[It’s difficult to disentangle Labour from my sense of self.
Grew up in Stockport, looks a bit like Macaulay Culkin,
bad dress sense … the Labour party always seemed
to fit in there somewhere.
My great-grandfather, a railwayman who had
his wages docked in the General Strike nearly
a century ago, was a Labour councillor.
So was my grandmother;
her proudest achievement was
stopping a family being evicted by
a private landlord over Christmas.
My parents met at an open-air Labour
meeting outside Tooting Bec in the
1960s (romantic).
My mother bought me a Labour membership
as a 15th birthday present.
Under every Labour leader in my 21 years of adult life,
I’ve plumped for the party’s candidates at local,
national and European level, and campaigned
for them to boot.
And yet, after a uniquely calamitous
14-year stretch of Tory rule, just as Labour looks
set to reconquer No 10 by a landslide,
I’ve just emailed the party cancelling my membership.
My committed critics will understandably
seek to link the two: Labour has shed its
aversion to electability, and off sulks
Home Alone’s patron saint of unelectable ideas.]
https://www.theguardian.com/commenti...rship-policies
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