My ancestors had their own complex relationships with the party, but they could point to policies that transformed people’s lives. In 2024, I cannot say the same
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.
