Chicago is not going to get better in the 70s.
But it could be worse.
It could be Detriot...
But it could be worse.
It could be Detriot...
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Yes. Or New York.
It’s a bad time to live in much of the United States. But then it’s not as if the other side of the Atlantic is much better…
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Next time, on…
ECHOES OF A NEW TOMORROW
The ongoing saga of the
Commonwealth of Britain
will return in…
Including
MAKE THIS YOUR COMMONWEALTH!
The story of Lewis in coalition
and
IN PLACE OF STRIFE
The story of Lewis in the minority
Coming later this week
(hopefully)
ECHOES OF A NEW TOMORROW
The ongoing saga of the
Commonwealth of Britain
will return in…
Including
MAKE THIS YOUR COMMONWEALTH!
The story of Lewis in coalition
and
IN PLACE OF STRIFE
The story of Lewis in the minority
Coming later this week
(hopefully)
- 1
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I take it from Buckley's prissy tone about Vidal being a good debater when he didn't go up against a credible target that a version of their famous debate took place and ol' Lizard boi got just as washed as OTL.
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Not only did it happen, but all being well @99KingHigh has plans to share it with us in its horrific totality.
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Make This Your Commonwealth: Lewis in coalition
Excerpt from Chapter Five
Make This Your Commonwealth: Lewis in coalition
Dramaturge and theatre critic Kenneth Tynan, writing in 1978, memorably summed up the Bevan years as ‘a merry slide into foul waters’. After Bevan’s death, these foul waters proved to be David Lewis’s inheritance. Following his qualified triumph at the polls, Lewis could look forward to ‘cleaning up’ the state of Britain according to his own will. Certainly, there was much to attend to. As director of the Domestic Bureau under Bevan, Lewis had been responsible for drafting many of the reforms that had attempted to transform the British state into a benevolent organism. Seeking to prove that social progressivism and orthodox syndicalism could co-exist in a happy marriage, Lewis’s task was to bring millions of previously excluded people – including married women, gay men and professional-class dissidents – under the protection of the state. Aside from being good social liberalism, this was also good politics; the Bevanite coalition was sustained by a broad class of supporters that included liberal professionals and old revolutionaries alongside the working-class base. What united this diverse group was a faith in the ability of the state to uphold and expand the ‘common welfare’, which after all was the central task of the Common-wealth. For well over a decade, the power of the state had been diverted towards Chairman Mosley’s own authoritarian projects, thus with Bevan’s accession – and the liberal turn it promised – it was necessary to re-establish the fundamental principle that central government was capable of doing good.
After the tragedy at Aberfan, the principle of the ‘good state’ was thrown sharply into question. Clearly, even before the publication of the findings of any official inquest, it was evident that some blunder by ‘the establishment’ had proven fatal. The callous, not to say cack-handed response of British Coal undermined the idea that the state, in its most corporate incarnation, was concerned with workers’ welfare. At the same time, the sluggish governmental response to the ensuing industrial crisis suggested a political establishment in turmoil. Uncertain whether to throw itself in grief at the feet of the workers’ movement, or to remain rigid in its position of moral and material authority, the government vacillated in its own response. Acceding to demands for reparation would be tantamount to an admission of failure; an endorsement of populism, which necessarily would equate to an attack on the ‘benevolence’ of the regime. One might think that such a display of humility were something to be desired in an administration. Indeed, in other states more Stalinist than Britain, the ritual of ‘self-criticism’ holds a vital place in the resolution of inconsistencies within a single-party system. But being neither populists nor Stalinists, the rulers of Britain held fast to a pillar of progressivism – even as it began to crumble at the foundations.
The Aberfan disaster greatly undermined the concept of the ‘welfare state’, throwing into question the limits of state protection for Commonwealth citizens.
Outside of government, among those more at liberty to express scepticism for the state’s munificence without inflicting self-harm, discussion of the shortcomings of the ‘Commonwealth system’ continued freely. The debate was as practical as it was ideological. As Britain’s industrial troubles mounted, with the crisis in the coal industry only worsening as the winter progressed, the economy finally gave way. Inflation, held in check for much of the decade by cosy relations between the government and the trade unions, rose beyond expected levels in 1967 for the first time in six years, pushed upwards by pressures on the coal supply. At the same time, productivity declined as the number of days lost to strike action exceeded 2.5 millions in 1966 for the first time since 1960. The result was a marked end to the steady, if moderate growth that had characterised the Bevan era. By the time Lewis came to office with his own mandate, Britain was in the grip of an incipient recession – the first since the revolution.
Critics on the Left and the Right readily adopted the charge that the winter turmoil had exposed the limits of the welfare state, putting forward their own diagnoses and solutions. The New Partisan Review led the charge from the Left. In its final editorial before the May election, provocatively titled “The Commonwealth in Crisis?”, the magazine made plain the grievances of the left opposition. The argument ran that not only could the state be harmful, as at Aberfan, but that a focus on statist solutions to statist problems was, at best, misguided. (At worst, the Partisans claimed, it was reckless.) The way out of the crisis lay in unleashing the ‘latent creative potential’ of the working classes, whose capacities were currently being wasted in inefficient state industries. The Merthyr Vale collieries had proven, on by no means an insignificant scale, that self-management was feasible even in the ‘commanding heights of the economy’. Short-termist ‘crisis measures’ such as price controls and no-strike agreements were not solutions; ‘bandages over a mortal wound’, was the editorial assessment: necessary to prevent further harm, but helpless to prevent the inevitable. In the view of the Left, all that remained for the ‘corporate’ state was a turbulent, graceless decline. In this way, the Partisans wrote within that most treasured of Marxist traditions: casually prophesying catastrophe.
Will Marr, editor of the New Partisan Review between 1958–72.
By 1967, over 100 thousand people read the NPR every week – many for its unique mix of cultural and polemical content. A Spanish War veteran and former theatre director, Marr was an enthusiastic adopter of the Gramscian theory of bourgeois ‘cultural hegemony’, believing that part of the task of implementing socialism in Britain involved creating a strong counter-culture to challenge the status quo.
The Right shared the belief of the Left that the current statist system had exhausted itself, although, as was to be expected, the prescribed cure differed. In the pages of the New Spectator shortly after the election, Iain Macleod reflected ironically on the claim that the result had been an historic one. ‘We now have the worst of both worlds’, he claimed – ‘not just inflation on the one side or stagnation on the other, but both of them together. We have a sort of “stagflation” situation. And history, in modern terms, is indeed being made.’ Macleod located the root of Britain’s economic problems in misguided government action, charging that Bevan’s investment priorities skewed too much towards heavy industry at a time when the Commonwealth should have been diversifying away from these old mainstays. By the end of the 1960s, the ‘British disease’ was recognisable by symptoms including: chronic low investment; a declining heavy industrial base; government resistance to diversification in manufacturing; and a loss of competitiveness in the face of a Mitteleuropean export boom. Macleod’s ingenuity was criticising the government in the strongest terms for having allowed this situation to develop, while never shirking from a basic commitment to welfare and full employment. He believed that Britain stood to gain greatly if only it relaxed the extent of its state-controlled industries, favouring a ‘middle way’ between the syndicalist, corporatist system and the Mitteleuropean market system. In this way, the state would be relegated from a controlling force to a regulating interest, ensuring that the opening up of Britain to the market would be managed and fair.
German factory interior, 1960's.
Iain Macleod saw the model for British revival on the Continent, drawing lessons from German social democracy to propose a ‘social’ market economy for the Commonwealth. The German Reich ended the 1960’s as Europe’s premier industrial power.
Caught between these two poles of dissident opinion, Lewis’s task was to give his own government a coherent position. In actuality, he was more sympathetic to Macleod’s argument than perhaps he would have allowed himself to admit. As a good Bundist, Lewis’s political background should have suggested an inclination towards ‘the people’, which might imply a certain populism. A populist response to Aberfan, no doubt, would have been to endorse wholeheartedly the demands for self-management and political autonomy, and reprisals against the corporatist state that had failed to exercise proper duty of care. But Lewis’s Bundist instincts were tempted by his progressive ones, and as much as he was sensitive to popular opinion, he was not prone, as many were, to conflate ‘the people’ and ‘the workers’. Distrusting of radical change, Lewis interpreted his fragile mandate as a call for a synthesis of opinion; not a ‘half and half’ solution, attempting to court the favour of all while winning the favour of none, but a novel programme that could combine the diverse calls for ‘liberalisation’ with the necessity of state regulation. In Lewis’s mind, worker control was impractical, and because of this pursuing it on a large scale would be irresponsible. As early as 1959, while whipping his party into shape for the election, Lewis had expressed the view that
what we say and do must be measured by the effect which it will have on our purpose of mobilising people for action. If what we say and do will blunt or harm our purpose ... then we are saying and doing a false thing even if, in the abstract, it is true ... When, in heaven's name are we going to learn that working-class politics and the struggle for power are not a Sunday-school class where purity of godliness and the infallibility of the Bible must be held up without fear of consequences.
Following this logic, he could not countenance overseeing reform, even if popular, that he held would have an overall damaging effect. Although he was in favour of unleashing what the New Partisan Review had called the workers’ ‘latent creative potential’, Lewis could not reconcile this with what he perceived as the inefficiencies of ‘horizontal’ self-management. A centralist, he preferred a ‘democratic’ but unquestionably vertical hierarchy, where individual managers would be given increased freedoms to operate independent of a central plan – but initiative would continue to flow from top to bottom.
A factory foreman takes a call from state management.
A managerialist by nature, Lewis was confident that British industry could adopt modern, efficient working practices under the auspices of state control.
Paradoxically, it was this insistence on the possibility of a ‘democratic’ corporatism that both united and divided the ruling coalition. During the election campaign, the continuation of the ‘old alliance’ between the Labour Unionists and the Popular Front was more or less assumed. In the week after the election, David Lewis, Dick Crossman and other high-ranking ministers and party officials met a number of times to iron out the details of their new joint programme. The central issue, of course, was how to resolve the deadlock in the coal industry. The Labour Unionist response was centred around resolving the industrial dispute, the key to which they held was restoring good relations with the unions. Proceeding from the programme outlined by Chairman Bevan before his death, Crossman wished to see the role of shop stewards increase. Instead of advocating for a full-on transfer of powers to the shop floor, shop stewards would assume a role closer to management and gain a say in the running of their factory, as well as consulting on pay and conditions. This was, in effect, its own type of managerialism – with the advantage, from the perspective of the workers, that a shop steward, unlike an appointed manager, could be recalled at any time. Critically, shop stewards also remained ‘of the shop floor’, so there would be no question of the re-emergence of a separate, pre-eminent managerial class. For the trade unions, this also had the advantage of formalising their position in the running of British industry.
Lewis remained unsatisfied by this settlement. He could not accept the idea of ‘shop-steward managers’, rejecting its positioning of the unions as central to the running of British industry. Although he was in favour of removing the unions as an ‘external, distorting influence’, his preferred solution was to take the focus away from collective bargaining towards an advisory, conciliatory role. If he were to accept a ‘unionised’ industrial policy, he required some guarantees in return. Above all, Lewis wished to curb the rise in days lost to strike action, hoping to forestall another drop in productivity that would jeopardise economic recovery. To this effect, he countered Crossman’s industrial plan with a number of ‘safeguards’ aimed at ‘taking the heat out of union militancy’. Central to this plan was the insistence on a 28-day ‘cooling-off period’ between the declaration of strike action and the beginning of any walkout. During this period, the dispute would be referred to an independent ‘industrial conciliation service’ so as to allow for a resolution that would prevent stoppages. The Labour Unionists balked at what amounted, in its essential form, to an attack on the right to strike – hitherto one of the central rights of the British worker. But Lewis, now with the whip hand in the coalition, was in a position to force his position. Promising to delay plans to overhaul the energy sector – a key manifesto pledge – so long as the coal industry remained accommodating of his industrial settlement, Lewis leant on Crossman to support his crisis measures. The donnish Crossman, recognising the soundness of the argument, acquiesced. On Wednesday May 10, Crossman and Lewis appeared together, symbolically, at Cripps House, the Popular Front headquarters, to announce that an agreement had been reached to renew the coalition – including an agreement on the coal industry. The next day, Lewis was confirmed in his position as premier by vote of the Assembly.
David Lewis during negotiations with the NFMU.
On May 17, members of the Lewis cabinet met with the leadership of the TUC and the National Federation of Miners’ Unions (NFMU) for round-table discussions over the state of the coal industry. Since the end of winter, an uneasy truce between the miners and the government had allowed the return of some normality to the pits. This truce had been made possible by statements from the Bevan government conceding that some form of worker self-management in the coal industry was necessary, as well as promising to break up British Coal in Wales. Both of these moves had been warmly welcomed by the unions at the time, but with Bevan’s premature death at the start of March the likelihood of each being implemented was thrown into question. Attending the NFMU meeting alongside Lewis were economic secretary Barbara Lewis, domestic secretary Dick Crossman and James Callaghan, director of the Bureau of Coal and Steel.
On the whole, it was a balanced group to face the unions, by no means suggestive of a sharp turn away from the Bevanite policy, but far from the enthusiastic cadre that might have been deployed by the Labour Unionists in majority. Like most of the Popular Front, which drew its support mainly from the anti-Mosleyite professional classes, neither David nor Barbara Lewis held union ties. Nor, for that matter, was Dick Crossman a strong unionist by anything except inclination, having been – like the Lewises – a don before his long political career. Furthermore, not being an economics minister his presence at the meeting was entirely on the grounds of his position as deputy premier. Of the group, only Callaghan stood out as having personal union links, and despite his reputation as a relative right-winger, he was unchallenged in his role as the government’s ‘keeper of the cloth cap’. He would therefore be key in mediating between the cabinet and the union leadership as Lewis pressed on with his plans for reform.
James Callaghan and Barbara Lewis.
The tenor of the discussions themselves was reflective of the tenor of the group: moderate. The lack of any natural inclinations towards the unions within the Lewis cabinet at large stripped the government of any misty-eyed romanticism towards their role in society, and as such talks were frank, unencumbered by and sense of deference to the workers’ representatives. Yet the programme that the government brought to the meeting was not without significant concessions. Lewis and Crossman had agreed between themselves to propose a form of ‘shop-steward-led’ worker management. Rather than acquiescing to the most radical demands for workers’ councils, as had sprung up in South Wales over the winter, the government proposed to meet the unions halfway, putting the focus back on the figure of the shop steward as a natural candidate to make the transition from representative to leader. Shop stewards would be given extra facility time away from the shop floor to liaise with state directors as well as union leaders, bringing them into a team of managers operating at a national level. So as to provide some measure of stability to business planning decisions, shop stewards would no longer be recallable at any time. Instead, they would be elected, by their shop floor colleagues, for a fixed, renewable term.
This somewhat fudged settlement on the issue of management was broadly acceptable to the TUC, which approved of the move to integrate shop stewards within planning processes, and to the NFMU, which was not so radical on a national level as its most regional militants would suggest. More controversial were the government’s proposed ‘safeguards’ against future wide-scale disruption to industry. Shrewdly, Lewis sought to soften the blow by presenting the two safeguards as part of one policy. This was the proposal that all disputes should be subject to a 28-day cooling-off period, during which time it would be referred for independent conciliation. Although this was undoubtedly a blow to workers’ power, the cooling-off period also allowing industry bosses to prepare to meet industrial action should talks fail, Lewis hoped that he could sell the independent conciliation service as a means of strengthening workers’ rights overall. His argument was that taking the resolution of disputes out of the hands of the government would level the playing field and allow disputes to be viewed dispassionately.
Jack Jones (right) discusses with members of the NFMU leadership during negotiations over worker-management.
The reality of industrial action in Britain at the end of the 1960’s was that, contrary to the impression gained from the headline disputes of the time, most stoppages were highly localised affairs, in many cases lasting less than a week. With this in mind, the unions feared that mandating a lengthy cooling-off period before every action would not only weaken the position of workers in short disputes, but would also introduce a significant bureaucratic delay into industry. Although the unions welcomed the idea of an independent conciliation service, TUC leaders were not fully trusting of Lewis and feared that he meant to use it as a stalling tactic. Jack Jones put forward a counter-proposal, according to which any independent service could provide arbitration for disputes already in progress, but along with the rest of the leadership he would not countenance what he described as ‘a brake on the power of the workers’ movement’. Callaghan and Crossman were amenable to the revised plan, and privately Callaghan pushed Lewis not to sacrifice a victory on management for controversial controls on workers’ rights. But Lewis was adamant that it was all part of one project, to ‘tame’ union power and to streamline their influence within industry. He would not back down before the fight had even begun.
Bob Mellish, Director of the Office of Employment.
Once Lewis made this intentions clear on the ’28-day clause’, talks between the government and the unions soon broke down. Union leaders returned to their workers and began to talk of strike action to force a U-turn from the government. At the same time, Lewis looked for a way to force the unions to co-operate with his programme. He turned to the Assembly, reasoning that if he could pass a bill enshrining the cooling-off period in law then the unions would have to accept it as a fait accompli. On May 23, employment secretary Bob Mellish introduced the Industrial Relations (Conciliation) Bill (IRCB) to the People’s Assembly, motioning to puts its general principles to debate the following day so that it could be passed on an expedited timetable. Assembly Chairman Michael Foot, no friend of plans to restrain strike powers, opposed Lewis’s plan to rush the legislation through parliament and exercised his prerogative to schedule the debate for June 5. This was not unusual, not so much representing a delay as a refusal to expedite a significant piece of legislation, but it would have a considerable effect on Lewis’s plans to pressure the unions in acceptance. Most pointedly, Foot’s intervention scuppered any chance of a law being passed by the time of the NFMU annual conference over the weekend of July 7–9. The cabinet hoped to have its industrial relations policy sorted by the summer vacation, allowing implementation of reforms to begin straight away in the autumn. Instead, with the situation unresolved before the summer, Britain faced the threat of renewed labour militancy and a fierce campaign to defend ‘the right to strike’.
At the debate on general principles, Mellish announced that the government’s intention was ‘to legislate to reduce disruption caused by labour disputes, firstly by empowering an independent arbitration body, and secondly by enshrining in law a conciliation procedure to occur before the start of any strike activity.’ In opposition, the New Left Coalition, led on the issue by industry and employment spokesman Lawrence Daly, countered that the government’s intention was to control union militancy by restricting the powers of the workers. This set the tone of the debate: the government making an appeal to sober economic argument, and the opposition putting forth a vocal defence of workers’ rights and socialist principles. When Michael Foot brought discussion to a close at 7pm, the vote to send the bill on to committee succeeded by a closer result than anticipated; the government picked up the support of the Group for Action, but a large number of Labour Unionist backbenchers voted against. The highest-profile dissidents were perhaps Peggy Herbison, the former minister who had been snubbed by Lewis because of her support for worker self-management, and Jennie Lee, the education secretary. It was an embarrassing rebellion for Lewis, whose firm stance towards the union leadership relied on having the full backing of his cabinet. He demanded Lee’s resignation. She refused, and Lewis sacked her on June 7. It was the first outward sign of disunity within an increasingly unruly coalition.
CPGB leader Reg Birch addresses supporters in People's Square.
The legislative battle against the bill formed only one fraction of the campaign to oppose the coalition’s policy. In a deliberate show of force, the Marxist-Leninist CPGB boycotted the Assembly debate on June 5 in order to lead demonstrations against it in the streets. Party leader Reg Birch denounced the government’s proposals in front of a crowd of several thousand in People’s Square. Their cheers and jeers could be heard in the Assembly hall across the road all through the afternoon. Meanwhile, in the days after the bill moved on to committee, where the final text would be prepared for a final vote in the autumn, the NLC-aligned Communist Workers’ Group (CWG) called for a ‘national cooling-off day’ on Monday 12 June. The CWG was a militant autonomist group, unique in the mainstream socialist opposition for its scepticism of the ‘established unions’, which it viewed as too invested in the maintenance of Britain’s ‘state-capitalist’ economy. On June 12 the group succeeded in encouraging over half a million people to take a day to ‘cool off’ from the stresses of the shop floor, satirising the government’s proposed 28-day ‘cooling-off period’.
Away from the shop floor, the national TUC leadership was also growing increasingly concerned by the extent of Lewis’s attacks on union powers. Having floated the possibility of strike action to force a change in policy – a tactic that had already achieved qualified success in the winter – Jack Jones began to take soundings from sectoral unions on how they planned to meet the implementation of the Industrial Relations Bill should it pass. Opinions ranged from subverting the cool-off period by working to rule, to flouting the law completely and refusing to engage with the conciliation process. The presented a riskier option, both because non-compliance would likely incur a financial penalty, and because Jones and the TUC leadership had already expressed approval for the establishment of an independent conciliatory body. Jones was relaxed about this; his own approval had been qualified by a strong opposition to strike prevention tactics. But it was generally agreed that the soundest policy would be to ensure the bill never passed at all.
"Kill the Bill" became a popular refrain among the workers' movement over the summer of 1967.
Meanwhile, less bullish members of the government were concerned that the possibility of pushing through management reform was slipping out of grasp. James Callaghan continued to impress upon Lewis the risks of committing all his energy to an ideological fight with the unions instead of working with them on areas of agreement. Hoping to prevent a total split, at the end of June Callaghan presented the rest of cabinet with an outline policy for the restructuring of British Coal along worker-manager lines. This was a clear divergence from the Bevanite settlement, which had hinted at the more radical introduction of workers’ councils, but nevertheless it had been broadly agreed upon by the leadership of the NFMU the previous month. Callaghan convinced Lewis that presenting the unions with a constructive proposal might help to cool mounting tensions, as well as offering a chance to convince union leadership that the government was acting in good faith.
Miners and their families arrive in Durham for the NFMU annual conference, 1967.
On July 7, delegates from all regional unions affiliated with the NFMU converged in Durham for a weekend of debate, liaising and resolutions for the year ahead. Offering some relief from the feisty battles of the first half of the year, the mood in Durham was festive. The programme began, as was traditional, with a parade of delegates and their families through the streets, accompanied by colliery bands and waving colourful lodge banners, some dating from well before the revolution. Among the festivities, hints of a more defiant spirit were not wholly absent. ‘Kill the Bill’ placards and other anti-government slogans could be seen dotted alongside more general expressions of miner solidarity. The Welsh contingent, wearing black armbands to commemorate victims of both Aberfan and Deep Duffryn, offered another poignant display. Marchers wielded placards denouncing British Coal and celebrating the Free Pits, while Tredegar lodge marched with a banner in memory of Chairman Bevan, who before all else had been their leader during the revolutionary years. Whether this was intended, beyond innocent memorial, as a pointed jab at Lewis is a question without a conclusive answer.
Despite the strength and breadth of feeling evident from the parade, inside the conference hall delegates and union leaders alike did not anticipate a fractious weekend. The previous week, the government had announced an outline plan and timetable for the ‘managerialisation’ of shop stewards, which had been received without major trouble from the union leadership. As hoped, the government showing a willingness to work with the NFMU on a more productive basis had gone some way to restoring cordial relations. The leaders of the mining union were generally happy to compartmentalise their disputes, willing to follow the government – and Callaghan in particular – in not letting the furore surrounding the Industrial Relations Bill to complicate the necessary work of coal industry reform. Nationally, this was also true: clamouring for self-management was not equal in strength all over the country, and for many the prospect of shop-steward management was, broadly speaking, an acceptable proposal. The primary objection was over the plans to replace the workers’ recall powers with ‘manager elections’. Critics argued, not without justification, that elected managers would be just as liable as state-appointed managers to form a breakaway ‘managerial class’ apart from the shop-floor workers. Accordingly, the conference voted on Saturday evening to accept the government’s proposals, with two revisions: one, imposing a three-year term limit on managerial positions; two, ensuring that a worker-manager could be removed from their post by a supermajority vote among their colleagues.
The funeral of Gwion Parry, January 1967.
The events of the 'Black Winter' of 1966-67 continued to cast a long shadow over the British coal industry.
These two amendments represented the furthest extent of the NFMU’s institutional opposition to the government’s plans, but it did not reflect the outer reaches of rank-and-file discontentment. The strongest dissent came, as might be expected, from the Welsh Valleys, where the anger over the disaster at Aberfan was yet to abate. This anger was compounded by an anger at the government’s apparent sidelining of Bevan-era plans to disestablish British Coal in Wales. Proposals to establish a devolved coal authority in Wales had fallen by the wayside as talks progressed over the finer details of management reform. In South Wales, miners suspected that once again their interests had been overlooked. Dai Francis, leader of the South Wales Miners’ Federation, gave a thunderous speech to his fellow delegates on Saturday evening in which he castigated the coalition for ‘breaking its promise to the miners of Wales’, declaring that a ‘half-measure’ towards workers’ control was no substitute for devolved governance. Furthermore, he reminded the floor that the Free Pits were still operational in Merthyr Vale, holding up their example as proof of the possibility of profound systemic change beyond ‘feeble reformism’.
Although Francis’s speech was cordially received by comrades from England and Wales sensitive to the hardships that the Welsh miners had endured, it did not succeed in turning the tide of opinion against the government reforms. In its revised form, the resolution accept worker-management passed by a comfortable margin. Appetite for a bitter dispute over the relatively arcane issue of shop-steward-managers was low – particularly at the start of summer, when any disruption to the coal supply would be least damaging – and on a basic level, support for the reforms was reasonably strong. The consensus was that it would serve best to save resources for a ‘knock-out strike’ against the Industrial Relations Bill come the autumn. Not only would this be tactically advantageous, with the higher seasonal coal demand affording greater leverage, but walking out over the recognisable issue of the ‘right to strike’ would present a better opportunity to win the battle for public sympathy. A co-ordinated fight to ‘kill the bill’ would play better than a sectoral battle over management hierarchies.
Arthur Scargill (centre) arrives in Durham along with fellow members of Yorkshire Left.
Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to imagine that the Welsh miners were left entirely out on their own in their dissatisfaction. The vote to accept the government’s proposals attracted equally strong opprobrium among members of the CPCB-affiliated ‘Yorkshire Left’ group, whose voted en bloc to reject anything short of workers’ councils. Their spokesman, a 29-year-old miner from the Woolley Colliery called Arthur Scargill, gave an impassioned address from the conference floor in support of Dai Francis’s position, accusing those voting in favour of the government reforms of ‘neutering’ shop stewards by voting to ‘embed them within the state’s machine’. Scargill was backed up by Dennis Skinner, then-president of the Derbyshire Mineworkers Association, who attacked worker-managers as ‘bosses done up in red, but bosses all the same’ before leading his fellow DMA delegates in voting to reject the proposals.
These expressions of regional dissent were symptomatic of the Commonwealth’s increasingly fractious industrial–political landscape, and pointed beyond the NFMU’s relatively painless, qualified acceptance of the government’s plans towards the emergence a more complex, anarchic workers’ movement. When James Callaghan announced on July 12 that the government would accept the NFMU’s revised proposal, and that the process of electing worker managers would begin in the autumn, many workers who had been energised by the victories won in the winter felt disappointed by the return of apparently cost relations between the government and the unions. Lawrence Daly, who, as a member of the national executive committee of the Union of Scottish Mineworkers, had voted against worker-managerialisation in Durham, described the reforms in sardonic terms as ‘a victory for David Lewises everywhere’. Later, he reflected in his diaries how ‘the union has eagerly signed itself up for a greater role in the same system it has spent the last six months denouncing.’ Dennis Skinner hinted that he would offer his backing to any miners in Derbyshire wishing to boycott worker-manager elections, while in Merthyr Vale the news of the reform was met with open derision by the workers’ councils of the Free Pits. Increasingly, it seemed as if worker militancy had outgrown the ambitions of the established unions. Outside of Whitehall, the word ‘conciliation’ was on the lips only of a vanishing few, drowned out by cries for more freedom in more hands. With the coming of high summer, scores of discontents prepared themselves for a fight against ‘the establishment’ in the streets and on the shop floors. In the halls of power, David Lewis, the establishment’s most battle-hardened champion, steeled himself to lead the defence.
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Looks like we're still on coal then...oh well.
Looking forward to Thatcher's premiership when it happens.
Looking forward to Thatcher's premiership when it happens.
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Why would they not have focused the push for the "cool off" period to those Nationally Strategic industries, like coal, whereas keep them out of less important shops? I guess my question is that the Lewis cabinet wants to control and keep the manpower at work rather than at home but they have to know that few places would feel at all willing to run with so much power centralized in London.
Still on coal for now. We'll be moving on to other topics in the next chapter – though the Commonwealth probably won't be dismantling its collieries unless Lewis goes full hardliner, if that's what you mean.
As for Thatcher… we're sort of there already. Or we would be if Lewis didn't have to worry about coalition. His battle against the unions is an ideological one, after all. I find it a little hard to gauge his OTL leanings on unions, but he was certainly 'pro enterprise' and wrote a pamphlet called "Make This Your Canada!" which was all very social market economy. I've written him to be like a few of the more technocratic Wilson-era Labour figures: sceptical of the necessity of unions when the state is there to do their job for them. Which means getting rid of them as far as possible to make his benevolent statist system more efficient.
You're right that that would be a possible compromise. My reasoning for not going down that route with Lewis is twofold. Firstly, I think making a distinction like that would be hugely (even more) controversial, essentially creating a two-tiered working class. It could also be quite easily spun as a pretty blatant attack on the most powerful unions alone, which would expose the proposals for what they were a bit too much for cabinet liking. Secondly, Lewis wants to curb union power full stop, not just in the commanding heights. He has chosen here not to take a half measure.
As for centralising control in London, Lewis's approach is sort of carrot and stick; the cooling-off period is obviously the stick, whereas shop-steward managers is a fairly large carrot. In essence this would be a significant reform away from centralisation, with much more initiative (or 'enterprise', in Lewis-speak) coming from the shop floors and state management transformed into a national co-ordinator between shops.
OTL this was what the TUC pushed for at the end of the Sixties, and it was even endorsed by Lord Donovan in his report for Harold Wilson on ways to reduce union militancy. But, as here, Wilson cacked up by insisting on the 28-day clause. If you don't mind going to what looks like a pretty blatant Trot website, you can read about some of the OTL parallels here
The legacy of Jack Jones 1913-2009 – League for the Fifth International
fifthinternational.org
In the Echoesverse, the goal posts are obviously a little to the left. Worker-managers are going to be acceptable to the majority of the unions, but the militant sections are going to push for full-on worker control on the pattern of the Free Pits.
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Google News
Comprehensive up-to-date news coverage, aggregated from sources all over the world by Google News.
news.google.com
“Defend the pocket!”
the similarities are too real
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time, as they say, is a flat circleGoogle News
Comprehensive up-to-date news coverage, aggregated from sources all over the world by Google News.news.google.com
“Defend the pocket!”
the similarities are too real
What would Mitch think if he knew he was acting in the proud tradition of Scoop Jackson and JFK?
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We didn't start it but we're trying to fight it...
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Look, still trying to read (for the fourth time) the Bevanite parts (as if could comment them without invoking necro-related punishments), but then this happens...
[The author apologises for being unable to resist the urge and posting this. All possible consequences will be deservedly accepted by the author. As a defence, it could be more tragic. As replying with Moskau by Dschingis Khan. It is even a lucky-strike for all, considering that TheButterflyComposer passed a more disastrous reference, such as it's a richman's world etc, which would incur more catastrophic results by posting money, money, money by *lba in return]
Sigh. How the bloody hell can think of anything else now, eh?
No worries, will take the fire for everyone's sake, and have done with it. Hey, when one gains a notorious reputation, there is no return from that point.
[The author apologises for being unable to resist the urge and posting this. All possible consequences will be deservedly accepted by the author. As a defence, it could be more tragic. As replying with Moskau by Dschingis Khan. It is even a lucky-strike for all, considering that TheButterflyComposer passed a more disastrous reference, such as it's a richman's world etc, which would incur more catastrophic results by posting money, money, money by *lba in return]
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A triumphant contribution as ever, @filcat . It's been ages since I've seen that video. Or indeed since I'd heard Billy's impassioned growling of lines like 'Children of thalidomide…
The real challenge, of course, is to write the obligatory Echoesverse version… I'll leave that in the air in case anyone issad dedicated enough.
The real challenge, of course, is to write the obligatory Echoesverse version… I'll leave that in the air in case anyone is
Let it be known that this is an ABBA-friendly space.
Hey, I was being totally serious when I said comments are welcome on all updates, however old. We have a few people still catching up who are kind enough to offer their thoughts in chapters from two years ago, so please don't consider it any sort of breach of etiquette to comment on something a few months old!
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- Mate, no. Do not go into frenzy now with comments for posts from years ago!
- Will you chill, it is said on the quote all are welcome.
- We are doomed.
Will honour this permission, and no worries will not overabuse the limits. Cheers!
Excuse me?!? [*]
This means war! WAR!
[*] [This is the sixth time the author has written in the first person, this time with personal object pronoun, in a commentary publicly open in these forums. As a defence, this time it is a reaction, and judging by the high-quality civilised medium of AARLand, it is considered acceptable by the author]
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I am known for derailing threads, including my own, so at this point I think everyone has just sort of accepted it @filcat
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Look forward to hearing some of your thoughts!
Good pop music is good pop music. Don’t try and fight it. Who can deny these strings, for example? Or this piano vamp? Magical.
Not that I would say I’m anything like an ABBA fan, mind. I think there are about a dozen songs of theirs I’d choose to listen to. But when they’re on it, they’re really on it.
I think in this case the blame falls squarely at @99KingHigh ’s door for introducing Mitch McConnell to the thread.
Although getting from Mitch to ABBA is another story entirely, so…
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