Skyfall; or the Rise of the Sexist Misogynist Dinosaurs

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS*

(*Always wanted to use that phrase; makes me feel like Claudia Westermann or Jonathan Ross or a combination of the two.)

As a kid I hated James Bond movies. I’m not sure I could have said why exactly. The Bond of my day was Roger Moore, who always looked like he’d be happier sitting in front of the fire in a cardy with a steaming mug of cocoa. My loathing was less for the genial Moore and more for the Bond girls. They were simpering, willowy, passive and usually, at some point, dead.

So it was with considerable surprise that I found myself loving the New Bond of Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace. Obviously it had nothing whatsoever to do with the loveliness which is Daniel Craig; oh no. No shallow enjoyment of a Bond positioned for the female gaze here, I can tell you. No sirree.

(At this point I hope Michele will resist telling all and sundry how I put on lipstick before watching the film in case Daniel saw me. I admit that my grasp on reality isn’t all it could be. But I digress.) 

My newfound enjoyment had more to do with the way in which the female characters were fleshed out. Now we were presented with REAL women, and none more real than Judi Dench’s quite brilliant M. First appearing in Goldeneye where she berates Bond for being a ‘sexist, misogynist dinosaur’, she came into her own in the Craig films. Her M was a fiery, funny, highly competent woman who you wanted to see on screen as much as you wanted to see Bond.

So imagine my excitement in the run up to Skyfall.

There was, indeed, much that I enjoyed. The opening was thrilling, fast and furious. I liked Eve, the smart agent who has the misfortune to shoot Bond by mistake. I liked the way M and Bond were increasingly isolated in their attempt to combat shadowy threats while all the time battling their own ageing.

And then I started to feel uncomfortable.

That discomfort started with the death of Severine. A sex worker turned villain’s lover, her sadistic shooting acted as a reminder of the old-time trope that promiscuous women must be punished.  

But it was the ending that confirmed that sense that a retrenchment of an old gender politics was being mooted that I really hoped we’d seen the back of.

M dies.

It felt wrong for such a character not just to be killed off but in the process to be reduced to a frail mother killed by the villain who throughout had positioned himself as her son.

Mummy, it seems, had to die.     

That message was driven home in the final scene. Not only does mummy have to die, but so too does any strong female presence.

Eve - revealed as Miss Moneypenny – has decided that life in the field isn’t for her and has thus taken a safer desk job.

The new M is a middle aged man in a suit. (Hey! That's a surprise! Rarely come across those in professional life.) But in case we think he is just one more man in a long line of grey, mediocre bureaucrats, we have been assured during the film that there is more to Ralph Fiennes’ Mallory than meets the eye. 

As he passes Bond his next assignment, Mallory’s M does more than simply continue the story: his presence, and the final scene between two men, suggests that patriarchy, threatened by the rise of women, has been safely re-established.

Roll credits, lights up, and home we all can safely go to the 1950s certainties of who plays which role in the Game of Life.

You might say this is just a film. Just a bit of fun. Learn to stop worrying, girl, sit back and get on with ogling Daniel Craig.

I might be tempted to do just that if it weren’t for the way Skyfall connects to the current narrative of male competence and female irrelevance. 

Witness Wednesday’s Newsnight and its report of the GeneralPetraeus sex scandal. Reporter Mark Urban’s tone revealed that misogyny and sexism aren’t just rife in the movies. Urban described Petraeus as a “celebrated modern hero” who despite his strengths had been brought low because he was “open to the attractions of a driven young woman”. At no time was it suggested that Petraeus should take responsibility for the affair. All the blame and moral indignation was directed at the woman with whom he’d had this relationship.   

And if that double standard isn't enough to convince you, think about the discussion around two Top Jobs currently up for grabs: Governor of the Bank of England and the Director General of the BBC. No women on the shortlist for the former; while Chair of Governors Chris Patten’s exclusively male language when asked about the appointment suggests they will find ‘the right man for the job’ for the latter.

All this on the back of Cameron’s cabinet reshuffle; a reshuffle that reduced the already lamentable number of women in the cabinet still further and which left those women outnumbered by men by 5 to 1.

Why this rise in the kind of sexism and misogyny that Judi Dench’s M confidently claimed was a thing of the past?

We are living through a time of significant political change and during a period of change the desire to return to what is safe and secure can be overwhelming. As women become more aware of and more vocal about the injustices they face the pressure to find ways of keeping women in their place – be that in the home or as support staff for men - will become ever stronger.

I can only hope that in reasserting a patriarchal Bond director Sam Mendes meant to offer a critique of the kind of conservatism that is rife in the institutions of Cameron’s Britain.

I guess we’ll have to just wait and see which reading is correct when Bond, as he always does, returns.  

'Where Are All the Women?'

There’s a question, and I suspect some sceptical male readers will be inclined to say ‘everywhere.’

Well, in the case of Michele and I, last week we were to be found heading for London and a couple of events which focused on the representation – or lack of it – of women in the public world.

The day started with a loud and joyous event that showed that even as a serious a matter as the continuing marginalisation of women from public life is not necessarily something that must be accompanied by frowns and grimaces. This was UK Feminista’s Lobby of Parliament.

It began with a march and a classic piece of agitprop. Led by a group of women dressed as suffragettes and carrying placards proclaiming the suffragette slogan, ‘Deeds not Words’, we descended on Parliament Square. 

I like agitprop. For a start, it’s a word that isn’t used enough. It's also how I like to aggrandise the French and Saunders alter-egos that Michele and I adopt when taking part in protests of various kinds. (Though I suspect this is, sadly, that we simply look like a couple of their characters, not that we actively need to pretend to be like them in order to make a political point.)

Never has a time called for as much agitprop as you can lay your hands on. 

We are living in a society that is desperate for a better future, just as the government seeks to turn the clocks back, implementing policies that are disproportionately affecting women's lives for the worse. And note the absence of women from those decisions. If in doubt, remember that recent cabinet reshuffle. Cam’s desperate attempt to find someone competent in the Coalition who might be brought into the cabinet had the added downside of leaving the UK even further down the international  table for gender equality in political representation.

Having agitpropped (if that isn’t a real word, it should be), we lobbied. 

Lobbying was an interesting experience. We had no idea how you did this but we do now. Lobbying involves queuing outside parliament, being let in, seeking out a bloke in morning suit and dicky bow for a green card with which to call your MP down to the lobby ('lobbying', 'lobby', geddit?) to see you.

It then involves waiting. 

And waiting.

As we waited with Rhiannon – she of murderous intent when armed with a balloon (see previous blog for details) -, we noted the number of grey-suited serious men, some old, some young, some of indeterminate years. All serious; all, frankly, a bit self-important. All, we suspected, a bit mediocre.

We also saw the lovely Grahame Morris MP who for a long time seemed to be the only person speaking out in the House in defence of the NHS.

Grahame aside, you didn’t feel there were loads of talented men about. There were very few women. And looking at the men pontificating and posing, you couldn’t help wondering about the excuse that to implement quotas to bring about gender balance would only bring too many mediocre women into parliament.

Really?

Well, when there are as many mediocre women in parliament and our other institutions as there are mediocre men, then the work of equality will have been done.

But it is important not to think only about adding a few more middle class and white women to the parliamentary mix.

In the evening, we went to a British Academy discussion which asked simply ‘Where are all the women?’ An obvious answer to that question would be to say they are over-represented in low paid work, where they are also to be found working long hours or doing two or more jobs.

The danger of the British Academy discussion was that it tended to focus on the glass ceiling, and thus on women in the professions. Important topics, sure, but the danger of shaping a debate around this issue is that the fight for women’s equality becomes about the furtherance of well-off women not the fight for a more equal society for all. And if we are interested in a feminism that creates that kind of society we need to address the Elephant in the Room: economic inequality and the kind of system that requires so many people – often women – to work long hours for low pay.

It was an invigorating day. We were buzzing with ideas for future action as we sat on the bus heading for home. There’s much to be done, but there is also a sense of ground shifting. The UK Feminista Lobby was blissfully made up not just of old birds like us and the veterans of other campaigns that we met there.

There were also much younger women than us, angry about the attack on their lives and their bodies that are coming from sources as diverse as Jeremy Hunt and George Galloway. But if they were angry they were also confident that they could create a better future.

And that truly is the hope and the work of the activist – with or without agitprop. 

The Friendly Face of Socialism

I have learnt many things during the last two and a half years of adventures in Labour activism.

One of those things is that if I find myself listening to Farming Today on a Saturday morning, I am probably about to go on a march against the coalition’s austerity plans.

And so it was yesterday morning, as Michele, Juliet and I boarded the Education Activist Bus to head for London to join the TUC’s March for a Future that Works.

What compensates for bleary eyes and the desire to be under the duvet is the sheer enjoyment and opportunities for laughs that these events bring with them.

Arriving early, we had breakfast at the Royal Festival Hall, and, as we killed time in the RFH’s shop, I found a Miffy. I have always wanted one of these toys of total cuteness if indeterminate gender. As this one was about an inch high, he/she slotted easily into my rucksack and seemed more than ready for a day of marching and shouting.

Now, if a cuddly toy even gets that austerity isn’t working, why doesn’t George Osborne?

As we waited for the march at Trafalgar Square, Michele and Juliet showed their talent for adapting Songs from the Shows to the cause of the Labour Movement. It was powerful stuff, and surprisingly effective. Not only did their rendition of Streisand’s ‘Don’t Let It Rain On My Parade’ bring a tear to the eye (and read that whatever way you like), it also kept the rain off perfectly.

As we marched towards Hyde Park, we met some lovely women, including Maddie from Stroud, who’d come with her friends to protest against the privatisation of the NHS. They were kind enough not to laugh at our crudely personalised placards (Beyonce lyrics adapted to a chant; insightful political rhetoric; and, of course, a starring role for Miffy).

We also met up with Rhiannon, a Labour Left comrade. When I say ‘met’ what I really mean is she announced her presence by hitting me over the head with a UCU balloon. Violence on a protest march: don’t tell the Daily Mail.

All of this very human and very friendly activity is what I mean by solidarity.  

It’s this kind of warmth that I want in my politics. It’s this kind of friendliness that informs by understanding of socialism.

I don’t want a socialism that reflects the joylessness of the lefties who booed Ed Miliband at the rally in Hyde Park. What was Ed’s crime? Being honest that there would be cuts under a Labour government, but – and it’s an important but – with the proviso that any cuts made would be done in a way that targeted the better off. 

Too many politicos are – let’s be honest – rather detached from the day-to-day concerns of people’s lives. Academic discussions of politics, such as that by the earnest young men on the coach home, hotly debating the significance of historical materialism, probably leave most people cold. They do me. I’m more concerned with the practical politics of how to build a society where job security, fair pay, good health services and schools where all children can flourish are available for all. I don’t think you need an understanding of Das Kapital to work for those ends.

I also don’t think your politics have to be stiff to reflect its seriousness. As I sat having a drink at the end of the day, watching Miffy get squiffy (I tell you, that rabbit likes a tipple), I realised not for the first time that a politics fit for the challenges of the 21^st century has to have humour and compassion at its heart. It has to be like that if we are going to get more people involved in it.

Our politics has to become more attractive to all, not just the few. 

Miffy as a model for activism. Now there's a thought.

Putting the Party into Party: An Alternative View of Labour Conference 2012

Having just finished writing blogs for the Huffington Post, Labour Rose and the Oxford Labour Party websites that deal with the important issues of the Labour Party conference in Manchester, this entry is significantly less serious and more about the Joy of Politics.

This is something that I think we forget at our peril.

One of the things that stopped me becoming active in the Labour Party sooner was that I thought it would be a dull experience, dominated by slightly musty men sitting in damp committee rooms, discussing composite motions and the intricacies of policy. (In fairness, there is some truth in those fears, but now I tend to enjoy the old-worldly charm of such visions when they happen.)

More often than not, however, I have found the Labour Party to be a warm and welcoming place, and have had more fun than I ever had shouting at the TV in the days before I discovered the Joy of Politics.

And this conference was no exception.

As my local rag, the Oxford Mail pointed out this week in their column ‘Corridors of Power’ – me? power? have they gone mad? – I was extremely excited to be there.

And that excitement started early.

I drove my fellow delegate Michele out of her wits on the train to Manchester. When she started ignoring my demands to be entertained, I used the wonder of technology, tweeting her every 30 seconds or so with the pressing question, ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

Once we got there, I was even more excited to find that our delegate seats were two rows from the front. This afforded the excitement of contact not just with key figures from the Shadow Cabinet, and of witnessing Ed Miliband change the political landscape with his barnstorming speech, but also with people like Alaistair Campbell and Ed Miliband’s school teacher.

It also meant that Michele and I were afforded plenty of opportunities to reprise our important roles of cheer leaders for the party. Our days as French and Saunders-style extras, hovering ineptly in the background, were eclipsed with starring roles on the BBC Parliament channel.

Seeing yourself on a giant TV also had another important function: I realised that I had reached the age at which powder to one’s nose is now a necessity. No more ‘Shiny Happy People’ for me, oh no!

The Labour movement is about all its members as Ed’s theme of One Nation made crystal clear.

But for fangirls like me, meeting one’s political heroes is a real bonus of the serious business of discussing policy and shaping the future direction of the party that happens at conference.

And I did extremely well on that front this year.

I met and kissed John Prescott.

I hugged Neil Kinnock.

I finally met properly the quite wonderful Frances O’Grady, the new General Secretary of the TUC who told me that she should have worn her ‘Berserkers with Bosoms Hate Con-Dems Cuts’ t-shirt.

I also shared a platform with Tom Watson on ‘Ethics and Public Life’ for the wonderful Labour Left fringe. (Though here I am showing what a generous soul I am by providing a picture of Michele with The Great Man.)

And the Labour Left people revealed yet again the warmth of so many of the people I’ve met since becoming more than just a Labour voter. We shared drinks, we laughed at our inability to understand what a tweet-up is (I still don’t know to be honest), and we generally had fun in each other’s company.

We have been encouraged over the last 30 years to think that politics is not for us, only for the weird, spoddy few. We have been encouraged to detach from the political process and as a result have allowed others to take charge of our lives. We have felt isolated and powerless.

I have found in party politics a home that has brought me new, lovely friends (Kate, Mags, Eoin, Val, Deb, Mike, Harry, Justin, Helen, Anne-Marie, Ed, Michelle to name but a few) as well as a sense that things can be changed if we only get involved and give voice to our concerns.

If you find yourself shouting at the telly more than is good for you, why not give politics a go?

After all, it’s down to all of us to change the way politics is done in this country. It isn’t some weird activity separate from life. It’s about how we live together. And at the very least I think that means recognising that it can be human and humane, and above all good fun.

So let’s put the party back into party, for just as we should be passionate about our politics, so we can also rediscover the joy that happens when we come together and attempt to make our country a better place to live.

On Not Meeting David Miliband

Two months after the local elections, I’d nearly forgotten the excitement of a rainy election day.

Picture the scene.

The day started with a surprisingly sunny morning for this wash out of a British summer.

It was quickly followed by a torrential downpour just about the time that Michele and I headed off to help get out the vote for a local bi-election.

Looking like two smurfs long-since abandoned by Father Abraham, we arrived at Campaign Headquarters to be met by the news that David Miliband was popping in shortly.

‘Ooo exciting!’ we thought.  

I’m not a great one for celebrities, but ‘She Liked Meeting Labour Politicians’ would probably be an apt if somewhat bland epitaph. Over the last two years I’ve met Ed Balls,

Tom Watson,

and questioned Ed Miliband about future policy. 

If I met David, I calculated, this might well mean that I could shout ‘house’.

While I like meeting Labour luminaries, hanging around waiting for them to arrive has never been a favourite occupation. So as Michele isn’t one to hang around either – she does, after all, drive a Morris Minor – we thought we’d pop out for a quick 20 minutes door knocking.

Some hilarity was to be had there. A man opened the door with a tee-towel, telling me that he wasn’t having his tea but ‘polishing his balls’ – golf balls to be precise. Much ‘Carry On’ style laughter ensued. Say what you like about the British, we enjoy the double entendre. It almost made up for the drenching that accompanied it.

As we splashed from house-to-house, losing that Labour Lefty Lady chic that I like to think is our hallmark, Michele took delivery of a postal vote in need of safe passage to the polling station.

Surely there was time for this before DM’s arrival?

Of course not.

We got back in time to be told he’d just been and gone.

Oh well. Such is the luck of the Labour Activist. Compensating for the absence of David Miliband was the stalwart of our local office, Justin. Justin is great: he works tirelessly and is always somehow smiling. We engaged in some comradely banter. He’s a member of Progress (as he puts it, 'working to get Labour elected'), while I’m a member of Labour Left (as I put it, 'working for a socialist future'). What unites us, though, is more than what divides us when it comes to thinking about future Labour policies. We are both part of this great thing called the Labour Movement, both committed to working for a fairer society: even if that means getting soaking wet in the process.   

The result more than made up for yet another pair of ruined shoes. Gill Sanders, the Labour candidate, won, with a 65% share of the vote. Not even the British summer can spoil that.

Thursday 3 May: Election Day

It's been a pretty amazing few months. Lots of door knocking, talking to people, getting out and about, and doing battle with the dreaded draft excluder letter boxes that shred your knuckles as soon as look at you.

Finally Judgement Day arrived. May 3rd. Election Day.

It started early: and not auspiciously. In heavy drizzle worthy of a special affect from Lord of the Rings, Michele and I started leafleting at 5am, along with three other hardy volunteers. I ‘entertained’ Michele (I use the word loosely) with appropriate songs adapted to the occasion: It’s Raining Votes (hallelujah); Five Minutes (Stranglers obviously a must on such an important day); Break on Through; and She Does It Right (though perhaps Dr Feelgood should have been renamed Dr Feeldamp in light of the rubbish weather).

Two and a half hours - and two additional jumpers later -breakfast on the Cowley Road.

The hopes of a quiet hour or two in a darkened room were destroyed by the Human Dynamo that is Harry our Organiser who had us getting out the vote from 10am. Harry is relentlessly cheery and quite, quite brilliant. He is also a sadist with no time for the infirmities or whining of candidates (or at least me). Good for him!

As we tramped the streets, Peter discovered new places he’d never realised existed. We found houses with so many posters from so many different parties that it was difficult to see any glass at all.

By mid afternoon, the temperature was rising – psychologically rather than literally on what felt like November not May. Up and down the hills of St Clements. (I never realised Oxford was so hilly till starting this campaigning lark.) Amounts of exercise I’ve not seen in years were compensated for by eating gloriously calorie packed donuts (thanks, Kate, for supplying the food of champions!).

Into the evening.

The arrival of Labour Legends to help out – Oscar, Justin, Ray, Colin, Scott, Ed. The energy of running round the ward. The delight of discovering the number of red heads who are also Reds.

And then the tranquillity of a last walk round the streets of St Clements as the polls closed with my long suffering hubby.

We arrived at the Town Hall at 11.15. The energy in the room was like nothing I’ve experienced. So much excitement. So many friends to say hello to. The dawning realisation that I might, actually, have won. (I say ‘dawning realisation’ - Kate my counting agent kept walking past and squeezing my arm which I assumed was a positive signal. Of course, she might just have been drawing attention to the new flab on my arms from eating all those donuts.)

And then the result.

Wow! Shocked, overwhelmed, excited. Becoming a councillor rather than a candidate. I'm not sure the media interviews were encouraging for the electorate as I burbled on like Gwynneth Paltrow on a bad day.

And now the real work begins. It is a humbling experience to be elected and I hope I can repay the trust that people have shown in me.

I’m definitely going to do my very, very best.

Campaigning and Ethical Socialism

It’s nearly five months since I was selected to stand as the Labour candidate for St Clements. A lot of doors have been knocked on and constituents spoken to since then. This blog has been somewhat neglected, though I am now writing with the wonderful Mags Waterhouse for the HuffingtonPost on issues to do with Labour politics and the challenges ahead.

I love the campaigning aspect of activism. It’s good to talk to people, to find out their views and I feel much more connected with my local community as a result.

There have been some real highlights.

A visit from Tom Watson was amazing, especially as he was extremely nice, funny and supportive: a fine example of the kind of authenticity that we need in our politics.

There have also been some funny moments: most recently, helping a chap move his sofa during a very chilly doorstep session. (It could only have been topped in the chap in question had been a certain David Cameron being moved out of Downing Street. Well, a girl can dream.)

But amidst all this activity it can be easy to lose sight of why you want to campaign for Labour in the first place, and this Saturday was a good reminder of the principles that underpin all that campaigning.

One of the best things about my political life is being a member of Labour Left. A grassroots Labour group, it campaigns for policies that will bring about a more equal society. On Saturday, we had our first open meeting for the tour to celebrate our Red Book which was published in November. Co-hosted by our local Labour Women's Group, it was an opportunity to discuss some of the ideas in the Red Book with three of the authors: Sophie Bryce, Rhiannon Lockley and myself. It was a reminder about why socialism is something of real relevance to today.

Below is a copy of my talk, based on my chapter in the Red Book. As I gave it, it reminded me again of why I am a socialist and a member of the Labour Party. It also reminded me (if I ever really doubted it) of why I think Labour is best suited to representing the needs of local communities. The meeting took place on a very snowy day but was really well attended by intrepid souls who braved the cold to talk about socialism today.

As we race towards May’s local elections, it’s given me the encouragement I need.

“Ethical Socialism

Labour Left describes itself as ‘the home of ethical socialism’, and I want to kick us off this afternoon by talking about what I think this means and why I think it forms the basis for a contemporary form of socialism that is relevant for today.

First, though, we have to accept that the very word ‘socialism’ is far from popular in the British context. Sure, the response to it here is not as bad as the kind that it gets in the States but it’s not far off. 

Why is that the case?

I think there’s a particular conception of what socialism involves that makes sense of that rejection. There is a widespread assumption in the English speaking world that socialism is something grim, joyless, bureaucratic and soul destroying. George Orwell’s description in 1984 of the affect totalitarian regimes have on the individual could just as well sum up the image many have of socialism:

“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.”

Under socialism - the argument goes - human individuality and creativity will inevitably be crushed. This conclusion comes from a particular understanding of what the commitment to a more equal society involves. Emphasising ‘equality’ is often read as meaning that the goal is to make everyone the same. In order to achieve this goal, there will be an inevitable levelling down  and – so the argument goes – everything will inevitably become bland, lacking life and vigour. If we think about some of the petty rules that used to control council house tenancies, we can see why some might stereotype socialism in this way.

And if socialism is not being viewed as something brutal and life-denying, then it is often pictured as the naïve response of the sixth former or student politician. I’ve lost count of the number of TV debates about the crisis of capitalism that start by saying, ‘of course, no one is seriously looking at socialism as an alternative’. ‘Of course.’ Socialism when not viewed as something brutal and inhuman, is seen as impractical and irrelevant.

In response to these common characterisations, I want to argue that there is a socialist approach that is well suited to addressing the problems we currently face.

The form of socialism I want to advocate is found in the early writings of the Labour movement. Locating it in that history does not mean that it is out of date. Far from it, for it is a vision of socialism that speaks well to the contemporary context. And it is particularly relevant because it takes seriously the creativity of the individual, while always understanding the individual as located in society. 

This is ethical socialism, but we could just as well describe it as socialism with a human face. 

This vision of socialism is found in the very first use of the word. It first appears in 1827, used by the visionary social reformer Robert Owen in his Co-operative magazine. For Owen, a socialist was ‘someone who co-operates with others for the common good.’

‘Someone who co-operates with others for the common good.’

Immediately, we get an image of the socialist as someone acting in their community with other people in order to create a better kind of community for all. It is an ethical vision of what socialism involves because it focuses on the quality of human relationships. It is about working together to achieve a goal. And that goal is the good community.

It’s the idea of action that’s vitally important here. The socialist is someone who takes their belief in a common humanity, a shared society, and lives it out in their day to day life and relationships.

It’s this grounded idea of the socialist that is extremely promising for new left politics. It’s promising, because it connects us to the co-operative movement, and in an age when even the right is talking again about society and co-operation this has got to be a good thing. We are not kicking against the pricks. There is a shared concern with how to think again about society.

But it also helps us to start from where we are. And this means confronting our society’s promotion of the individual.

We have lived through an era that has glorified the powers and choices of the individual. We might call this with social commentators the Age of Neo-Liberalism. For the neo-liberal, individuals are – in the words of the late Labour leader John Smith -  “decision making units, concerned exclusively with their self-interest, making transactions in the marketplace”.  The individual pursues their own ends, wants to make their own choices and is, importantly, defined as a consumer. This vision of the individual was enshrined in the New Right politics of Thatcher and Reagan and continued - albeit in modified form - under New Labour.

The financial crisis has revealed the paucity of this model of the individual as consumer. But as we race to point this out, we should be wary of failing to recognise the continuing attraction of individualism.

We all long for lives that are full and fulfilling. At its best, that is what the promotion of the individual advocates. The kind of socialism we need today is one that starts from where we are – with a society that emphasises the individual – and that moves on to show how the flourishing of individuals is best achieved when the social dimension of being human is recognised. 

We are not without resources to help with this task.

We might start with philosophy – though as someone who makes a living from philosophy, I would say that! According to Aristotle, writing many centuries ago, humans are best understood as ‘social animals’. We are not units existing in isolation from others. And if we are to flourish, we need good, strong relationships and strong communities.

If we don’t like philosophy, we might look to social science. Recent research by the New Economics Foundation found that feeling good about your life doesn’t only come about through achieving your personal goals. Feeling good also comes from knowing yourself to be a part of a wider community. Over emphasising ‘the individual’ while ignoring the social dimension of human beings ignores the fact that we need each other to live well.

The clue to socialism’s relevance is, then, in its name – social-ism.

And if we start to think again about the kind of society that allows for human flourishing, we must deal with the affects of economic inequality. For too long the growing gap between rich and poor has been ignored. It seems a fairly obvious point to make, but in order for people to flourish, their material needs must first have been met.

But I think our arguments for the redistribution of wealth have to go beyond that. In an individualistic society, we have to show that a more equal society is better for all, not just for the poor or the worse off.  And if you are in any doubt that this can be done, read Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett’s brilliant book The Spirit Level. As they show, in a more equal society, there is less crime, less stress, less mental illness for all, not just for the less well-off members of society. All feel better in a society that is not divided between haves and have-nots; that is more integrated and more united. 

These principles, this kind of socialism, form the basis for an agenda for the future.

But we are not in power.

That does not mean, however, that we are powerless. Far from it. Ethical socialism emphasises the basis of socialism in ordinary action. Each of us can act in our daily lives in such a way as to prepare the ground for the kind of socialist society that we hope for. We can act now to create a better society through co-operating with others, through acting in our local communities. This does not mean political campaigning necessarily (though obviously as a Labour candidate I’d like as many of us out door knocking as possible!). In the smallest of transactions with others, we can act justly, showing everyone the respect that all human beings deserve. In our daily lives we can build the basis for the socialist society we wish to create. All have something to offer. All have the potential to contribute to building that better society.  

This is socialism with a human face, and that is where we can start to build a credible socialist vision for the future.”