The Party of the Grafters

Sketch for Progress | http://bit.ly/ktSXaO

From the TV studios and newspaper offices came forth the commentariat, not to praise but to bury him. From the social enterprises of south London (and perhaps from 39,Victoria Street) came forth the activists, rooting for the reverse.

People from the top and people from the bottom came to hear a man from the middle talk about all three. Ed Miliband did not come for praise or burial, but to staple some prime cuts of political flesh to the brittler bones of his policy programme. To articulate where he’s taking Labour. And to remind everyone who read a Sunday newspaper that he isn’t David Milliband, or Gordon Brown. And certainly not Ed Balls.

As at all such events, the speaking politician’s first responsibility is to ensure the waiting journalists could slake their thirst in a fountain of knackered clichés. They didn’t have to wait long; Ed’s speech was a rousing paean for the unsung heroes. A 14-hour night shift for hard working families. A kick in the pants for those who don‘t play by the rules. A bash for the bad bankers, but a boost for the better ones. Good people were thanked for what they do. Greedy executives were named and shamed. Responsibilities and rights refused to part company. And all over the country, those who cherish English cried out in pain.

Then from nowhere, a super line. A line which tied the speech together. A line which reconciled the New with the Blue. A line, at last, for both the newsmen and for the viewers. Labour, we heard, must be the ‘party of the grafters’. It was the sort of thing Tony Blair used to say, and really mean. And it’s the sort of thing that Ed Miliband should mean and really say.

He left soon after, not buried, but (sparingly) praised. The hacks went home with a headline under each arm. The activists felt warm inside. And even Dan Hodges liked it.

Ed’s weekend had been bad. But after a good morning’s graft, things were looking up.

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