AuthenticM
Member
From Vice
Right from the beginning of his leadership, the Corbynite project was held by all the sensible and stolid political experts to be an impossibility. As the first opinion polls thudded down in late 2015, they sifted through the numbers and declared in the dead voice of reason that we had all made a terrible mistake. Labour was well behind where it was in 2010 after Miliband's leadership win; the only way it could avoid a catastrophic defeat in the next election would be through a surge unprecedented in recent British political history. Corbyn's strategy winning back non-voters and energising young people with a positive programme and by offering them something tangible rather than branding and empty phrases was universally derided. Everyone knew that young people simply didn't vote; everyone knew that once someone stopped engaging with electoral politics they were gone forever. The only way Labour could ever do well was by aping the Tories, offering a gimpy miniature version of all their callousness and idiocy to an essentially Tory public, drawing the bounds of political discourse closer and closer into a stifling little hole, without hope, without ideology, where truth and common sense would squelch about in misery.
Last night, we got a surge unprecedented in recent British political history. Last night, we saw huge numbers of young people voting for the first time, and voting for Labour. Last night, we saw innumerable masses who had given up on politics for decades coming back, because they had something to believe in.
The gleeful anti-Corbyn Cassandras were wrong deafeningly, magnificently wrong because they thought that politics was first of all about numbers, rather than people: a dead Newtonian science, the calculation of inert bodies. Something as bitter and determined and ironic as the last-minute hope of the believers had no way to enter their computations. The local party offices besieged every day by hundreds of people willing to knock on doors and hand out leaflets and do anything to help had no way of entering the model. Neither did the kindly mums making phone calls, or the huge crowds turning up for rallies, or the kids putting memes together on MS Paint. This was all just enthusiasm, a disease of the die-hard, an ephemeral wash that would break against the brute solidity of political fact. It wasn't real. And they weren't entirely wrong: it wasn't real; all that enthusiasm was just swirling potential, until the election was called and it poured through the sky to take on concrete form.
The Tories ran a campaign that was not about people; it was about inevitability. Instead of offering anything, they issued a command to the electorate: this is how the polls and the numbers say that things are going to be, make it happen. Theresa May refused to debate, because what was the point? It'd only drag her down to the level of her doomed competitors. They didn't really try to win, because there was no need; the press would take care of it all and tell their readers exactly what to do. At a time when millions of people were desperate for a positive change, they ran on the promise of a lifeless eternity, in which every day would be just like the last but with the nights longer, the grass yellowing, the sun dimming, because that's just the way things are. It was the biggest act of self-sabotage in British political history.
Jeremy Corbyn is not Prime Minister not yet, at least. But the world has shown itself to have its own kind of irony. After weeks of screeching about coalitions of chaos and links to Irish terrorism, the Tories are now propping themselves up with the help of the DUP, a gang of noxious and fanatical homophobes, with links to murderous far-right paramilitaries. They're weaker than ever; a few by-elections could overturn their majority in months. And none of this would have been possible without Jeremy Corbyn.