Archive for the ‘nick clegg’ tag
I speak not of Gordon Brown’s parting shot in the 2010 election – his pledge to resign to facilitate a deal between the Liberal Democrats and Labour – but of the extraordinary reaction by the Tory press to the news today.
If Brown thought he had endured the worst the assembled frothing, tweeded, spluttering, luv-a-duck rent-a-mob of assembled gobshites and nutcases had to throw at him, he was wrong.
Throughout the last couple of weeks, and through various twists and turns, one thing has become clear. The assembled weight of the media has been thrown well and truly behind Cameron and the Tories to almost unimaginable proportions.
The Tory press today suggested that no less than a coup was being perpetrated right under the noses of British subjects, and appears to be calling for its own in return.
What else to make of the claims that Brown is perpetuating a ‘sordid’ coup; or that Clegg has behaved ‘treacherously’?
Yesterday, says the Mail, was a ‘squalid day for democracy’. Inside, Richard Littlejohn railed against ‘nothing less than an attempted coup’, a ‘cynical putsch’ and a ‘naked power grab’.
He went on to state that Brown might as well have ‘ordered the tanks to roll down Whitehall and train their guns on the meeting of the Parliamentary Conservative Party’.
If he pulls off a Lib-Lab coalition, ‘democracy as we have known it in Britain will be shattered – possibly beyond repair’.
Astonishingly, Littlejohn even dares to have a pop at the ‘desperate Labour propaganda sheets’, while taking a pot-shot at the ‘the State broadcaster, the BBC’ for broadcasting lies about the Conservative party, the true hallmark of all swivel-eyed columnists.
To my mind, all of this goes well beyond anything the Tory press has managed before. The sheer brass neck, the hypocrisy, and the deliberate ignorance of parliamentary process. The right-wing press seems to have lost its grasp of the facts at hand.
The electoral system that they all back has produced a hung parliament, the mess that is responsible for all this back-room chicanery, but they want to keep it. (Note to Kay Burley: People did not ‘vote for a hung parliament’).
Brown, constitutionally, has the first right to try and form government, but allowed Clegg and Cameron to have the first shot at it, despite the resulting power vacuum.
The Conservative Party did not win the election. Combined, the Labour-Lib Dem share of the vote dwarfs the Tory share of the vote. Combined, Lib-Lab seats would eclipse Tory seats.
British politics in the 20th century is littered with unelected Prime Ministers, mostly Tory, as would be the case under a new Labour leader in a progressive coalition.
This is how hung parliaments work, this is how our electoral system works, this is how the constitution works. This is how politics works.
I’m personally dubious that a Lib-Lab coalition is the right result to come out of this election, but I’m not clear on what is the right result. No-one, to my mind, has a mandate. There is no victor.
But a Lib-Lab coalition would be perfectly constitutional and perfectly reasonable. It would be no more of a coup than a minority Tory government or a Lib-Con coalition, which is to say that it would be none at all.
The irony is, in complaining about Brown’s final act constituting nothing more than a ‘coup’- with all the talk about ‘treachery’ and ‘sordid’ politicking – the right-wing press appears to be calling for nothing less itself.
In a more fractious political, social or economic landscape, the language and tone deployed by tabloid editors and columnists across London screaming for Brown’s head could be explosive – and horribly irresponsible.
As it is, despite all the promises that the markets would not tolerate a hung parliament and that people would be burned to death on the streets, subsequently proved to be baseless, the press just looks like a spoiled child denied its way.
Brown may be affording himself a smile.
Inside Downing Street, Gordon Brown broke off a piece of Milky Bar and chewed on it thoughtfully.
Fiddling with a pair of cuff-links gifted to him by Bill Bailey, the psychologically-complex PM growled as he looked at a ticker tape displaying the latest headlines.
Surrounded by his trusted lieutenants – Peter Mandelson, Alistair Campbell, Neil Kinnock, David Tennant and his loving wife Sarah – he leant back in his chair and barked an order.
“Get that cunt on the phone.”
The Labour coterie looked at one another askance. Was the genitalia in question Clegg or Cameron?
Cautiously approaching the bellicose son of a Scottish preacher, and still nursing wounds from repeated Brown-inflicted knife wounds, decked out in organic maroon cotton socks, Lord Mandelson pressed Brown for a clarification.
“Not those fucking cunts!” bellowed Brown, hurling a photocopier at a nearby teasmaid. “THE Cunt! Tony!”
Pouring a cup of organic, fairtrade green tea in his small Westminster office, Nick Clegg looked around at the unassuming, crowded room and mused on the path that brought his party to its greatest moment in decades.
Paddy said he had ‘made him proud’. Menzies Campbell had talked at length of the constitutional mechanisms that the Tories and Liberal Democrats now needed to negotiate. Charles Kennedy – always the Belch to Campbell’s Malvolio – was uncontactable, thought to be filming a political chat show pilot for Dave.
He asked his three trusted inner circle what he should do next. Huhne had been cautious, Laws had been more optimistic. Cable had talked about the ‘trust deficit’.
He could be kingmaker for a day, but at what cost? A lifetime in the political wilderness, with a Liberal Democrat party split down the middle between the Rainbows and the Orange Bookers? Daniel Radcliffe looked on nervously.
Clegg opened a tin of Fox’s biscuits, a gift from Shirley Williams, selected a double chocolate melt and announced his decision.
Lounging on a yacht belonging to Pete Waterman, two miles off the coast of Cannes, Anthony Charles Lynton Blair poured an iced Orangina into a glass gifted to him by Ban Ki-Moon, opened a copy of Heat magazine, and frowned.
His cell phone was playing a chirpy rendition of a popular track by rock band Dire Straits, the track that signalled that his long-time enemy and sometime brother-in-arms needed him.
Blair – who had been in a rock band known as The Ugly Rumours, and constantly frustrated that his project had almost been derailed by Brown, always the Macbeth to his Banquo – sighed and answered the iPhone, a gift from the Beckhams, with a flick of the thumb.
Washing his hands in a small toilet in Admiralty House, David Cameron gazed out of window across St James’ Park.
Over the past 48 hours he had slept little, nibbling on Brannigans’ roasted peanuts and snatching brief moments to watch In The Night Garden with his young family. He thought back to his time at Oxford, running amok in the dormitories with his fellow Bullingdon members, young turks in the corridors of future power. Now for the reality.
His trusted advisers – the so-called Blue Tongue Brigade; George Osborne, Oliver Letwin and Michael Caine – sat downstairs, munching on chicken satay and star fruit.
Hague, sipping Volvic mineral water, had counselled caution. Coulson, aggressively chewing on a Mars Bar, had urged him to ‘smash the fucking bastards’. Grayling, picking dirt from underneath his fingernails, had mumbled something about Gary Neville. Clarke, known for his love of jazz, had merely smoked Lucky Strike cigarettes and stared at his brown suede brogues.
Straightening his blue tie, a gift from Margaret Thatcher, he moisturised his forehead with his wife’s Oil of Olay, a gift from Carol Vorderman, and cleared his throat.
He opened the door and began his walk downstairs to meet Clegg, whom Cameron regarded as an low-class oik, for the final time. From the small, unassuming toilet – Royal Doulton – towards destiny.
• Extract from Underneath the Hung Parliament by Andrew Rawnsley, as told to Robin Brown
There’s been something awful about this election, beyond the stuff that’s usually awful about elections.
Alongside how utterly hopeless the media at large have been in actually reporting the issues – as opposed to some things David Cameron has said, some suits Nick Clegg has worn and some mistakes Gordon Brown has made – there’s been the most naked display of vested interests for nearly 20 years.
The likes of The Mail and The Express adopt frothingly bigoted political lines because it’s what helps them sell papers, and it reflects the unpleasant ideologies of their respective owners.
The Torygraph backs the Conservatives because it’s read mainly by retired Brigadiers who remember the Boer War. The Star… well, who gives a flying one what the Star thinks eh?
As for The Sun and The Times, well, they back whoever proprietor Rupert Murdoch tells them to back, based on various deals with whichever party he reckons will win the election and deliver the goods.
This time around it’s barely even a secret that Murdoch, or rather his son James, wants to open a new front against the BBC, and has promised David Cameron his backing in exchange for crippling the Beeb.
The Sun always makes a big deal of wanting to look like its support is the deciding factor in an election campaign, but in reality Murdoch backs whoever he calculates is most likely to win.
In years gone by, back to 1997 and throughout the 80s, this was fairly easy to predict. The only recent blip was 1992, where the Sun pulled out all of the stops to virtually suggest that Neil Kinnock was insane.
‘It’s The Sun Wot Won It,’ gloated the Scum, so we know who to thanks for the following five years of the dross from John Major’s crumbling government.
’92 is an election regularly debated by students of psephology – a smart word for voting behaviour – because all the polls suggested that Labour would win. Could it have been the rabidly hostile Tory press than won it for Major? Tough to say, but I’ve never been in doubt as to the potential power of the media in politics.
One need only look at the last 18 months of absolute slating Gordon Brown – like Major, a decent man – has endured from the Sun, Mail and Telegraph; the results of which are that most people in the country now despise him without actually knowing why.
Anyway, 2010 should provide another clue as to the power of the media in elections because, having backed Cameron, the Murdoch press now faces the possibility of their man not actually winning. What will that do for the Sun’s habit of picking a winner? Or Murdoch’s latest ambitions?
The palpable desperation emanating from the front pages of the Sun recently has been almost pitiful, culminating in today’s risible front cover where Simon F’in Cowell appears to give his support to Cameron.
Delve inside the paper (if you can bear to) and you’ll find article after article telling us how much Sun readers love Cameron, and how a hung parliament will mean that Britain will fall into a volcano. Except, that’s not what Sun readers voting in polls on the online version have been saying.
Malcolm Coles has shown as much with some number-crunching on Sun polls, which show that its readers believe that Clegg won the third debate; Sun readers aren’t fussed about a hung parliament; and that a poll apparently showing Mums to be swinging behind Cameron shows nothing of the sort.
The Sun has gone into Cameron overdrive, barely stopping short of suggesting that WebCameron’s cock is bigger than Brown’s and Clegg’s put together, and offering a kind of non-stop tabloid blowjob to the Photoshopped Tory leader.
The rise of Clegg has also sent shivers down the spine at News International, so a full-scale assault was subsequently launched on the Lib Dems.
Unlike the US, where Fox News is basically a propaganda arm for the lunatic US right wing, the UK broadcast media is bound by strict rules of impartiality. Bad news for Murdoch Junior, who wants to extend Sky into a kind of Death Star of the media.
But this election campaign has brought the first whispers that Sky’s news coverage has not appeared to be quite as straight down the line as it should. And David Cameron has appeared to suggest that broadcasting regulations may need an overhaul. What can it all mean?
People have told me that Murdoch Senior is actually fairly left-of-centre, as far as his personal politics are concerned. What’s more he’s fairly friendly with Brown, and hit it off big style with Tony.
But Murdoch doesn’t let politics get in the way of business, and having been persuaded by son James to back Cameron, has had to throw the combined News International weight behind Cameron and the Tories.
What will happen? For the first time since 1992 I have no idea, as far as the election goes. As for the press, it’s been fascinating to see the Sun frantically attempting to shore up its man, knowing that its reputation is at stake. Indeed, the FT suggests that the Sun’s backing for Cameron has had the opposite effect.
A defeat for Cameron may mean that the rise of multimedia and the web has neutered the power of the papers in this regard, and with it the power of print media barons.
A win could open up a new front in partisan media, via Sky News and the humbling of the BBC, because Murdoch’s help won’t come without strings. Then, maybe, it won’t be the Sun wot wins it in the future, but the Sky.
I’ve watched all of the coverage in this general election through my fingers, as the whole thing is beyond cringe-worthy.
I mean this in several ways: David Cameron’s smug face; the media annihilation of Brown; the ghastly media commentators; the desperation of the Murdoch press in making sure their man gets in; and the self-congratulatory tone of the whole thing when the media thinks it’s done something clever like catching Brown out in an off-guarded moment today where he referred to a woman as ‘bigoted’.
It’s changed the whole tone and focus of the election into even more of a menagerie than it has been previously, with the pantomime of the TV debates and the absurd merry-go-round of opinion polls and predictions and tiresome echo chamber chatter that generates heat and no light whatsoever.
In an election campaign where there’s a crippling deficit caused by a near-depression hanging over the whole business, the dominating impressions will all be Brown’s gaffe, Clegg’s ascension and celebrity endorsements.
Today has been taken up with a million tedious Twitter updates tagged with #bigotgate; multi-spectral analysis of the audio clip from Brown’s car; political correspondents’ boring takes; shit advice from PRs and crisis management wonks trying desperately to sound like they have something important to say; and pompous, nay patronising, pieces on the great unwashed of the North.
The truth is, what Gillian Duffy had to say about immigrants was ill-informed and could be judged as bigoted. Another truth is, Brown made an off-the-cuff remark in the privacy of his car. Who’d’ve thunk? Politicians, like real people, say one thing in public and another in private.
A silly thing to say then, but one which will be a defining moment of the election campaign – if we believe what the media are telling us. This is not news; it’s what the TV, papers and websites are telling us is news. I expect we’ll hear all sort of things about how this was the moment the election exploded into life now, but that’s really total bollocks.
It’s the moment the story of election has exploded into life, because the three main political parties have been playing a relatively straight bat and talking about boring things like National Insurance. The media has had little to get its teeth into, and the Murdoch media has been ignoring the Lib Dems completely.
A hung parliament has been a hard sell from the point of view of a news editor, a political correspondent or a pundit. But it doesn’t really get any better than Brown attacking an old woman, with a side serving of immigration angst.
What opinion polls should be asking people in the UK at the moment is not ‘who will you vote for?’ or ‘Will Gordon Brown be the death of us all?’ or ‘Do you like Nick Clegg’s wife?’ – it should be ‘Have you really got the first fucking idea about politics?’
Because from where I’m standing this is the stupidest election I can remember. And when you look at the blank faces; the mumbling about immigration or the need for ‘change’; the despicable ‘Broken Britain’ refrain; or the witless scorn of poor, hapless Gordon Brown for his awkwardness and gaffes, don’t blame the people. Don’t even blame the politicians. Blame the media.
We’ll always have Murdoch and his papers that swing behind whoever has thrown the old tyrant a juicier bone; we’ll always have vested interests and ideologues and iconoclasts urging us to swing one way or the other.
The real culprit is the media as a whole, an entity that has lost sight of any idea of how to report politics without some kind of populist framing device; how to inform and educate without trying to entertain; how to report politics, fundamentally.
Watching this campaign has been like watching some sort of Chris Morris work of art. 15 years after The Day Today we finally have rolling news telling us absolutely fuck all, the silly graphics and the news networks setting their own empty agendas.
It’s politics repackaged as a ghastly reality TV show, never mind for the MTV generation, this is for the BBC3 and E4 and Sky One generation. It’s the election where the news just gave up and went to watch Glee, safe in the knowledge that people aren’t really that interested in deficits anyway.
Bill Clinton had a popular slogan in the 1992 Presidential election, designed to keep the issues forefront in the minds of voters; “Its the economy, stupid!”
2010? It’s the stupid, stupid.
After the rollercoaster thrill ride of three men disagreeing with each other and an off-camera man occasionally shouting, I’ve compiled this exhaustive list of newspaper and website coverage taking place both during the debate and over the next 24 hours.
• Debate clearly won by Gordon Brown, David Cameron or Nick Clegg
• Tiresome analysis of clothes worn by three candidates
• Article on Richard Nixon / JFK Presidential debate
• Infographic making inexplicable use of shapes in three primary colours
• Daily Mail picture of Gordon Brown looking sweaty
• Analysis of various ‘blunders’ by three party leaders
• Composite images of three leaders with mouths open
• Tiresome ‘Have Your Say’ section with numbingly tedious and/or ill-informed user-generated content
• Hopelessly unfunny sketch by Simon Hoggart/Rod Liddle/Amanda Platell
• Shit Sun mock-up of Gordon Brown looking like Compo from Last of the Summer Wine
• Dull profile of Alistair Stewart
• Live blog from short-straw reporter in pub in Hartlepool
• Millions of links to Twitter feeds churning out pointless quotes
• C4 blog by Jon Snow’s tie on what Brown, Cameron and Clegg were drinking backstage
• Swing-o-meter-style mock-up based on how many times each man says ‘change’.
• Live panel quizzed throughout debate consisting of white-van driving racist, muesli-eating hippie and boring middle-aged woman
• Plaintive whinge from Alex Salmond, live from reactor building in Dounreay
Now with added Clegg!
It’s a week later, and I deliberately spent the night cycling, editing photos and watching cricket. Anything really to avoid the dreaded leader’s debate and the ensuing media volcanic ash torrent of drivel. If you did too, here’s what you missed.
• Lots of articles and reports about end of two-party hegemony
• Right-wing press fall in line to paint Clegg as nutter/shirker/gay/gyppo/foreigner-loving liberal who is, quite possibly, a maniac
• Some of the broadcast media inexplicably start reporting rumours they’ve heard about Nick Clegg from hostile briefings
• Someone from Keane backs Nick Clegg
• Lib Dem supporters wonder how much further ahead they’d be with Charles Kennedy
• DPS Observer interview with Vince Cable called ‘The man who would be King’, trailed with front page lead headlined ‘Cable to bring City to heel’
• Marina Hyde writes shit sketch about how she fancies Vince Cable. Called The Cable Guy.
• Sue Malone writes poisonous article about Miriam González Durántez’s wardrobe
• Scratchy radio interview with Paddy Ashdown, saying how great Clegg is, and what a bastard Tony Blair is
• The Sun mocks up a shit photo of Nick Clegg heading down a hill in a tin bath.