbyn now maintains that his actions helped pave the way for the peace process, an argument (Rosa Prince notes) dismissed by the Catholic Northern Irish writer Eilis O’Hanlon, a fierce critic of Sinn Fein:

When they [Corbyn, McDonnell, and the rest] were out defending the IRA . . . [they] didn’t know when, or if, that campaign would end. They still happily supported, or had an ambivalent attitude towards, Republican violence. They knew exactly what they were doing, and how their solidarity was used by the Republican movement to paint its murder campaign as part of some wider campaign for social justice.

To call them useful idiots is to be naïve.

To “lend” one of them a nominating vote was, yes, moronic, but something worse than that, too.

Fast-forward a few decades, and Britain is again facing a terrorist threat, this time from Islamic extremism. Corbyn’s response has been instructive. He condemned the Manchester bombing but didn’t neglect the opportunity to connect it to “wars our government has supported or fought in other countries,” a claim that might have had more force had it not come from someone who so frequently blames Britain or, more generally, the West, for the world’s evils.

On other occasions, he has just taken the other side. Thus Corbyn opposed the Falklands campaign as a “Tory plot,” the war to stop Serbia’s attack on (a touch ironically) Muslim Kosovars, and (naturally!) the invasion of Afghanistan after 9/11. (He was, however, pleased to write for the Communist — and pro-Soviet — Morning Star newspaper while the USSR was fighting in Afghanistan.) He was against the Iraq War, a respectable enough position, but not so much when coming from him.

The crisis over Ukraine showed that little had changed. Writing in the Morning Star (itself little changed) in 2014, Corbyn repeated Kremlin smears about the new “far right” Ukrainian government and described Moscow’s adventurism in Ukraine as “not unprovoked.” Three years later, Corbyn (no friend of NATO during the Cold War or now), argued that no more British troops should be sent to the Baltic States and, undermining notions of deterrence still further, refused to commit to the principle of collective defense enshrined in NATO’s Article 5 (a principle, while we’re talking about it, that President Trump should do more to affirm).

Long antagonistic to the United States, Corbyn seems to have a softer spot for Iran, using the 35th anniversary of that country’s Islamist revolution to call for an end to the ‘demonization’ of its regime.

Long antagonistic to the United States, Corbyn seems to have a softer spot for Iran, using the 35th anniversary of that country’s Islamist revolution to call for an end to the “demonization” of its regime by the West and for the immediate lifting of sanctions. (This was before Obama’s nuclear deal — such as it is.) It would be reassuring to think that the cash Corbyn received (up to £20,000) for appearances on Iran’s propagandist Press TV between 2009 and 2012 had helped shape those views, but unfortunately they appear all too sincere.

Under the circumstances, it is hardly surprising that he has also referred to Hamas and Hezbollah as “friends,” something he now says he regrets. He has also said that he regrets the remark he made to a parliamentary committee investigating anti-Semitism in the Labour party (it’s come to that): that Jews were “no more responsible for the actions of Israel” than Muslims were for the “various self-styled Islamic states or organizations.” Quite a few read that as an attempt to equate Israel (a nation for which Corbyn has — shall we say — scant affection) with ISIS. This, explained Corbyn, was a misinterpretation: “It would have been better . . . if I had said Islamic countries rather than states.”

It might also have been better had he not compared the U.S. with ISIS, but in 2014 (in other words before Labour MPs “lent” him those nominations) that’s what Corbyn did. In the course of one of his many interviews on RT (the rebranded Russia Today) he explained that what was needed was a “political compromise” with the Islamic State. Some of what ISIS has done was “quite appalling,” he conceded, but the same could be said of “some of what the Americans did in Fallujah and other places.” The following year, Corbyn told Press TV (them again) that the American “assassination” of bin Laden was a “tragedy”: There had been no real effort made, you see, to put Osama on trial.

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World

Meet Mr. Corbyn

By Andrew Stuttaford

June 1, 2017 8:00 AM






(Reuters photo: Darren Staples)

Friend to terrorists, thugs, and anti-American zealots from east to west

Two years ago, in a vivid reminder of why Mensheviks have a way of losing out, Jeremy Corbyn was handed the chance to run for the leadership of Britain’s Labour party by some soft-headed members of the soft Left. To be eligible, Corbyn needed to be nominated by 15 percent of Labour’s parliamentary party. That was a problem. Corbyn was far to the left of most of his fellow MPs and had made little effort to build bridges to those who failed to show the ideological purity he expected — and that was almost all of them. There was also the small matter of his appeal to the broader public, which was then considered — happy days — to be minimal. The necessary 35 nominations looked beyond reach, but growing grassroots pressure and some deft work on social media persuaded a handful of MPs to “lend” Corbyn their support by agreeing to nominate him. Their justification for doing so was that it would be healthy if the hard Left were allowed to play its part in the debate over the party’s future direction. Corbyn received 36 nominations, one more than he needed. Pandora’s ballot box was now primed. On September 12, 2015, Corbyn became Labour’s leader. If some recent polls are correct, he now has an outside possibility of becoming Britain’s prime minister after the general election set for June 8.

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Margaret Beckett, a former deputy leader of the Labour party, later described those MPs who “lent” their nominations to Corbyn as “morons.” She confessed that she had been one of them. She was right: They had thrown a lifeline to someone who, given the opportunity, will strangle them with it.

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Brought up in a left-wing family that was reasonably well-off, Corbyn could easily be mistaken for one of those 1960s student radicals who breathed in whatever was in the campus air and never got over it. Sadly this — how to put it — less than academic individual (he left the equivalent of high school with two Grade ‘E’ A levels — ask a Brit what that means, and he or she will tell you once the laughter subsides) was only able to stick with “Trade Union Studies” at the Polytechnic of North London for a few months.

Never mind: Family tradition, the spirit of the times, and the peculiarities of Corbyn’s personality were enough to do the trick. Before long, he was a hardworking and effective member of his neighborhood Labour party, austere, consumed by politics, a union organizer, an activist on his way up, a true believer on the march. He eventually arrived in Westminster in 1983 as the MP for Islington North, a part of the city being gentrified by the educated, metropolitan Left; Corbyn’s radicalism played well there.

It was also a part of London that hosted a prominent Irish diaspora, something that may have reinforced Corbyn’s focus on the conflict in Northern Ireland as the “anti-imperialist” struggle closest to home. It may have been an era of terrorism and sectarian violence in the province and of bombings on the U.K.’s mainland, but support for the Republican cause (Troops Out and all that) was nothing out of the usual in the redder corners of the British Left. Nevertheless, a number of Corbyn’s associates took it further than most, and Corbyn then took it further still. It was Corbyn who invited two convicted IRA members (one of them convicted for explosives offenses) to the House of Commons (to discuss, it was said, prison conditions in Northern Ireland) shortly after the 1984 IRA bombing of the Grand Hotel in Brighton that killed or seriously injured a number of leading Tories, while narrowly missing its main target, Mrs. Thatcher. It was remarkably tactless of John McDonnell, a longstanding friend of Corbyn’s with intriguing connections to the IRA himself, to joke publicly in 2010 that he wished he could go back in time to the 1980s and “assassinate” Mrs. Thatcher. (McDonnell will be chancellor of the Exchequer if Corbyn wins.) He apologized for the quip, but in 2014 he “jokingly” returned to his earlier theme, saying that there had been “massive support for actually assassinating Margaret Thatcher.” McDonnell was Corbyn’s campaign manager in the Labour leadership contest.

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Corbyn’s association with the IRA was more than a matter of one meeting in the House of Commons. For years, he had dealings with leaders of Sinn Fein, the party often labeled the “political wing” of the IRA — a distinction, despite denials, without much difference, at least at its highest ranks. In Comrade Corbyn, her excellent biography of Labour’s new leader, Rosa Prince describes the reaction of Kevin McNamara, Labour’s “shadow” Northern Ireland secretary (the party was in opposition at the time), and a supporter of Irish reunification himself, to Corbyn’s decision to invite Sinn Fein president Gerry Adams to speak to a meeting at the annual Labour-party conference in 1989. Speaking of Adams, McNamara said that, as far he was concerned, “there is no place for people who defend murderers at the Labour-party conference.”

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And yet, years later, Margaret Beckett was prepared to “lend” her support to the man who thought that there was.

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Corbyn now maintains that his actions helped pave the way for the peace process, an argument (Rosa Prince notes) dismissed by the Catholic Northern Irish writer Eilis O’Hanlon, a fierce critic of Sinn Fein:

When they [Corbyn, McDonnell, and the rest] were out defending the IRA . . . [they] didn’t know when, or if, that campaign would end. They still happily supported, or had an ambivalent attitude towards, Republican violence. They knew exactly what they were doing, and how their solidarity was used by the Republican movement to paint its murder campaign as part of some wider campaign for social justice.

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To call them useful idiots is to be naïve.

To “lend” one of them a nominating vote was, yes, moronic, but something worse than that, too.

Fast-forward a few decades, and Britain is again facing a terrorist threat, this time from Islamic extremism. Corbyn’s response has been instructive. He condemned the Manchester bombing but didn’t neglect the opportunity to connect it to “wars our government has supported or fought in other countries,” a claim that might have had more force had it not come from someone who so frequently blames Britain or, more generally, the West, for the world’s evils.

On other occasions, he has just taken the other side. Thus Corbyn opposed the Falklands campaign as a “Tory plot,” the war to stop Serbia’s attack on (a touch ironically) Muslim Kosovars, and (naturally!) the invasion of Afghanistan after 9/11. (He was, however, pleased to write for the Communist — and pro-Soviet — Morning Star newspaper while the USSR was fighting in Afghanistan.) He was against the Iraq War, a respectable enough position, but not so much when coming from him.

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The crisis over Ukraine showed that little had changed. Writing in the Morning Star (itself little changed) in 2014, Corbyn repeated Kremlin smears about the new “far right” Ukrainian government and described Moscow’s adventurism in Ukraine as “not unprovoked.” Three years later, Corbyn (no friend of NATO during the Cold War or now), argued that no more British troops should be sent to the Baltic States and, undermining notions of deterrence still further, refused to commit to the principle of collective defense enshrined in NATO’s Article 5 (a principle, while we’re talking about it, that President Trump should do more to affirm).

Long antagonistic to the United States, Corbyn seems to have a softer spot for Iran, using the 35th anniversary of that country’s Islamist revolution to call for an end to the ‘demonization’ of its regime.

Long antagonistic to the United States, Corbyn seems to have a softer spot for Iran, using the 35th anniversary of that country’s Islamist revolution to call for an end to the “demonization” of its regime by the West and for the immediate lifting of sanctions. (This was before Obama’s nuclear deal — such as it is.) It would be reassuring to think that the cash Corbyn received (up to £20,000) for appearances on Iran’s propagandist Press TV between 2009 and 2012 had helped shape those views, but unfortunately they appear all too sincere.    

Under the circumstances, it is hardly surprising that he has also referred to Hamas and Hezbollah as “friends,” something he now says he regrets. He has also said that he regrets the remark he made to a parliamentary committee investigating anti-Semitism in the Labour party (it’s come to that): that Jews were “no more responsible for the actions of Israel” than Muslims were for the “various self-styled Islamic states or organizations.” Quite a few read that as an attempt to equate Israel (a nation for which Corbyn has — shall we say — scant affection) with ISIS. This, explained Corbyn, was a misinterpretation: “It would have been better . . . if I had said Islamic countries rather than states.”

It might also have been better had he not compared the U.S. with ISIS, but in 2014 (in other words before Labour MPs “lent” him those nominations) that’s what Corbyn did. In the course of one of his many interviews on RT (the rebranded Russia Today) he explained that what was needed was a “political compromise” with the Islamic State. Some of what ISIS has done was “quite appalling,” he conceded, but the same could be said of “some of what the Americans did in Fallujah and other places.” The following year, Corbyn told Press TV (them again) that the American “assassination” of bin Laden was a “tragedy”: There had been no real effort made, you see, to put Osama on trial.   

Beyond Corbyn’s attraction to Islamism (a movement with far-from-Islington views on women, gays, and just about everything else) as an ideology that can be portrayed as “anti-imperialist,” there is also some old-fashioned political calculation at work. Britain has plenty of Muslim voters, and they tend to favor Labour. Corbyn’s foreign-policy positions may go too far for quite a number of them, but they still help lock in the idea of Labour as a pro-Muslim party.

There’s also something else. Looking back over Corbyn’s career, it’s difficult to miss the way that he appears to be drawn to the hard men, the killers and the thugs — the IRA, Castro (whom he called “a champion of social justice”), Chávez (“he made massive contributions to Venezuela & a very wide world”), Trotsky, or, indeed, Islamists. In person, Corbyn may be quiet, shy, and courteous, but there is steel there, too. (He split with his second wife over her insistence on an ideologically inappropriate selective school for their eldest child) as well as a whiff of sulfur, whether in his fan-boy enthusiasm for those hard men, or in choosing to surround himself with an entourage of inquisitors, enforcers, and commissars-in-waiting, not least the clever, sinister McDonnell and strategist Seamus Milne, a somewhat incongruous Stalinist among all the Trots.

Looking back over Corbyn’s career, it’s difficult to miss the way that he appears to be drawn to the hard men, the killers and the thugs — the IRA, Castro, Chavez, Trotsky, or, indeed, Islamists.

There is also the nastiness he clearly inspires in some of his followers. In Comrade Corbyn, Rosa Prince recounts the role that Corbyn played in edging out moderate Labour-party members in a constituency where he was active early in his career. Corbyn himself was “never confrontational,” but one of his contemporaries recalls that “he would be part of whipping up an atmosphere of hostility.” Three decades later, Prince explains how “the tendency for political discourse to turn ugly is writ large in Corbyn’s Labour party.” His social-media followers have shown themselves more than capable of bullying, sometimes purely political, sometimes including threats of physical violence, and, sometimes, when it comes to women at the wrong end of Corbynista wrath, disturbingly misogynistic. Prince adds that “some of those who have found themselves on the receiving end of such treatment feel Corbyn and his allies have failed to do enough to address it.” I am shocked, shocked to hear that intimidation might have been going on.

Labour’s manifesto promises tax-and-spend, heavy-handed intervention in the economy, some nationalization, and various other stupidities too depressing to mention. That’s all bad enough, but if Labour were to win and Corbyn and his team tightened their grip more, what follows would be much, much worse.

Hubris in the U.K.

The Weekly Standard, May 26, 2017

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Special advisers to political leaders need to get out more. Prime Minister Theresa May's decision to sneak what was quickly labeled a "dementia tax" into the Conservative party's general election manifesto (the British general election will be held on June 8) was reportedly heavily influenced by Nick Timothy, a Rasputin (with beard to match) in the court of a prime minister with few confidants. It was inserted into the manifesto at the last minute absent, reportedly, much consultation to speak of with those who would be actually facing the voters. That was a mistake.

Within days of the manifesto's release, one poll showed that the Tory lead had dropped by 5 percentage points to (a still immensely comfortable) 12 percent. This was almost certainly due, in no small part, to the dementia tax (or, to describe the culprit more politely, one of the new proposals for the funding of "social care").

Medical progress is uneven. Life­spans have been extended, but bodies and minds have struggled to keep up. There has been rapid growth in the number of the elderly who find it difficult or impossible to cope on their own, and there has been a corresponding growth in the expense of caring for them. In the U.K., government will pay for nursing-home care, but only after the person staying there is down to his or her last £23,250 in assets (roughly $30,000). If Methuselah is looked after in his own home, however (something that saves the state money), the value of his residence is not counted in that total: He gets to hang onto his house and pass it on to his heirs. Responding to the widespread perception that the system was too harsh, David Cameron's coalition government had earlier brought in reforms that included the introduction (delayed until 2020) of a porous and less than comprehensive "cap" of £72,000 on what anyone could be charged for social care.

May's idea was very different. Instead of a cap there would be a floor. To put it far too simply, the last £100,000 in assets would be shielded. Apart from that, there would be no limit on how much Methuselah could be asked to pay. Turning the screw still tighter, the old boy would no longer be doing his heirs much of a favor by staying on at home. Under May's rules, the value of the house could be used to defray the cost of his care, although (if he preferred) only after his death: Compassionate conservatism lives on.

People with Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia can be relatively physically fit, at least initially. They can live on for quite a while, and the bill for looking after them can rise accordingly: A lifetime (or lifetimes) of savings could thus be wiped out by bad luck or a bad gene. On the other hand, be fortunate enough to be killed off, say, by cancer or a kindly coronary, and the state will still pick up the tab. The thought that some diseases were to be rendered more equal than others obviously didn't worry May's team overmuch. And the prospect of draining wealth from the wealthier they considered a feature, not a bug. May intends to drag the Conservative party to the left. A further slice of redistribution would not come amiss.

To believe this was either good politics or good policy was nuts. Voting turnout among the over-65s (some three-quarters of whom are home-owners) is high, and, at the time the election was called, they strongly favored the Conservatives. Well, they did: The "dementia tax" (which could hit millions of people) has triggered some of their deepest anxieties about what lies ahead in what's left of their lives.

Mrs. May might not have much time for Mrs. Thatcher, but she would have done well to remember the Iron Lady's reluctance—fueled both by fear of punishment at the polls and of damage to the country—to do anything that could hurt "our people." Our people save, our people own their homes, our people want to pass something onto the next generation. These were qualities that Thatcher rightly believed were good for the social and economic health of the nation, qualities that, as she also understood, attracted such people, our people, to her version of Conservatism.

And our people have already paid a disproportionate amount of tax to fund a welfare state that, if May got her way, might stick them—at a time when they were essentially helpless—with another, possibly monstrous bill, a dying-too-slowly tax, lest the death tax itself (Britain's inheritance tax) was not enough to do the trick. The richest could, in all likelihood, weather the costs. As is so often the case with redistributive taxation, those who would be hurt the most would be the aspirational, the middling successful: Our people.

The private sector can do only so much to defray the costs of long-term home care. It would be a challenge for insurers to offer affordable coverage against a risk that is so unpredictable and, potentially, so large, even to the young. Those foolish enough to have entered middle age (let alone anything grayer) by now would have a vanishingly small chance of finding the insurance they might need. Risks of this type are best very widely pooled. In Britain that means either extra funding by the taxpayer or cutbacks in government spending elsewhere: Whatever some may claim, there are places to look for the latter.

The last time that May's government took aim at our people (by attempting to increase FICA-style charges on the self-employed), it had to back down. And despite dishonest denials in recent days of a U-turn, that looks to be how it will go with the dementia tax. There will be a cap, although, significantly and cynically, May has not yet said how high it will be.

That evasion may be one reason to suspect that the majority she seems on course to win will not be too big. Which may be for the best. May's opponent, Labour's far-left Jeremy Corbyn, cannot be trusted with any degree of power. But the dementia tax is a reminder that the over-promoted Theresa May cannot be trusted with too much.

Steve Bannon: Trump’s true believer

Rasputins are not easily done away with. Steve Bannon, for all the speculation, remains Donald Trump’s chief strategist, if perhaps not quite so much of a chief as he’d hoped. This clever, occasionally alarming chancer, is a nationalist and a populist with a willingness to shout the previously unthinkable.

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Macron’s Moment

National Review Online, April 24, 2017

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The news that Emmanuel Macron, the nice centrist candidate, was going to win the first round of France’s presidential election was greeted with undisguised delight by the European Union’s ruling elite. Jean-Claude Juncker, the president of the European Commission, is not meant to weigh in on elections that are still underway in EU member states, but rules are for little people. He was quick to pass on his congratulations and wish Macron well in the run-off against the National Front’s not-always-so-nice Marine Le Pen two weeks from now. Juncker’s ‘foreign minister,’ Federica Mogherini, gushed that seeing the EU and French flags fly at Macron’s victory celebration was “the hope and future of our generation.” Michel Barnier tweeted that, as a “patriot and European,” he was confident about Macron’s prospects on May 7, and added that “France must remain European.” What Barnier, the faintly sinister former European Commissioner and member of France’s defeated Republican party who will serve as Brussels’ chief negotiator in the Brexit negotiations, meant by “European” was that France must remain in the EU, something that Le Pen might well put in jeopardy. That’s what really mattered.     

Unemployment in France is approximately 10 percent, more than twice German levels. About a quarter of those between the ages of 16 and 25 are unemployed. French GDP growth has been sluggish for years, and government spending accounts for around 57 percent of GDP, compared with 44 percent in Germany.

Then there is terror: the Charlie Hebdo murders that began 2015, the massacre in Paris that ended it, the truck plowing into crowds celebrating Bastille Day in Nice last year, and, most recently, the shooting in the Champs-Élysées that left one policeman dead and two other people seriously wounded just days before Sunday’s vote. These attacks are part of a wider Islamist assault on the West, but they are also symptomatic of failings in the effort to integrate France’s large Muslim minority, failings with consequences that have done more than their bit to contribute to the growth of the hard right. In 2016, Patrick Calvar, the head of France’s General Directorate for Internal Security, told a parliamentary enquiry that he feared a “confrontation between the far right and the Muslim world.”

And Federica Mogherini is cheered up by some flags.

Observing the behavior of the Bourbons and their aristocratic entourage on their return to France after the fall of Napoleon, the French statesman Talleyrand is said to have remarked that the king and his entourage had “learned nothing and forgotten nothing.” For some reason that quip came to mind as I read those tweets and other celebratory commentary from, it seemed, every corner of Davosworld,

Looking at Emmanuel Macron, it’s not difficult to understand why. He is one of them — likable, clever, the son of a professor and a doctor, with degrees from the right places, impressive stints in both investment banking and government to his credit, and a fondness for the EU, free trade, and the politics of the Third Way or whatever the old Blairite snake oil is known as these days. As a Socialist minister of the economy, he put together the Loi Macron package of reforms in 2014 and 2015 as a modest — very modest, and it says something about French politics that they had to be forced through by decree — step in toward deregulation. At about the same time, he left the Socialist party, before quitting the government the following year amid speculation about the independent presidential run that duly came to be.

There’s another problem for the tale of populist retreat: Between Le Pen’s share of the first-round vote (roughly 21.5 percent) and that of Jean-Luc Mélenchon, left-wing maniac and standard-bearer of France Unbowed (about 19.5 percent), four out of ten first-round ballots were cast for champions of the hard right and left. At 23.9 percent, Macron came out ahead of both of them, but not that far ahead. As establishment triumphs go, this looks a touch thin, even more so after you remember that neither of the two main parties managed to get their man into the final round. Former prime minister François Fillon, of the center-right Republicans, had looked at one point to be a strong challenger, but his campaign was dragged down by scandal. He is under criminal investigation, as is his wife, so the fact that he still managed to reach nearly 20 percent of the vote gives a hint of what might have been. As for the official candidate of the Socialist Party, poor Benoît Hamon, he was eclipsed by Macron and left with barely more than 6 percent of the vote.    

So what now? Le Pen will press on, as candidates described as far right so often do, with a mix of policies from both ends of the political spectrum, a mix that has not harmed her blue-collar appeal. Her tough line on immigration and Islamic extremism is accompanied by a somewhat protectionist economic platform designed to appeal to those who have found themselves struggling to keep up. This blend runs through into Le Pen’s Euroskepticism, driven from the right by nationalism and from the left by her suspicion of the EU’s attachment to what is, by French standards, an over-fondness for the free market. Oh yes, she’d also pull France out of NATO.

When Macron (who has been endorsed by Fillon and Hamon, but not, interestingly, by Mélenchon, who has said he won’t be endorsing anybody) wins in the second round — and he will — the next hurdle he’ll face is the parliamentary elections in June. No one knows how his fledgling party, En Marche! (echoes of Jeb!) will fare, but assuming that coattails and a honeymoon work their magic, enough of his team may make it into the National Assembly to form the nucleus of some sort of centrist coalition. But putting that together is still likely to involve horse trading of a type that won’t make it easy to build even on the meager reformist achievements of the Loi Macron, let alone address the mess in which France — statist, sclerotic, and stuck with the Euro — now finds itself.

Away from the economy, Macron appears to believe that there is not that much that can be done about mass immigration (climate change is, he explains — of course he does — one of its causes). This is not something that appears to worry him much, and it’s not only National Front voters who will find his lack of concern off-putting. As for doing a better job of integrating France’s Muslim minority, it’s far from clear that Macron has anything new to offer. The same may hold true of terrorism. “This imponderable, this threat,” Macron explained after the Champs-Élysées shootings, “will be a fact of daily life in the coming years.”

France’s next presidential election isn’t until 2022, but Marine Le Pen — or someone like her — will be waiting, and that wait may not be in vain.

Underrated: Mike Pence

Standpoint, April 1, 2017

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If the stories are accurate, Donald Trump had last-minute doubts about Mike Pence, the governor of Indiana and the person he’d just chosen as his running mate. If so, those doubts said more about Trump than Pence. The Donald would probably have preferred someone from his comfort zone: maybe Newt Gingrich, an eccentric whose glory days were decades ago, or New Jersey governor Chris Christie, a star eclipsed by scandal. He knew them reasonably well and, more importantly, understood that their last best hope of political advancement rested with him. They would know their place.

But Pence looked dangerously like his own man, an outsider foisted on Trump to reassure traditional Republicans and to bring decorum and a credible political track record to a ticket desperately short of both. To be sure, Pence faced a tough re-election fight for the governorship (which in the end he would have probably won), but he had also served six terms in Congress and had been mentioned as a potential presidential candidate for years. He had no need to jump aboard a Trump train only uncertainly connected to the rails. Worse, Pence had endorsed Ted Cruz and reportedly loathed The Donald. The Indiana governor denied that he felt that way, but it was hard to imagine a meeting of minds between a self-described “Christian . . . conservative and . . . Republican, in that order” and a chancer of no fixed party married to Ivana, Marla and Melania, in that order.

The Pence pick was enthusiastically received by GOP loyalists, and, however appalled they were by his hardline social — and not just social — conservativism, even the party’s opponents seemed somewhat soothed by the thought that, in the not-going-to-happen event of a Trump win, at least one pro would be in the new president’s vicinity. If there was a consensus, it was that Pence was a touch dull. There were mutterings too that he was not the brightest. Some of the latter can be put down to the lazy assumptions often made about religious types from flyover country, but, yes, Pence was a C student at high school and, yes, getting into law school had been something of a struggle. The vice president was not, one former associate told me, someone to get too deeply into policy details, but this former talk radio host was “good at messaging”.

That has not always been as true as it might have been. After his second (unsuccessful) attempt to make it into Congress, Pence apologised for running a campaign so negative that it backfired (that was then). A quarter of a century later, there was that looming re-election fight for the governorship. It looked trickier than it should have been, thanks partly to a battle over legislation designed to protect “religious freedom” (but seen by its critics as allowing discrimination against gays). Pence had annoyed both sides, initially by signing the law, then by agreeing to water it down.

That was unusual: Pence’s determination to stick to his principles, even if it meant defying a Republican president, had served him well in Washington after he won election to Congress in 2000. Grasping all the “legs” — fiscal, social and hawkish — of what Ronald Reagan famously described as conservatism’s “three-legged stool”, it wasn’t too long before he was on his way up.  The hardening attitudes on the Right that accompanied the financial crisis (Pence voted against the TARP bailout) and Obama’s election did him no harm either. He became a Tea Party favourite, largely without alienating more mainstream colleagues — no mean achievement. Chatter about a bid for the White House grew louder, but Pence opted to take aim first at the governor’s mansion, a shrewd choice for an ambitious legislator looking for the executive experience that could, if the opportunity arose, bolster a run for the presidency.

Four years later, an unexpected and rather different opportunity presented itself. Pence — more flexible than his reputation suggested — took it. There are dignified rationalisations, of course (patriotic duty, saw something good in Trump) for that decision, but it looks a lot like a brilliant contrarian bet. It would have been made easier to take by the prospect of that re-election fight at home and the thought that, if Trump lost, there was always 2020 and, in the interim, lucrative gigs on the conservative media and lecture circuit — a stint as a Palin, but with gravitas and a future.

Now Pence is a heartbeat, a scandal, or even a tweet away from the presidency. Quite how power is distributed in the Trump administration is opaque, but Pence is clearly much more than a state funerals’ veep, cold-shouldered onto the sidelines. He is out and about too, an ambassador for the administration: to Congress say, or attending the Munich Security Conference in February. He is professional, respectable, calming — no Spiro Agnew he, and, for that matter, no Trump either — and yet, a wise fellow, demonstratively loyal to his boss.

And if in the depths of the night, thoughts that are not quite so loyal come into this still sometimes underrated man’s head, I’m sure they are banished without more ado.

Latin Lover

Daisy Dunn: Catullus’ Bedspread -The Life of Rome’s Most Erotic Poet

The New Criterion, February 1, 2017

Sandroyd School, August 1990 © Andrew Stuttaford

Sandroyd School, August 1990 © Andrew Stuttaford

It was, subversively enough, a Latin teacher who was the first to hint to us that the Romans were not quite the Englishmen-in-training that we had been led to believe. Eleven or twelve years old and enrolled in a Wiltshire boarding school that the 1960s were, most disappointingly, passing by, we’d been brought up on tales of heroic Horatius at the bridge, of steadfast Scaevola at the fire, of legions on the march, of a great empire, if not quite so great as the one on which the sun, until very recently, had never set. In a break from the usual fare—a maneuver by Caesar, more boredom from Livy—Mr. Chips (not his real name, and not his style either: he drove a Rover 2000, a surprisingly chic car for that time and place and, more thrillingly still, was rumored to be a member of London’s Playboy Club) introduced us to something, he said, that was a little different, a poem by one Gaius Valerius Catullus:

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus . . .

Crikey.

Catullus’s Poem 5, perhaps his most famous, is an ode to his love and an ode to the intoxication of love.

Just a little later, “Da mi basia mille”:

Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred.

Then another thousand, then a second hundred.

Then—don’t stop—another thousand, then a hundred . . .

The translation is by the British writer and classicist Daisy Dunn, the author of Catullus’ Bedspread. The book’s suggestive (if slightly deceptively so) title is given an extra boost by its sub, the promise that within its sheets readers will discover The Life of Rome’s Most Erotic Poet. Somewhere in the Elysian Fields Ovid raises an eyebrow. Somewhere at HarperCollins a clever mercenary chortles.

Ms. Dunn has set herself a tough task. “Of Catullus,” wrote Charles Stuttaford (my paternal grandfather’s cousin, since you ask) in his 1912 edition of the poet’s works, “we know very little.” Dunn agrees: “Practically everything that can be known about him must be extracted from his . . . poetry,” a technique, warned the American classicist Peter Green, that was “risky,” and “nowadays” (he was writing about a decade ago) has “the full weight of critical opinion against it,” although “there are signs of change in the air.”

I don’t know if critical opinion has lightened up since then, but when Dunn leaves off her occasionally clunky re-imagining of the poet’s daily life (“having wolfed down eggs and bread at some miserable inn”) and focuses her attention and considerable erudition on the barely over a hundred poems that survive—poems without title, put in sequence (most likely) long after their author’s death—to reconstruct Catullus’s biography, the man replaces the shade and the millennia dissolve.

Born into a wealthy family in Verona, then a part of Gaul (Cis, not Trans), Catullus, who died aged around thirty, in, probably, 53 B.C., spent much of his adult life amid Rome’s hipster priviligentsia. He was a prominent member of a circle of poets hacking away—somewhat subversively, griped Cicero—at the staid conventions governing poetry in that era. In a turbulent time in the history of the republic (complicated, but well described by Dunn), Catullus loitered on the fringes of politics, insulted the, ahem, “penetrated” Julius Caesar in Poem 57, briefly took a financially unrewarding government job in Bithynia, and mourned a lost brother. Crowning (albeit, in the end, with thorns) a busy sex life, there was his passionate, but doomed, affair with “Lesbia” (almost certainly Clodia Metelli, the wife of an aristocratic politician), a relationship—and its sour aftermath—he chronicled in some of his best-known poems. Metelli was, scolded Stuttaford, “a woman entirely without moral sense,” a description that may not have been entirely unfair, even by relaxed Roman standards.

Much of the delight in this book lies in the details—not all of them scandalous—of Roman life that Dunn provides: the recipe for garum, a “coveted” fish sauce that could also, it was said, “heal a crocodile bite;” the aristocrats plebbing down their accents two thousand years before Tony Blair’s glottal stops started; the appeal of nearly transparent Coan silk, “a favorite among the less virtuous.”

In Catullus, Dunn has a caustic and gossipy accomplice:

I was idling in the Forum when my friend Varus

Saw me and led me off to the home of his lover,

A little tart (as she immediately struck me),

Though not obviously inelegant or lacking in charm.

Yes, much of Poem 64, Catullus’s longest surviving and, to Dunn, “most accomplished” work, dwells on the old myths, myths of a type thought to be more proper fare for the verse of the time, but they were woven into the bedspread that inspired her book’s title. It was a mildly meta conceit (even if that bedspread belonged to one of the Argonauts), a nod, perhaps, to the interest that Catullus and his circle found in describing the everyday. Discussing Poem 27, Dunn tells how the Romans drank their wine watered down, something, she relates, that appalled Catullus the Gaul. Thus the sly anachronism in Dunn’s rendering (in her The Poems of Catullus: A New Translation) of the poem’s final lines:

And you, water, spoiler of wine, away from here

S’il vous plaît. Off you pop to the dour kind.

Here is Bacchus’ wine, neat.

S’il vous plaît.

Gauls talked in a different way too, Dunn writes, tending “to keep their mouths open more often than the Romans as they spoke, causing one word to leak into another like a loudly dripping tap. Gaping vowels gave rise to strange inflections and distinctive dialogue, which was exceedingly difficult to lose. And Catullus was not minded to do so. The sheer languidness of the elided vowel lent itself perfectly to love.”

Reviewer mops brow.

But Catullus was a more sophisticated poet than his naughty reputation might suggest, technically highly accomplished in ways that Dunn makes accessible to the layman, sometimes beautifully so: “[T]hese lines begin so abruptly—da, dein, deinde—it as if we hear them with Catullus’ quickening heartbeat.” He was an innovator, a writer about writing (in Poem 50 Catullus recalls “playing now with this metre and now with that”), the member of a literary set, a magpie, this from the street, that from the Greeks. Catullus’s Poem 51, in which he describes how he feels—not great—watching Clodia being watched by her husband, was inspired by a poem written by Sappho some six centuries before. It’s a reminder of the remarkable continuity of culture in the classical world, and it was a challenge of a sort. Catullus wanted his verse, he humblebragged in Poem 1, to “survive . . . for over a hundred years.”

And here we are.

But more recent generations have not always found it easy to deal with Catullus. His preference for the quotidian over the epic brought, as Dunn notes, “the corporeal and the earthy” in its wake. In Poem 32, he asks his sweet Ipsitilla, “meae deliciae,” to invite him round for “nine consecutive,” well, “fututiones,” the thought of which already excites him as he lies back after a good meal: “I poke through my tunic and cloak.”

Reviewer worries how his editor will deal with that.

To read Catullus is to be offered a glimpse of a sexual morality so alien to Christian tradition that generations of translators, particularly in the more Puritan corners of Christendom (not least those rainy islands inhabited, according to Poem 11, by horribiles uitro ultimosque Britannos), have tried to consign a good number of Catullus’s poems to the Memory Hole. When, in the preface to his Catullus: A Commentary, published by Oxford University Press in 1961, the Scottish classicist C. J. Fordyce admitted that he had omitted “a few poems [actually nearly thirty percent of the total] which do not lend themselves to comment in English,” he was just the latest in a long line of embarrassed Brits to do so. In the preface to his 1912 work, poor Charles Stuttaford stated that he had previously come under fire for annotating poems that some critics carped would have “been better to have left unexplained,” and, so, in 1912, that’s what he did. No less cautiously, some poems, including Poem 32, were included, but only in Latin: A reader able to translate fututiones (a word invented by Catullus) could cope with its shocking implications.

Stuttaford also did his best to haul Catullus back in the direction of respectability, in essence claiming that much of his poetry was, to borrow a fashionable phrase, no more than locker-room talk. Maybe. More plausibly, he argued that some of Catullus’s outrageous—and often outrageously entertaining—invective, including the notorious first two lines of Poem 16, was no more than “vulgar abuse” (to see just how vulgar, check out the 1990 translation by the British poet and classicist Guy Lee). What provoked them was the suggestion by two other poets that Catullus’s love poems were a touch effeminate. Catullus’s response was, as Dunn, delicately describing the indelicate, indicates, to assert “his masculinity once and for all.”

If that doesn’t make you turn to Mr. Lee, I don’t know what will.


Theresa May goes to Washington

The prospect of Theresa May’s arrival in the United States on Thursday failed to make much of an impression on the front pages of American newspapers. (That day’s Wall Street Journal did, however, find room for an article on “wily hotel thermostats.”) Undeterred, the prime minister started her visit by addressing a gathering of Congressional Republicans in Philadelphia.

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