Unrepresentative Democracy

The argument that Westminster party leadership contests should be limited to MPs, which was very much en vogue during the last decade, seems to have taken a holiday faced with the unedifying spectacle of Tory hopefuls competing to see who can come up with the most extravagant proposals on tax cuts and public sector austerity. To note that this places them well to the right not only of the population at large but even of the Conservative Party membership obviously calls into question the claim that MPs are representative, let alone that they consider the good of the whole nation. As the candidates commence the first online hustings with the membership, the tone of debate has shifted perceptibly from the performative to the pragmatic, with much talk of "realism" and "restoring trust". There is a topsy-turvy air to all this, at least in comparison with the framing of Labour leadership contests, in which the more sensible members are expected to moderate the flights of fancy of the parliamentary party. Of course this is just a trick of perspective: the Conservative membership, like the PLP, simply being closer in sympathy to our predominantly centre-right media.

The Conservative Party selection process places a premium on appealing to the Parliamentary party first. Whereas you could once argue that it was largely representative of conservative sentiment in the country, this has become less so as first economic and then nationalist zealots have routinely succeeded in becoming parliamentary candidates ahead of the traditional cohorts of liberal-conservative professionals and reactionary gentry. As a result, there is now a conscious acceptance that MPs must make different appeals to the two constituencies: one to their colleagures, focused on the material interests of the rich and notions of sovereignty; and another to the membership, employing the traditional imagery of national strength, economic competence and social authoritarianism. The problem is that the cost-of-living crisis is intruding into the consciousness of even staunch party members, with the result that the tensions between the two have become ever more apparent, hence perhaps the prominence of claims of tax avoidance in the negative briefing. The attempt to reconcile this through a focus on the "culture wars", notably around trans rights, has come to naught, essentially because these are issues with little resonance beyond newspapers.

But that attempt is still notable because it emphasises that the membership hustings play a poor second to the Telegraph, Times and Mail when it comes to the formation of party opinion. In other words, your route to the top in the Conservative Party now requires cleaving to a particular brand of zealotry that will garner both the support of a committed core of colleagues and the backing of the Tory newspapers. For Boris Johnson, this was his late conversion to the cause of Brexit as policy rather than just a lazy way to fill column inches. For the current field the expression of zeal comes down to renewed austerity to control public debt (Sunak) or urgent tax cuts (pretty much everyone else), neither of which make sense in terms of the demands of the moment (teetering on the edge of recession) or offer a credible strategy beyond the next general election. Despite this incoherence and the general air of hysteria, the media has shied clear of suggesting the Tories have run out of ideas and road, preferring to dwell on the bickering instead.

In contrast, the Labour hustings remain far more politically significant. This isn't simply because of the party's more democratic approach to policy formation. It also reflects the (justified) belief that the media are biased against the party generally and the left in particular. Consequently, there is little to be gained by winning over the Guardian and Mirror. This can produce upsets, such as Corbyn's election in 2015, but it can also lead to strategic lying, as in Starmer's now infamous campaign of 2020, though it's also worth recalling the gap between Blair's promises before 1997 and his "realism" thereafter. The purge of the Labour membership over the last two and a half years is not simply about kicking out the left, it also serves to bring the membership more in line with the party apparat sociologically: more middle managers committed to fiscal responsibility. It's a commonplace to note that the social background of MPs has narrowed across all parties in recent decades, and that candidates are increasingly drawn from the narrow world of politics itself, with little in the way of an "ordinary" hinterland, but this has been particularly acute in the case of the party of the people. 

The traditional excuse for the empowerment of the PLP - that it had to appeal past an unrealistic membership to the wider electorate - looks increasingly unconvincing as it deliberately diverges from actual Labour voters in both style and substance. The turn to appealing directly to Tory supporters, even when dressed up as winning back ex-Labour voters in the Red Wall, is less of an electoral strategy than a way of articulating the PLP's own preference for what are essentially conservative policies. Ironically, it is now finding itself to the right of much of the Conservative Party membership, notably on topics such as utility nationalisation and the need for wealth taxes. Having re-engineered the Labour membership more to its liking, the party leadership is now attempting to re-engineer the electorate, neglecting its support among the young, trade unionists and ethnic minorities in favour of elderly reactionaries who it believes will be the decisive bloc at the next general election. 

In other words, both of the major parties in Parliament are now unrepresentative and have morphed into self-perpetuating sub-cultures with their own arcane beliefs and strange habits. The expenses scandal of 2009 went some way to exposing this - notably in the genuine surprise of many MPs that anyone should begrudge them such largesse - while the bias towards the interests of the rich in the management of economic policy since 2010 has been flagrant, but perhaps the most obvious evidence, which in turn has produced the greatest voter cynicism, is the serial manoeuvring at Westminster since 2017 that has led to repeated parliamentary coups by both the executive and backbenchers, vocally supported by every single national newspaper on one occasion or another. The overall impression gained is that Westminster is increasingly ungovernable, and it is that, rather than speculation about the union with Scotland or embarrassment over sovereign immunity, that should worry the constitutionalists. Like a fish, the British political system is rotting from the head down.

Coup, What a Scorcher #2

The single most significant outcome of Boris Johnson's resignation has been the media-driven proposal that the Conservative Party leadershp contest be cut short by dropping the membership vote and relying solely on the say of MPs. The same MPs who recently backed him, however reluctantly, in a confidence vote. Though it is coded as a demand that Johnson should "go now", as if his continued presence was an unconscionable risk to the polity and an affront to civic virtue, this is clearly nothing more than an anti-democratic manoeuvre, hence it has been supported as strongly by Keir Starmer and Ed Davey as by John Major. Johnson's claim of a personal mandate has been contemptuously dismissed, but more in order to stymie the implicitly populist idea that people vote for Prime Ministers rather than to highlight his egotism. While the fussy constitutionalists of the liberal media insist that the only personal mandate is that of the constituency MP, and one strong enough to allow the individual to switch party without the need for a by-election, the reality is that Johnson's appeal was undoubtedly necessary to get the Tories over the line in 2019. 

Despite being a serial liar, he was trusted by a majority of the electorate to "get Brexit done", whatever that might mean, and you can't say that he didn't deliver on his promise with the European Union (Withdrawal Agreement) Act of 2020. That might be a comically flawed peiece of legislation that already looks in danger of unravelling because of its inherent contradictions and occlusions, but it is what people voted for and they did so through its embodiment in the comically flawed character of Johnson. Those who imagine that this marks the nadir of our co-habitation with the EU, and that we can now look forward to a steadily improving relationship that culminates in at least our accession to the customs union at some future point, are likely to be disappointed. If Keir Starmer has made one thing clear, it is that membership of the EU comes a long way down his list of priorities, and there is little chance of a future Conservative Party leader campaigning to reverse Brexit for the rest of this decade. 

In their heart of hearts, liberal commentators know this, but their bitterness is not really directed at the flotsam and jetsam of history like Johnson, which will inevitably bob away on the waves, but at the damn fool electorate of 2016 who wilfully sank the ship of state. As we head into the dog days of summer, we are witnessing what may prove to be the final chapter in a slow coup d'etat that commenced in the aftermath of the 2017 general election, with Jeremy Corbyn as the initial focus of its anti-populist ire, but whose roots go back to the momentous EU referendum of the previous year: the only time in recent memory when the electorate failed to behave responsibly in the eyes of the politico-media caste. The PLP in particular has an obvious vested interest in a return to the old days of party leaders being elected exclusively within the walls of Westminster, and not simply because there may shortly be a vacancy for Labour leader if the Durham Constabulary decide Starmer's beer and curry deserves a fixed penalty notice. 

Against the backdrop of rigged PPC selections and partisan trigger ballots against the left, marginalising the membership is clearly the order of the day and the return to an MP-only selectorate would cap the reactionary movement. Whether they can pull it off is another matter. Despite doing their level best to abolish the membership through expulsions and a return to the deliberately rebarbative constituency practices of old, it is difficult to envisage the party turning its back so decisvely on democracy without suffering at the polls, however much support it may garner from a press obsessed with "grown-ups". As the strike ballots that have marked the early summer should indicate, the wider labour movement is very much committed to democracy (as an interesting aside, consider the continuing resonance of a near-forty-year-old strike ballot in James Graham's recent Sherwood). Starmer's insistence that the Labour Party does not support or encourage industrial action is not simply an attempt to get conservative voters on-side. It is consistent with his over-riding belief in cartel politics and his contempt for popular activism.

There might appear to be a contradiction in the press demands for greater competence and virtue among MPs and ministers, given that all the evidence since the financial crisis of 2008 and the expenses scandal of 2009 suggests that the political system continues to promote the incompetent and venal, something that has been exhaustively revealed by that same press, but we must never underestimate the media's firm belief that a change in personnel is all that is needed to restore harmony: a belief common to political commentary since the days of Plato, and probably before that. There is little self-reflection on its own role in the promotion of the patently unqualified and dodgy. Indeed, what future historians may note about Johnson's career was how willing the media was to overlook his obvious failings simply because he was an effective weapon that could be wielded against the left: first Ken Livingstone in London and then Jeremy Corbyn at Westminster. Jonathan Freedland describes this as being "lucky in his opponent", but luck had nothing to do with it. Johnson was, and remains, a creature of the press. 

Perhaps the most insulting comment on the last 24 hours came from another centrist drone at the Guardian when Gaby Hinsliff insisted that "the Conservative party owes this country an apology", as if the Tories were a surly teenager who had been rude at the table. To read her, you'd think that the press had played absolutely no role in the elevation of "a lightweight and a liar". Predictably, she is part of the claque demanding immediate change at Number 10: "Convention may dictate that a prime minister who loses a vote of confidence carries on running the country, for the sake of continuity, until a successor is chosen. But doing so requires sensitivity, diplomacy and the ability to put people’s needs above your own. Who imagines Johnson capable of that? He’d rather take his enemies down with him, leaving nothing but scorched earth." Here we see both an appeal to virtue as justification for ignoring the conventions that liberals otherwise idolise, and a blindness to all the acts of centrist self-sabotage that marred the EU referendum and fuelled the campaign against Corbyn. Instead we are to be terrified of a domestic Götterdämmerung that probably won't go beyond chucking cake at expensive wallpaper.

Her solution is for a quick decision among MPs that implicitly ignores the party membership: "At the very least, the Conservative party must now organise the swiftest succession possible, coalescing quickly around a successor rather than plodding through an endless summer of hustings while a vacuum develops at the top". This requires her to big up the party's elite - "The cabinet emerging from Thursday morning’s surreal reshuffle looks slightly more grownup than expected" - but also to suggest that differences be put aside in the paramount interest of sensible government: "Brexiter Tories must keep stressing that ditching Johnson was not some factional coup but a decision that united leavers and remainers". Like Hinsliff, Freedland is happy to rhetorically yoke Johnson to Trump, despite the lack of real similarity in either policy or manner (Trump is closer to Bolsonaro; Johnson to Berlusconi). For all the wibble about "toxic spells" and "nightmares", what comes across is not simply relief at the political passing of one individual bad guy, but the fervent belief that this marks the end of the "populist" interlude.

I suspect the press campaign to ignore the party membership and restore exclusive leadership election rights to MPs will fail, not least because it is difficult to put the genie of democracy back in the bottle once released. But that campaign will never concede defeat, particularly if a Labour leadership election is in the offing. It is amusing to witness senior Tories, defending the right of the party membership to have the decisive say in the election of a new leader, being upbraided by the liberal press for not immediately declaring a state of exception. But it's worth stepping back for a moment and asking how we came to such a pass. The inability of contemporary liberals to see how illiberal they have become in a whole range of areas, from democracy to trans rights, really needs an explanation beyond the charge of rank hypocrisy or innate Toryism. I don't have a simple answer for this (though I do have a long and convoluted one), but what I do know is that their language over the last 48 hours (indeed over the last few years) has worrying echoes of that used by "the party of order" in advance of more violent coups d-etat elsewhere, and it is this, rather than the hyperbolic claims that "Johnson will leave scorched earth", that we should be attuned to.

Illogical Positivism

Now that Keir Starmer has "saved" the Labour Party from the "disaster" of the Corbyn years, it is time for British centrism to reassert itself as the hegemonic project of the early twenty-first century. Unfortunately, the "radical centre" is struggling to do so against the background of a cost-of-living crisis, a summer of strikes and the promise of 50-year mortgages. Tony Blair's latest intervention, at his vainglorious "Future of Britain" conference, conformed to a now well-established pattern in which a shallow technological determinism fills the void of substantive economic and social policy. This has become increasingly ridiculous over the years, presumably because his exposure to technology is limited to conferences dominated by the technically-challenged politico-media caste and industry self-promoters. Hence the suggestion, in respect of Elon Musk, that "we need more mad entrepreneurs prepared to throw money at science" if we are to tackle climate change, which ignores that Musk isn't interested in saving this world but in colonising another.

Together with his tendency to suggest that he, and only he, can locate the British electorate's erogenous zones, Blair's latest 5-point plan reduces down to little more than the received wisdom of the 1990s. Thus, according to Blair's chief amanuensis, John Rentoul, "One of the themes of the conference was the need to work across party boundaries to seek solutions". At a time when the limits of bi-partisanship have been shown only too clearly in the US, this is remarkably tone-deaf. Equally obtuse is the insistence that failed Tories should be treated with respect, if only to benefit from the reassuring vibe that supposedly appeals to voters. "The purpose of the conference was essentially to try to push Starmer into a more Blairite position, even though Blair claimed to be offering ideas for any party to pick up. There were Conservatives (Ruth Davidson) and former Conservatives (Rory Stewart and David Gauke) there, but they were part of a classic New Labour big tent, rather than an attempt to create a new centrist formation." You can almost taste Rentoul's regret.

Blair is famous for his ability to combine a lack of self-reflection with the pretence of a struggle of conscience: a long, dark night of the soul that inevitably leads to him concluding that he was right all along. Far from questioning the premises and tenets of centrism, this has led him to conclude that the problem is not the ideas ("it is about persuading swing voters that you are reasonable and not beholden to party ideology") but the personnel. Blair's central conceit is that he has been succeeded on the national stage by political pygmies: "In both his interviews today, one at the start and one at the end of the conference, he said that the politics of the radical centre has “a supply problem not a demand problem”. In other words, it is what people want, but there are too few talented politicians available to offer it to them." The idea that the apparent dearth of talent may reflect a structural problem does not trouble his mind. Nor is there any recognition that a political party that expends most of its effort on expelling or disciplining members may not be an effective seed-bed of talent.

In contrast, Philip Collins, another of Blair's loyal media epigones, has at least tried to mount a defence of centrism in the New Statesman, but with little success. The nub of his argument is that centrists are good at politics. This talent leads to them being dismissed as either cynical triangulators or opportunists lacking convictions. For Collins: "The task of drawing the political spectrum correctly – so as to work out where the centre is – requires a deep understanding of how things have changed. And, given that politics in 2022 is indeed very different from politics in 1997, the subject matter and conclusions to which the centrist will be drawn must be constantly changing. This kind of centrist will inevitably change their mind, consistent with the fact that the world under observation is itself changing." This is banal, but it does highlight Collins's claim that centrists owe their success to an innate flexibility and openness to experience. That the evidence suggests the contrary is simply ignored. The reason he opens his piece with a dubious quote by the obscure Greek philospher Heraclitus is because he wishes to argue by deduction rather than induction - i.e. the establishment of first principles rather than empirical research.

As centrism has been historicised, its defenders have taken to burnishing its record, often to the point of outright fabrication. According to Collins, doing his best to be generous to centrism's critics, "It is a reasonable retort to the New Labour years to say that its rhetoric was all rather uncritical when it came to the effect of new technologies. It is true too that globalisation has had its detrimental effects as well as its benefits, though no smart centrist would actually disagree with that. It’s not true, though, and never has been true, that centrism is just revivalist Thatcherite economics. There is no need to rehearse the long list of wage regulations and trade union rights and windfall taxes of the New Labour years to clinch the point." There was a vogue for laboriously rehearsing the achievements of New Labour a while back, but the tendency soon dissipated as the modesty of those achievements, and the ease with which they were reversed by the Tories, became painfully clear. Now we are told there is "no need" to consider the record. We must just take as an article of faith that we lived through the good times.

The fundamental problem that centrism faces as a political philosophy is that it was historically contingent: the product of a particular moment that combined the epochal shift from social democracy to neoliberalism along with the reconfiguration of geopolitics after 1989. You cannot wish away its deep imbrication with Thatcherite economics and anti-union laws, any more than you can claim its liberal interventionism was a product of a commitment to "what works". The refusal to acknowledge this has led to a doubling-down on the commitment to the future and in particular to a vapid technophilia that ironically bears echoes of the early twentieth century. It has also led to an unwillingness to analyse the current moment, and in particular the fall-out of the last 15 years. The conceptual importance of the future to centrism is precisely that it avoids the need to address the present. At root, the philosophical genesis of centrism is to be found not in Greek philosophy, as Collins imagines, but in Comtean Positivism, a school of thought that ultimately became little more than a secular religious cult. 

Mick Lynch Summer

Contrary to the claim of the Prime Minister, we are not facing a wage-price spiral. For this to be true, wage increases would have to be regularly beating inflation, and they are not. In fact, current wage demands are well behind the projected increase in prices. For example, the rail unions are looking for around 7% at a time when inflation is rising to 9%. It's also worth emphasising that what is driving inflation is not wages but the cost of goods. As the ONS has explained, "Inflation is being fuelled by food and non-alcoholic drink prices, which are rising at the fastest annual rate since 2009, with the most dramatic increases seen in the cost of bread, cereals and meat." We are all familiar with the geopolitics of the increase in gas and electricity bills, and now we are seeing the supply-chain ramifications of disruptive factors such as China's Covid-19 lockdown and the war in Ukraine, but we shouldn't let these exceptional events obscure that the chief driver in rising prices is actually profit-seeking, which is often in turn the consequence of growing monopoly power. What this means is that inflation isn't going be "tamed" any time soon, no matter how modest trade unions are in their expectations. 

Those limited areas of the economy where wages are rising faster than inflation tend to be high-skill and relatively small. They also tend to avoid criticism by government, in part because they are sectors viewed benignly, such as banking, but also because their success is attributed to just deserts: whether through increased productivity or simply as the result of effective competition in a free market. Of course it's a commonplace to note the hypocrisy of politicians dividing society into makers and takers in this way, but perhaps the greatest echo of the notorious 1970s is the return of class to public debate, in the sense of overt material interests unadorned by culture war nonsense or the framing of inter-generational conflict. This turn has been marked in the UK by the incredulity of the liberal media on discovering that a working class trade union leader can be intelligent, articulate and sympathetic. The ensuing reverse-ferret has seen him achieve national treasure status in record time. It can only be a matter of days now before the Sun splashes on his "holiday hideaway paid for by union funds" or unearths some wobbly video of him appearing on a platform with Gerry Adams thirty years ago.

While Mick Lynch has good-humouredly played along with his role of dancing bear, he has used the opportunity to make it clear that he has nothing but contempt for the fourth estate and is unwilling to put up with its bullshit, which stands in marked contrast to the nominal leaders of the wider labour movement. Through this act of omission, he has made perhaps the most damning criticism of the Labour Party without the need to even mention Keir Starmer's name. Of course we should recognise that what motivates Labour's behaviour is not cowardice - the "power of the press" is exaggerated, not least by the press itself - but ideological congruence. As Jeremy Gilbert noted, "since the 1980s we have seen the consolidation of a professional class of senior managers, politicians and media operatives, who tend to share a culture and an outlook, whichever political parties or institutions they may be attached to. Its members tend to be socially liberal, but also utterly committed to the assumption that socialism, and even traditional social democracy, are political philosophies that died with the 20th century."

Gilbert has to choose his words carefully to get through the centrist filter of the Guardian, but it is clear that this is a class critique as much as a lament for the missed opportunities of the past: "While at one time it was the Labour party itself that was supposed to be the vehicle for bringing such people into public life, for much of the Blair period and beyond it has prevented these people from reaching positions of power, with the exception of the period of Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership." However, this is slightly misleading in that plenty of trade union hacks rose up the ranks and secured safe seats as part of the PLP during the Blair years too. That professional class of senior managers is to be found at the TUC's annual conference as much the CBI's shindigs. What is different about Lynch is not his class authenticity - with the unstated, patronising assumption that he might not be a whizz with spreadsheets or give a stuff about the niceties of HR policy - but that he is clearly representing class interests. This is a spectacle of class performance.

The response of the government has been interesting. Despite the 70s-style rhetorical tropes, they haven't tried to frame the struggle in the class terms familiar from that decade, when the damage done by inflation to "savers" was paramount and the critique of "over-mighty unions" segued into the demand to "let managers manage". Instead the focus has been on the divide-and-rule demographics that have dominated British politics since the 1990s, notably the need to protect pensioners. As the Guardian reported, "Dominic Raab, the deputy prime minister, defended the government’s actions on public sector pay, saying raising it could lead to a “vicious cycle of inflation”. He said it was right to hold out against higher wages for rail workers, who are striking this week over their pay, saying the government must not give in to “militant unions”. Defending the decision to raise pensions in line with inflation, he said: “[Pensioners] are particularly vulnerable and they are disproportionately affected by the increase in energy costs which we know everyone is facing.”"

This isn't just electoral calculation, otherwise the government would be doing a lot more for the elderly. We shouldn't forget that the state pension remains relatively ungenerous compared to other countries in Western Europe. The triple-lock has gone some way to improve the pensioner's lot in recent years, but it is an improvement from a low base. Pensioner poverty is still a thing. That said, they do enjoy some relative advantages. For example, they are less exposed to higher prices for petrol and food than families with young children. But to make these points is to fall into the trap of pitting age groups against each other and so occluding class. There are rich pensioners and poor pensioners; rich kids and poor kids. What ultimately determines their lives is not the degree of favour in which they are held by government but their ability to independently negotiate wages (and pension contributions) in return for their labour. It is the display of independence by the RMT that causes offence across the "professional class of senior managers, politicians and media operatives", hence Starmer's foolish ban on picket line appearances by his front-bench.

Where the government has returned to the arguments of the 70s is in reviving the traditional "private sector good, public sector bad" dichotomy, with the insistence that the size of the former - and the generosity of its remuneration - is a drag on the economy as a whole. This is an odd claim to make given that they have been in office for all bar 13 of the last 43 years (and their ideological hegemony has persisted throughout). You'd think over that time they'd have fulfilled their ambition of reducing the public sector to the point where its economic impact was marginal, or to have at least admitted defeat and accepted that "the state is always with us" and thus needed to be adequately funded. This was always a specious argument because the real concern was not "crowding out" but the risk of public sector wage increases setting a benchmark for the private sector. In other words, what they fear is a wage-wage spiral. I enjoyed the Economist's typically dry take on the subject which ended with the footnote "This article appeared in the Britain section of the print edition under the headline "Wage fright"".

The government has got itself into a bind of its own making. The expectations raised by Brexit of a high-productivity, high-wage economy unburdened by red tape were always pie in the sky, but Boris Johnson can't turn round now and say the sunlit uplands are off the menu. Equally, the idea of levelling-up, despite its policy incoherence, was always premised on a public expectation of investment in the fabric of the country. However much this might simply mean more tax revenues being diverted into the coffers of private businesses, in the manner seen during the pandemic, there is a common belief that it would lead to a reinforcement of the public sector, not further cuts and a steady decline in the services on which the depressed areas of the North and Midlands depend. It's also worth noting that one of the most effective ways of boosting small towns would be through pay rises for public sector workers, as in many they are the largest employment group and therefore a major driver of economic demand. 

What we are witnessing in the current inflationary moment is not the power of labour organised on a national scale (i.e. public sector unions) but the power of capitalism organised on a global scale (i.e. the likes of Cargill). In the 1970s, the political right were able to convince the public that capitalism was fettered and that its freedom would benefit all. That argument convinces few today. If anything, impulses like Brexit and levelling-up have to be seen as attempts to constrain global capital, not to empower it even further. In this context, the Labour Party's clear preference for business over organised labour is strategically obtuse and likely to prove electorally damaging, no matter how badly the Tories run government over the next few years and no matter how many low-turnout by-elections like Wakefield the party wins. The liberal media's focus on Mick Lynch is a distraction from the necessary choice of capital versus labour, just as the Labour Party's incessant blather about brand values and "repairing the Red Wall" is a distraction from its neoliberal ideology.

Homo Sacer

The news that the Home Secretary, Priti Patel, has approved the extradition of Julian Assange to the United States will not have come as a surprise to anyone. Despite the Conservative Party's historically late conversion to the cause of free speech, it clearly sees the WikiLeaks co-founder as on the wrong side in the all-enveloping culture war, and that's before you consider the likelihood of the government wilfully pissing-off the Americans at a time when it is still hopeful of a trade deal. There has been an equally predictable reaction among the British press, ranging from good riddance on the right to liberal outlets pleading the cause of free expression and conscience but largely going through the motions, as if their hearts aren't really in it. It's notable that the Guardian in particular is incapable of reporting on Assange without raking over his supposed misbehaviour in respect of the collapsed Swedish rape case and his breaking bail in order to seek refuge in the Ecuadorean embassy. As much as its sneering at celebrity libel cases such as Vardy vs Rooney, and tutting over the "abusive spectacle" of Depp vs Heard, its coverage of the Assange trials has revealed its prejudices, which since Alan Rusbridger's rapprochement with the security state have included giving the spooks the benefit of the doubt.

Lost in the noise is the original leak, which was clearly both an act of conscience by Chelsea Manning and a legitimate case of free expression and public interest journalism by WikiLeaks. The claims that it endangered US national security and the lives of its foreign informers have never stood up to scrutiny. Even veterans of the national security machine admit that the impact was modest and largely limited to embarrassment, not just of the US but of its often craven allies. The suggestion that intelligence sources in Iraq and Afghanistan were compromised has never been substantiated, though you could be certain the New York Times would have published evidence of the Taliban exacting revenge if they could find any. The truth is that while the cables were classified they were not top secret: they didn't involve the genuinely valuable intelligence assets. Most were simply background noise. Their value was that in aggregate they displayed an attitude of bullying contempt by the US towards its allies, which was hardly a shocking revelation. The pursuit of Manning and Assange is little more than revenge and a desire to deter others through exemplary punishment.

The British government's decision has come at the end of a week that also saw Aaron Banks lose his libel case against Carole Cadwalladr of the Observer. The case against Assange is essentially that he knew he was being reckless in publishing the leaked diplomatic cables and thus has no defence of public interest. As a consequence, his actions amount to espionage rather than journalism. Given how reckless the press has been over the years (incidentally, an argument at the heart of the "Brexit was a con" campaign), this is a debatable distinction. In contrast, Banks failed in his attempt to show that Cadwalladr was reckless in suggesting he was in the pay of Russia in her Ted talk and tweets, essentially because the judge ruled that so long as Cadwalladr thought her statements were in the public interest, "a journalist is not required to guarantee the accuracy of her facts". There's obviously a world of difference between criminal and libel law, not least in the threshold for proof, but this does highlight an important point that gets to the heart of free speech: that you are entitled to be wrong. 

Where the judge has been remarkably generous towards the journalist ("Ms Cadwalladr has no defence of truth, and her defence of public interest has succeeded only in part") is in deciding that when the inacurracy of her Ted talk claims came to light - i.e. when the Electoral Commission found no evidence of law-breaking by Banks with respect to donations - the continued public circulation of the talk was unlikely to cause Banks any real reputational harm, which is a polite way of saying that he didn't have much of a reputation to defend and should get over himself. Mrs Justice Steyn did not pass judgement on Cadwalladr's failure to apologise to Banks for being inaccurate, though this was central to the plaintiff's whole case. As he put it this week, "This was never about seeking to silence criticism. Carole knows that had she apologised and agreed not to repeat this false accusation at the outset, these proceedings would never have been necessary". He's not a man it's easy to feel sympathy for, but he unquestionably has a point.

The case highlights the lack of any formal means of redress against media misreporting, short of an expensive libel action that only someone of Banks's wealth could consider, but you can easily understand why Steyn decided not to venture onto that terrain and risk being accused by the press of trying to resurrect Leveson. I don't think we should underestimate the extent to which the press's turn against the judiciary in recent years - "enemies of the people" etc - was fuelled by the fallout from the Leveson Inquiry, in particular the ongoing cases over phone-hacking damages. Likewise, we shouldn't be misled by the empty Rwanda flight this week into thinking that the government's target is solely the European Convention on Human Rights and the court in Strasbourg. Most of those refugees were taken off the plane manifest as a result of injunctions allowed by English judges under UK law. The appeal to Strasbourg simply mopped up the handful of individuals that remained due to board.

The Guardian's own judgement on the Banks vs Cadwalladr case predictably claimed it was "an important victory for free speech and public-interest reporting" and (perhaps a little too frankly) "a boost to a media industry, which, when it comes to court cases, has had little to cheer about in recent times." But, in the manner seen in its coverage of Assange, it also muddied the waters by chuntering on about "the online trolling, abuse and harassment Cadwalladr had faced". Given that much of that so-called trolling was justified - i.e. claims that Cadwalladr was talking bollocks and had long ago crossed the line into paranoid conspiracism - the attempt to paint this as mere misogyny was depressing. It would appear that the paper that claims "Facts are sacred" is not above the manipulative emotionalism it decries in others, while Cadwalladr herself is very selective in what she considers to be fair criticism. The facts of the matter are that Cadwalladr was wrong to say what she did but that the wider liberal media campaign to establish a conspiracy behind Brexit meant that her contribution to damaging Banks's reputation was considered inconsequential by the court. That's hardly a victory for free speech.

Julian Assange will probably be extradited to the US, though his case will go all the way to the UK Supreme Court first and, who knows, maybe even Strasbourg. Once on US soil, he will be tried, found guilty (let's not be naive) and will probably then spend most, if not all, of the rest of his life in jail (a Presidential pardon is unlikely). His is, without question, the most important test case of free speech in the world today because his opponent is the most powerful state in the world and one which has made no bones about its belief that raison d'etat trumps law, notably in respect of war crimes - the very substance of the WikiLeaks revelations. Though the "media industry" was happy to publish much of the leaked material Assange provided - not least the Guardian - it has proven abjectly weak in its defence of the man, constantly introducing tests of character and muttering about irresponsibility. This is partly professional elitism (they don't recognise him as a journalist) and partly partisanship (though his politics are actually quite opaque), but above all it is simple cowardice in the face of an implacable US state that seeks to make an example of him.