I may not have read any of Corbyn’s policies. But I have imagined what he might think, on the basis of an unorthodox hat he once wore. And let me tell you— never have I heard such barmy, bleeding-heart, loony-left, pie-in-the-sky, stuck-in-the-past, socks-and-sandals, mouth-frothing, terrorist-licking, weirdo-beardo Islington pinko codswallop in all my life.
I’m told Corbyn has some fanciful, Trotskyite notions about not treating the poor like vermin and avoiding imbecilic economic policy. Pfft. Go back to Russia, mate. I think I also read somewhere that he wants to reduce the deficit with a growth strategy, the like of which has never worked ever, apart from all the times it has.
Well, Corbyn can’t trick me with that old ‘saying things that are true’ routine. He can’t pull the wool over my eyes with his manifest skill at harnessing grassroots momentum and his ability to articulate a message of hope with clarity and conviction. Because I know that Corbyn is unelectable. He’s simply too left wing. I mean, for God’s sake, the man was friends with Tony Benn. And apparently he was a Bennite.
What the Corbyn Camp fail to realise is that, to stand a chance at the next election, we have to appease all the aspirational-small-business-owners-who-want-to-get-on. And those guys hate growth. They’re none too keen on schools or hospitals either. That’s why they, along with the rest of the country, love Osbornomics. This was proven at the general election. The public were able to voice clear-minded approval for the right-wing economic narrative, without being distracted by any ‘meaningful critiques’ or ‘credible alternatives’.
Moreover, I’ve just sacrificed a chicken and, according to its spleen, public opinion will stay exactly the same for the next five years, whatever events occur. So why would we elect a leader who’d only waste time and energy defying the chicken-spleen, trying to present a meaningful counter-narrative? Do you have any idea how much principled argument and competent political communication that would involve? No thanks, loonies.
There’s a much easier, much more sensible route back to power in 2020. We simply trail along in the Tory slipstream, frowning a bit should a pauper keel over from hunger or whatever, but basically drifting further and further to the right. Come election time, we’ll need a way to distinguish ourselves from the actual, historical party of the right. Easy. We simply sacrifice more chickens, petitioning the poultry gods to intervene in the campaign on our behalf. A nice scandal should do the trick: perhaps ‘Boris Johnson’ is outed as three Eton Sixth Formers sharing a suit; or perhaps George Osborne is filmed patrolling the treasury on a giant mechanical spider. We don’t know yet— it’ll depend on the breed of chicken.
The point is, in focusing near-exclusively on the centre-right, we have a tried and tested victory strategy.
It’ll be just like the Glorious Spring of ’97! Every schoolboy knows the story— Tony Blair hides inside a giant wooden Margaret Thatcher, tricking the Middle Englanders into letting him through their gates, only to leap out in the night and introduce the minimum wage at them. The moral? Labour only wins elections by pretending to be a different political party. (It also helps to have a preternaturally charismatic leader, a brilliant and ruthless media strategist and a divided and weakly-led opposition; but that’s all optional probably.)
Sadly, many Corbyn supporters are simply too stupid to appreciate water-tight arguments like the above. But there are others who know he’ll never get anywhere near Number 10. They see their support for Corbyn as a means of expressing their anger at a post-New Labour party too afraid to distance itself from the Tories, or want to try to shock it out of its complicity in a morally and intellectually bankrupt economic narrative.
What these idiots need to realise is that an important part of political maturity is accepting that your democratic preferences don’t matter. If you care about politics, it’s your duty to suppress what you believe to be right and true. You have to pander to the second-guessed preferences of everyone else. You have to examine your nearest set of chicken-guts, predicting where public opinion will be five years hence, shirking from any responsibility for shaping or changing the prevailing consensus.
If you don’t accept that, then you’re a petulant, naive, wet-behind-the-ears child, in need of a heart transplant, with a death wish for Labour. You should take your medicine and listen to your betters, like illegal war-enthusiast, Tony Blair, or scowling Apprentice semi-finalist, Chuka Umunna. They’ll tell you that, in the upcoming leadership vote, there’s only one way Labour members can save democratic socialism: sit down, shut up, and vote the way you’ve fucking well been told to.