Thatcherism in the 21st Century: The Social and Cultural Legacy [1st ed.] 9783030417918, 9783030417925

Table of contents :
Front Matter ....Pages i-xiii
Introduction (Antony Mullen, Stephen Farrall, David Jeffery)....Pages 1-12
Front Matter ....Pages 13-13
The Ideological Composition of the Parliamentary Conservative Party from Thatcher to May (Timothy Heppell)....Pages 15-34
Intellectual Reactions to Thatcherism: Conceptions of Citizenship and Civil Society from 1990–2010 (Edmund Neill)....Pages 35-53
Data-Driven Government: The Triumph of Thatcherism or the Revenge of Society? (Kieron O’Hara)....Pages 55-73
Front Matter ....Pages 75-75
‘Rolling Back the Frontiers of the State, Only to See Them Re-imposed in Docklands?’: Margaret Thatcher, Michael Heseltine and the Contested Parenthood of Canary Wharf (Jack Brown)....Pages 77-97
‘The Jezebel Who Sought to Destroy Israel in a Day’: Margaret Thatcher’s Impact on the Northern Ireland Peace Process, 1984–1990 (Fiona McKelvey)....Pages 99-116
‘The Iron Lady? She Devastated the Country’: Former Scottish Steelworkers’ Narratives of Unions, Community and Thatcherism (James Ferns)....Pages 117-138
Thatcherism and Wales: Impacts and Legacies (Sam Blaxland)....Pages 139-155
Front Matter ....Pages 157-157
The Political Socialisation of Thatcher’s Children: Identifying the Long Reach of Thatcherite Social and Economic Values and Perceptions of Crime (Emily Gray, Maria Grasso, Stephen Farrall)....Pages 159-184
Margaret Thatcher and the Rhetorical Road to Brexit (Andrew S. Roe-Crines)....Pages 185-207
Thatcher’s Legacy and Social Security (Ruth Davidson)....Pages 209-227
Front Matter ....Pages 229-229
Thatcher’s Young Men and the End of the Party: Parody, Predictions and Problems in Literary Representations of Thatcherism (Dominic Dean)....Pages 231-250
The Politics of The Iron Lady (Antony Mullen)....Pages 251-265
‘Death of a Member’, 10 April 2013 (Martin Farr)....Pages 267-292
Back Matter ....Pages 293-296

Citation preview

Thatcherism in the 21st Century The Social and Cultural Legacy Edited by Antony Mullen Stephen Farrall David Jeffery

Thatcherism in the 21st Century

Antony Mullen  •  Stephen Farrall David Jeffery Editors

Thatcherism in the 21st Century The Social and Cultural Legacy

Editors Antony Mullen Department of English Studies Durham University Durham, UK David Jeffery Department of Politics University of Liverpool Liverpool, UK

Stephen Farrall Department of Criminology and Social Sciences University of Derby Derby, UK

ISBN 978-3-030-41791-8    ISBN 978-3-030-41792-5 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the ­publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and ­institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Contents

1 Introduction  1 Antony Mullen, Stephen Farrall, and David Jeffery Part I Ideologies  13 2 The Ideological Composition of the Parliamentary Conservative Party from Thatcher to May 15 Timothy Heppell 3 Intellectual Reactions to Thatcherism: Conceptions of Citizenship and Civil Society from 1990–2010 35 Edmund Neill 4 Data-Driven Government: The Triumph of Thatcherism or the Revenge of Society? 55 Kieron O’Hara Part II Regions  75 5 ‘Rolling Back the Frontiers of the State, Only to See Them Re-imposed in Docklands?’: Margaret Thatcher, Michael Heseltine and the Contested Parenthood of Canary Wharf 77 Jack Brown v

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Contents

6 ‘The Jezebel Who Sought to Destroy Israel in a Day’: Margaret Thatcher’s Impact on the Northern Ireland Peace Process, 1984–1990 99 Fiona McKelvey 7 ‘The Iron Lady? She Devastated the Country’: Former Scottish Steelworkers’ Narratives of Unions, Community and Thatcherism117 James Ferns 8 Thatcherism and Wales: Impacts and Legacies139 Sam Blaxland Part III Attitudes 157 9 The Political Socialisation of Thatcher’s Children: Identifying the Long Reach of Thatcherite Social and Economic Values and Perceptions of Crime159 Emily Gray, Maria Grasso, and Stephen Farrall 10 Margaret Thatcher and the Rhetorical Road to Brexit185 Andrew S. Roe-Crines 11 Thatcher’s Legacy and Social Security209 Ruth Davidson Part IV Interpretations 229 12 Thatcher’s Young Men and the End of the Party: Parody, Predictions and Problems in Literary Representations of Thatcherism231 Dominic Dean

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13 The Politics of The Iron Lady251 Antony Mullen 14 ‘Death of a Member’, 10 April 2013267 Martin Farr Index293

List of Contributors

Sam Blaxland  Swansea University, Swansea, UK Jack Brown  King’s College London, London, UK Ruth Davidson  King’s College London, London, UK Dominic Dean  University of Sussex, Brighton, UK Stephen  Farrall Department of Criminology and Social Sciences, University of Derby, Derby, UK Martin Farr  Newcastle University, Newcastle upon Tyne, UK James Ferns  Strathclyde University, Glasgow, UK Maria  Grasso Department of Politics and International Relations, University of Sheffield, Sheffield, UK Emily  Gray Department of University of Derby, Derby, UK

Criminology

and

Social

Sciences,

Timothy Heppell  University of Leeds, Leeds, UK David  Jeffery Department of Politics, University of Liverpool, Liverpool, UK

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x 

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Fiona McKelvey  Belfast, UK Antony  Mullen Department of English Studies, Durham University, Durham, UK Edmund Neill  New College of the Humanities, London, UK Kieron O’Hara  University of Southampton, Southampton, UK Andrew S. Roe-Crines  University of Liverpool, Liverpool, UK

List of Figures

Figs. 9.1–9.9 Figs. 9.10–9.14

Smoothed cohort effects from Generalized Additive Models (GAMs) Smoothed cohort effects from Generalized Additive Models (GAMs)

174 180

xi

List of Tables

Table 2.1 Table 2.2 Table 2.3 Table 2.4 Table 2.5 Table 9.1 Table 9.2 Table 9.3 Table 9.4 Table 9.5 Table 11.1 Table 11.2

The ideological composition of the PCP 1990 using the Norton typology 17 The wet-dry distinction and the economic policy ideological divide19 The PCP and the economic policy ideological (wet-dry) divide 1992 to 2010 20 The parliamentary Conservative Party and the European Question(s) 1992 to 2017 24 The PCP and social, sexual and moral issues 1992–2017 28 Political generations 167 Age, period and cohort models: right-authoritarian values 169 Wald tests for intergenerational differences from the age, period and Cohort models 172 Age period and cohort models: fear of crime and concern about neighbourhood disorder 176 Wald tests for intergenerational differences from the age, period and cohort models 179 Unemployment attitudes 223 Priority for extra government spending on benefits 224

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction Antony Mullen, Stephen Farrall, and David Jeffery

Margaret Thatcher died in London on 8th April 2013, aged 87. Her death brought to a close the final chapter of her life. Her final years, in stark contrast to her global prominence throughout the eighties and most of the nineties, were markedly private. She gave up public speaking in 2002 following several minor strokes and, though she was able to record a eulogy for Ronald Reagan’s funeral in 2004, her health deteriorated so substantially in the years that followed that planning for her own funeral commenced in 2009. Around the same time, Carole Thatcher spoke openly of her mother’s dementia. By 2011, the severity of Thatcher’s condition led to the closure of her office in the House of Lords, an act described by the Daily Telegraph as a sign of her ‘final and irrevocable withdrawal from public life’ (Walker 2011). Yet, despite her drawn out physical decline and subsequent death, Thatcher remains a prominent and influential figure in British politics. She continues to inspire those on the A. Mullen (*) Department of English Studies, Durham University, Durham, UK S. Farrall Department of Criminology and Social Sciences, University of Derby, Derby, UK e-mail: [email protected] D. Jeffery Department of Politics, University of Liverpool, Liverpool, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_1

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right who claim to be guided by her memory, while eliciting passionate opposition from those who cite her as an enduring reason to oppose the Conservatives: this volume elaborates upon both examples in chapters by Martin Farr and James Ferns, respectively. The importance still attributed to Thatcher is such that British political commentators continue to ask, in relation to contemporary events and debates, ‘what would Maggie do?’. Would she have supported the UK’s withdrawal from the European Union? Would she have maintained a close relationship with the USA during Donald Trump’s presidency? Would she agree with the government of the day’s approach to housing policy? Would she favour local enterprise zones? All of these are examples of genuine questions asked by journalists and academics, demonstrating the extent to which a series of recent, unrelated political situations have been considered through the prism of Thatcher’s anticipated approach to them. The varied nature of these questions, and of the types of people posing them, highlights that to ask ‘what would Maggie do?’ is not simply an obsession of the right or of pro-Thatcher fanatics, but a line of enquiry considered worthwhile by mainstream journalists and academics of different political persuasions to Thatcher’s own. The premiership of Theresa May, the UK’s second female Prime Minister, highlighted a gendered element to the curious practice of imagining Thatcher’s approach to contemporary problems. May’s premiership was accompanied by multiple articles which considered the extent to which she was like Thatcher, particularly in its earlier days when the pro-­ Brexit tabloid press supported her (as comparisons to Thatcher in such media, though gendered, are also invariably favourable).1 One of the most striking examples of this came on January 18th 2017, when the Daily Mail published on its front page a cartoon image of May standing on the White Cliffs of Dover, with a Union flag behind her and a Thatcher-esque handbag on her arm, accompanied by a headline which proclaimed her 1  It should also be acknowledged though that there were serious questions raised about the extent to which May’s premiership put an end to Thatcherism. These debates were not concerned with the sex of the two women in question, but with whether May’s ostensible shift to the left—economically at least, with suggestions of an industrial strategy, government intervention in the economy and workers on boards (some of which did not materialise)— signaled the end of neoliberal thinking within the Conservative Party. Contributors to this debate include Eliza Filby (2016), Raffy Marshall (2016) and Jason Cowley (2017). George Trefgarne (2017) was among the few who argued that Theresa May’s economic and industrial policies would have had Mrs Thatcher’s support.

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“the New Iron Lady” (Slack 2017). In the run up to the 2017 general election, May’s popularity ratings—the highest since records began— caused speculation that the Conservatives might gain seats in Labour’s industrial heartlands (Maidment 2017). In response, Labour candidates in areas where Thatcher was unpopular consciously linked May and Thatcher in an effort to counteract May’s apparent popularity with their largely Brexit supporting electorate. Labour MP Karl Turner—seeking re-­election in Kingston upon Hull East—hired a billboard and displayed upon it a poster which showed May with Thatcher’s hair superimposed over her own. The accompanying caption read: ‘Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid. They’re the Same Old Tories.’ By the end of May’s premiership though, after she had lost her parliamentary majority and failed (in her own terms) to deliver Brexit, Thatcher supporters like Lord Dobbs were keen to contrast May and Thatcher (as if attempting to rescue the latter’s reputation by disassociation), with comments about how Thatcher would not ‘have got us anywhere near this mess’ (Morrison 2019). The swathe of Conservative victories in former Labour heartlands did not materialise until the general election of 2019, when Boris Johnson won what one Sky News presenter described on election night as “a majority of Thatcherite proportions”. Evidently the continued preoccupation with Margaret Thatcher in British politics—broadly defined—is not the sole preserve of those on the right who seek to emulate her. Her contemporary significance is also bolstered by those who oppose her and the ways they continue to deploy her image, the journalists for whom Thatcher is the go-to figure for recent historical comparison, and academics whose interest in her continues to generate new and insightful takes on her premiership, style of leadership and long-term influence. The essays in this collection are less concerned with hypotheticals about what Margaret Thatcher might do today, focusing instead upon how we can understand the legacy of what she did do and how that manifests in the present moment. With perspectives from a range of academic disciplines, the book is divided into four main thematic sections: • Ideologies—the first and most obvious element of Thatcherism’s legacy is surely its ideological transformation of the Conservative Party and, arguably, aspects of British politics more broadly. This section is concerned with the ideological influence of Thatcherism and how intellectual, political and social responses to it reveal the complex nature of that influence.

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• Regions—the legacy of Thatcherism is not universal across the UK’s four constituent nations. In recognising this, this section draws upon archival findings and oral histories to offer new perspectives on Thatcherism’s impact upon, or within, four specific geographic localities: Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and London. • Attitudes—to what extent have Thatcher and Thatcherism altered social attitudes in twenty-first century Britain? This section addresses this question with a focus upon contemporary society’s orientation towards issues as diverse as Europe and welfare, examining the role that Thatcherism played in shifting public attitudes. • Interpretations—if we are truly to understand the legacies of Thatcher and Thatcherism today, then we must look beyond narrow scholarly debates to understand how the period of British politics dominated by Thatcher is recounted and represented in popular accounts with which the public is more accustomed. This section considers how the idea of Thatcher has been (re-)constructed by parliamentarians, filmmakers and authors of fiction and how such representations are imbued (sometimes subtly) with ideas of Thatcher’s long-term impact on British political life. Each of these sections provides a way of conceptualising, assessing and measuring ‘legacy’. Before we can approach questions of Thatcherism’s legacy, though, we must consider first what we mean by it. Scholarly definitions of Thatcherism vary across, and even within, academic disciplines. We do not attempt to offer a single answer to the question ‘what is Thatcherism?’ here but, in what is an intentionally interdisciplinary collection, it is necessary to consider several conceptual frameworks in relation to which Thatcherism can be understood. We do so briefly, providing only the necessary foundations for the chapters in this collection. What follows are three different but complementary, overlapping strands of the -ism: an exploration of Thatcherism’s neoliberal facets, its social and moral concerns, and its relationship with nationalism.

Thatcherism and Neoliberalism Neoliberal thought is one of the key elements of the Thatcher project, informing the philosophical basis of how Thatcherites believe the economy should be organised. Andrew Gamble argues that neoliberalism, the revival of ‘market liberalism as the dominant public philosophy and to create

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the conditions for a free economy by limiting the scope of the state’, comprised one of the three overriding objectives of the Thatcherite political project—the other two being to deliver electoral success and restoring the ‘authority and competence’ of the state to act (Gamble 1994, 4). The centrality of neoliberalism to Thatcherite thought—and the reason why it is such a useful lens for analysing Thatcherism—is due to two key factors. The first is the global rise of New Right ideology, of which Thatcherism was a key example and Thatcher a key proponent. Here, we can analyse the importance and impact of neoliberalism in a comparative, international perspective. The second is the socio-economic context in which Britain found itself, now known as the Winter of Discontent, and which Thatcher used as a spring-board to justify her economic reforms, specifically the desire to boost economic growth, reduce inflation and curtail trade union power (Crines et al. 2016, 31). Neoliberalism is important because it is not a sui generis position, but a reaction to the effects of the so-called ‘post-war consensus’. The centrality of neoliberal thought to the Thatcherite project was also recognised by Thatcher herself—a point perfectly surmised by the story from when Thatcher was Leader of the Opposition, berating a ‘leftish member of the Conservative Research Department by fetching out a copy of The Constitution of Liberty from her bag and slamming it down on the table, declaring “this is what we believe”’ (Margaret Thatcher Foundation 2019). Neoliberalism is a vital lens through which to analyse Thatcherism because it was the very economic philosophy within which Thatcher situated her own economic policy programme. This is not to say, however, that all policy reform lived up to the neoliberal ideal. In some key respects Thatcher continued the policies of the much-derided ‘post-war consensus’: the NHS, the education system, pensions, parks, libraries, museums and even the Royal Mail all survived the Thatcher era more or less intact (Reitan 2003). Gamble also cautions against the idea of seeing the Thatcher administrations as a radical neoliberal government. Tax cuts were slower than they could have been, there was a failure to make deep cuts in state spending, and few programmes were terminated altogether. Similarly, the establishment of a monetarist policy regime arguably predates the Thatcher governments, and to the extent that it ‘served important ideological and political needs … it was less important as a guide to policy’ (Gamble 1994, 228–230).

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Thatcherism and Neoconservatism The links between Thatcherism and neoconservatism are well established (see Hay 1996; Levitas 1986 and Gamble 1994, most obviously). The conservative aspects of Thatcherite thinking have, if anything, been left in the shadows following the focus on neoliberalism which has dominated debates and critiques of late. Thatcher’s conservativism was routed in her admiration for and of England of the 1930s (see Green 1999) and found expression via her support for the reintroduction of the death penalty and the rhetorical attacks on homosexuals working in schools (which later underpinned the legislation aimed at preventing teacher’s from ‘promoting’ homosexuality to school children). This neoconservatism, however, had a sometimes uncomfortable relationship with neoliberalism. Sometimes the two homed in on the same topic—such as, for example, the sale of council houses to their tenants. This appealed to neoconservatives because it helped to support the aspirations of families, whilst it also appealed to neoliberals as it was an attached on public ownership of assets. On other matters, however, these instincts clashed. Pushing back the restrictions of what could be bought on a Sunday (the Sunday Trading Laws) appealed to neoliberals. Shops were, after all, a fixed cost, so being able to sell on a Sunday meant that additional revenue could be won, which appealed to neoliberals. Neoconservatives saw things rather differently, however. Sundays were days of both worship (during the 1980s it was jokingly remarked that the Church of England was the Conservative Party at prayer) and of rest. As such, selling things on a Sunday (which implied employing people to do the selling) breached the ‘rest’ maxim, whilst eating into the time for prayer. But her conservative instincts went further than the narrowly defined topics of morality (for which read religious values, heterosexuality and no sexual relationships outside of marriage), and embraced topics which bordered on neoliberal concerns, such as the ‘duty’ to find work (irrespective of where it was—hence Norman Tebbit’s quip about his father getting on his bike to look for work), or how well it was paid or what it entailed doing (hence the emphasis on ‘flexible working’). These elements of her neoconservatism thus buttressed her thinking on neoliberalism, helping to create a virtuous circle (at least within Conservative Party thinking). Yet some of the (at least initially neoliberal) economic policies were doing great damage to some core pillars of neoconservative thinking. Families and communities were (at least some of them) thrown into disarray, especially after

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the miners’ strike of 1984–1985 and the wave of pit closures which followed this, and the job losses in associated industries such as the railways. Wherever and whenever one looks at Thatcherism as a critique of society, as an ideological construct, and (or ‘or’) a set of policy and legislative activities, one finds symmetries and contradictions.

Thatcherism and Nationalism Nationalism is of major importance to Thatcherism and was central to Thatcher’s own social outlook. In her assessment of the country’s problems in the late 1970s, Thatcher diagnosed that something fundamental to the British character had been lost. The 1960s and 1970s were, in her view, marked not just by economic decline but by a decline in social standards which contrasted with the Victorian values which had informed her own upbringing. Her promise to the country was not simply economic rescue, but a return to these values and the return of ‘true’ Britishness. In her own words, Thatcher’s mission was to change the ‘heart and soul’ of the nation—while economics might have provided ‘the method’, renewing British pride and reviving a lost sense of national identity was the objective (Thatcher 1981). Thatcher presented many of the neoliberal and neoconservative principles which underpinned her political project as an intrinsic aspect of Britishness. In 1999, she compounded this by stating that while she had been influenced by neoliberals like Milton Friedman and Friedrich von Hayek, her ‘approach’ in the 1980s ‘lay deep in human nature, and more especially the nature of the British people’ (Thatcher 1999). If Thatcherism’s aim was to alter Britain’s place in the world and to restore it to the former greatness Thatcher attributed to it, then it was—at least on Thatcher’s own terms—successful in doing so. This was made clear in the Conservative Party’s choice of campaign slogan during the 1987 general election: ‘Britain is Great Again. Don’t Let Labour Wreck It’. But while Thatcher’s nationalism may have contributed to the success of her political project (particularly on her own terms), it was not without its critics. In 1997, Stuart Hall wrote that Thatcherism was ‘grounded in’ a ‘narrow, national definition of Englishness, of cultural identity’, adding that ‘When Thatcherism speaks, frequently asking the question “Are you one of us?” Who is one of us? Well, the numbers of people who are not one of us would fill a book’ (1997, 26). Hall’s argument was that the

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definition of Britishness posited by Thatcherism equated to South East Englishness (something reinforced by the sections of this book on Wales and Scotland in particular) and that it served to exclude more people than it sought to include.

Thatcherism in the Twenty-First Century This collection is the first major publication of the Thatcher Network, an interdisciplinary research group which aims to promote the study of Margaret Thatcher and Thatcherism. At the time of writing, the network has held conferences at the universities of Durham (2017), Liverpool (2018) and Derby (2019).2 For the most part, the essays in this collection have their roots in the discussions held at the first two conferences and there is, consequentially, a disparate range of disciplinary perspectives and methodological approaches throughout the book. They are, however, all underpinned by a mutual consideration of the legacy of Margaret Thatcher and Thatcherism the twenty-first century. The first section of the book opens with Timothy Heppell’s assessment of Thatcherism’s ideological legacy among Conservative Party MPs. Heppell demonstrates that while there are some clear signs of Thatcherism having triumphed over its critics—those often termed ‘Wets’—on the issue of the economy, its ideological legacy beyond the economic sphere is much more complex. Edmund Neill’s chapter provides a historical account of intellectual responses to Thatcherism, focusing particularly upon debates about citizenship and civil society in the period 1990–2010. In doing so, Neill reveals that Thatcherism retained much influence—as an idea—long after Thatcher left office, but that thinkers on the right (as well as the left) have increasingly questioned some of the assumptions which underpin it. Kieron O’Hara locates Thatcher’s often misrepresented ‘no such thing as society’ comment, and her wider reflections upon the notion of the individual, within the history of conservative thought and, subsequently, within contemporary debates about big data and cyberculture. O’Hara argues that Thatcher’s promotion of a certain style or notion of 2  If proof of Thatcher’s divisiveness was required, the second conference (in Liverpool) was met with opposition from that institution’s student Marxist society and members of the local Momentum branch (the Jeremy Corbyn support group within the Labour Party), both of which planned to protest the conference; some of the latter group also threatened to commit acts of violence against its delegates. Reports of these threats featured on the regional BBC Radio news reports and in the Daily Mail (Martin 2017).

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individualism could have unwittingly given way to a new type of digital modernity with ‘the individual’ at its heart. ‘Regions’ begins with Jack Brown’s chapter on the birth of Canary Wharf and its association with Thatcherism. Brown uses new archival materials to challenge established accounts of the relationship between Thatcherism and Canary Wharf’s development, with a focus upon the role of Michael Heseltine. The chapter challenges not just misconceptions about the ‘Thatcherite’ origins of Canary Wharf, but about the Thatcher government’s relationship with interventionist policies more broadly. Fiona McKelvey’s chapter is similarly underpinned by new materials made available in UK and Irish archives. McKelvey explores the reasons behind the sense of ambivalence in Northern Ireland which followed Thatcher’s death, particularly among the Unionist community which admired her stance against the IRA, but not her role in laying the groundwork for the Good Friday Agreement. James Ferns uses oral history interviews with former steelworkers in Scotland to provide a comprehensive account of their experience and understanding of Thatcherism, and how that informs a sense of post-industrial identity within communities once reliant upon heavy industry. Sam Blaxland similarly combines oral history interviews with archival research in his examination of Thatcher’s legacy in twenty-­ first century Wales (up to, and including, the 2019 general election). Blaxland demonstrates that, while Thatcher’s personal interest in Wales may have been limited, her governments introduced significant policies to strengthen Welsh identity which indirectly paved the way for devolution and the formation of the Welsh Assembly. Emily Gray, Maria Grasso and Stephen Farrall’s chapter opens the ‘Attitudes’ section of the book. The chapter uses an age, period and cohort analysis to investigate the phenomenon of ‘Thatcher’s Children’, demonstrating that individuals who came of age during the Thatcher/Major years had markedly more conservative (or ‘Thatcherite’) social attitudes towards issues including crime and punishment and the economy than the generation that first elected Thatcher. Andrew Crines’ chapter gives consideration to the claim that Margaret Thatcher’s Bruges speech, and subsequent Eurosceptic interventions from the House of Lords, helped to set the UK on the path to Brexit. Through an analysis of her rhetoric, particularly post-1990, Crines shows how Thatcher inspired a new generation of Eurosceptic Conservatives who perceived rejecting the EU as a central part of conservatism. Finally, Ruth Davidson examines how Thatcherism

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transformed public attitudes to welfare and social security. She shows how Tony Blair’s New Labour government was not able to counter the moralising narrative surrounding social security spending that Thatcher introduced into public discourse, and that the associated notions of the ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ poor remain prevalent today. The book’s final section, ‘Interpretations’, opens with Dominic Dean’s consideration of how authors of contemporary fiction captured and illustrated the complex nature of Thatcherism in their writing, in a way not achieved by conventional political history. Dean looks to works by Hanif Kureishi, Alan Hollinghurst and Kazuo Ishiguro as examples which highlight Thatcherism’s contradictions, such as how its nationalist tendencies contrast its orientation towards transnational wealth. Antony Mullen then discusses the significance of the 2011 film The Iron Lady and its implications for historical narratives about Thatcher and Thatcherism. Mullen discusses how the film—ostensibly objective, globally successful and acclaimed for its accurate portrayal—de-politicises Thatcher by distancing her from much of what she did in office, encouraging viewers to recognise instead her achievements as a woman. Finally, Martin Farr brings the collection to a close with a carefully curated reconstruction of the parliamentary tributes to Thatcher following her death—an event which served as a de facto debate about Thatcher’s legacy (and that of her eponymous-ism) and one which three members of the House of Lords declared would be of great significance to historians. Focusing upon how different generations of parliamentarian remembered Thatcher and the period she dominated, Farr brings strands of MPs’ and peers’ speeches together in an evaluation of what was a highly publicised media spectacle set against the backdrop of ‘death parties’, worldwide news coverage and a televised funeral.

References Cowley, Jason. 2017. The May Doctrine. New Statesman, 8 February. https:// www.newstatesman.com/2017/02/-theresa-may-method-inter viewjason-cowley. Crines, Andrew S., Heppell, Timothy, and Dorey, Peter. 2016. The Political Rhetoric and Oratory of Margaret Thatcher. Palgrave Macmillan.

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Filby, Eliza. 2016. What Sort of Toryism Will Emerge from This Fractious Upheaval? The Guardian, 3 July. https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jul/03/new-toryism-fractious-upheaval-thatcherism-dead. Gamble, Andrew. 1994. The Free Economy and the Strong State. 2nd ed. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Green, E.E. 1999. Thatcherism: An Historical Perspective. Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 9: 17–42. Hall, Stuart. 1997. The Local and the Global: Globalization and Ethnicity. In Culture, Globalization and the World-System: Contemporary Conditions for the Representation of Identity, ed. Anthony D.  King, 19–40. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Hay, Colin. 1996. Restating Social and Political Change. Oxford University Press: Milton Keynes. Levitas, Ruth. 1986. The Ideology of the New Right. Oxford: Polity Press. Maidment, Jack. 2017. Theresa May Most Popular Leader since the Late 1970s as Jeremy Corbyn Hits All Time Low. The Daily Telegraph, 26 April. https:// w w w. t e l e g r a p h . c o . u k / n e w s / 2 0 1 7 / 0 4 / 2 6 / t h e r e s a - m a y - p o p u l a rvoters-leader-since-late-1970s/. Margaret Thatcher Foundation. 2019. Thatcher, Hayek & Friedman. Margaret Thatcher Foundation. https://www.margaretthatcher.org/archive/Hayek.asp. Marshall, Raffy. 2016. Prime Minister May: Post-Thatcherite. ConservativeHome, 28 July. https://www.conservativehome.com/thetorydiary/2016/07/theresa-may-post-thatcherite.html. Martin, Daniel. 2017. Conference on Margaret Thatcher Is Forced to Increase Security after Social Media Threats to Hospitalise Delegates. Daily Mail, 29 November. https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5127023/LiverpoolThatcher-event-forced-increase-security.html. Morrison, Sean. 2019. Margaret Thatcher Would Have Handled Brexit Better than Theresa May, House of Cards Author Claims. Evening Standard, 13 May. https://www.standard.co.uk/news/politics/margaret-thatcher-would-haveh a n d l e d - b r e x i t - b e t t e r- t h a n - t h e r e s a - m a y - h o u s e - o f - c a r d s - a u t h o rclaims-a4141406.html. Reitan, Earl A. 2003. The Thatcher Revolution: Margaret Thatcher, John Major, Tony Blair, and the Transformation of Modern Britain, 1979–2001. Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield. Slack, James. 2017. Steel of the New Iron Lady: On the Day Theresa May Said Britain WILL Quit the Single Market, She Put Cameron’s Feeble Negotiations to Shame with an Ultimatum to Brussels That the UK Will ‘Walk Away from a Bad Deal’. Daily Mail, 17 January. https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4130034/Theresa-s-Brexit-speech-puts-Cameron-shame.html Thatcher, Margaret. 1981. Interview for Sunday Times. Margaret Thatcher Foundation. https://www.margaretthatcher.org/document/104475.

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———. 1999. Speech by Lady Thatcher at the International Free Enterprise Dinner. Margaret Thatcher Foundation. https://www.margaretthatcher.org/ document/108381. Trefgarne, George. 2017. Theresa May Rises in Stature by the Day. CapX, 25 January. https://capx.co/theresa-may-rises-in-stature-by-the-day/. Walker, Tim. 2011. Baroness Thatcher’s Office Is Closed. The Daily Telegraph, 30 July. https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/8671195/Baroness-Thatchersoffice-is-closed.html.

PART I

Ideologies

CHAPTER 2

The Ideological Composition of the Parliamentary Conservative Party from Thatcher to May Timothy Heppell

This chapter will identify how the ideological composition of the parliamentary Conservative Party (PCP) has evolved over the last three decades. The rationale for engaging in this type of research is to establish the ideological legacy of Thatcherism within their parliamentary ranks. Prior to the advent of Thatcherism, the following assumptions existed about the Conservative Party vis-à-vis ideology. First, Conservatives tended to deny that Conservatism was an ideology (Gilmour 1977, 121). Second, rather than being ideological or dogmatic, Conservatives claimed that they were pragmatic. This was tied to their belief in the importance of internal party unity and that oft-used phrase that ‘we have our agreements in public and our disagreements in private’ (Cowley and Norton 1999, 102). This in turn explained why academics defined the party as one of non-aligned political tendencies, rather than one characterised by ideological factions (Rose 1964). Third, alongside their suspicion towards ideology, which aided their attempts to demonstrate internal unity, was another

T. Heppell (*) University of Leeds, Leeds, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_2

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oft-repeated claim—that loyalty to their leader was their secret weapon (Garnett 2003, 49). These claims about the Conservatives were certainly less credible in the post-Thatcher era then they were in the pre-Thatcher era. First, Thatcher rejected the pragmatism associated with consensus politics and she projected herself as an ideologically driven conviction politician (Kavanagh 1987). Second, the fact that Thatcher would ask if fellow Conservatives were ‘one of us’ (Young 1990) helped to establish a tradition whereby Conservatives became subcategorised in terms of whether they were Thatcherite or non-Thatcherite, a development which her successor John Major thought was immensely damaging (Major 1999). His leadership tenure would witness the consequences of her approach—i.e. an increase in ideologically driven conflict (Cowley and Norton 1999). Third, the claim about loyalty to the party leader was exposed as a myth. Thatcher was challenged twice (in 1989 and 1990); Major survived a de facto challenge in 1995; in opposition Iain Duncan Smith was forcibly evicted in 2003 via the confidence motion procedure initiated in 1998; and Theresa May did survive a confidence motion in December 2018 before eventually resigning in May 2019 (see Heppell 2008; Dorey et al. 2020; Roe-Crines et al. 2020). Moreover, ideology would also become a dominant consideration in the selection of the party leadership. Academic studies have demonstrated a strong correlation between the ideological preferences of parliamentarians and the candidate for the leadership that they voted for in the 1975, 1990, 1997, 2001, 2005 and 2016 Conservative Party leadership elections (see Cowley and Bailey 2000; Cowley and Garry 1998; Heppell and Hill 2008, 2009, 2010; Jeffery et al. 2018). Back in 1990 Norton (1990, 42) examined the ideological disposition of the PCP and asked whether Thatcher, and her administrations since 1979, had acted as a ‘transmission belt’ for an increasingly Thatcherite parliamentary party. Using a range of sources—i.e. division lists, membership of party groupings, public comments in the media and interviews— Norton positioned each member of the 1987 PCP on an ideological spectrum of Conservatism. The central theme within the Norton typology was opinion towards economic management, thus capturing the wet-dry distinction which was the dominant divide within 1980s Conservatism, but it was a typology that also captured the divide over social, sexual and moral matters. At the time the Norton typology was a credible way of mapping opinion within the PCP. Although it had a number of subcategories within it (see Table  2.1), it identified how Thatcherism was the

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Table 2.1  The ideological composition of the PCP 1990 using the Norton typology Grouping Critics of Thatcherism (Wets) (Damps) Faithful Populists Thatcherites (Neo-liberals) (Thatcher Group) (Tory Right)

Ideological categorisation

N = 372 67

Strongly interventionist, pro-European, socially liberal Moderately interventionist, pro-European, socially liberal Loyal to leadership position Interventionist, Eurosceptic, socially conservative Economic dries, social liberals, Eurosceptic Economic dries, loyalist on morality and Europe Economic dries, social conservatives, loyalist on Europe

(27) (40) 217 17 71 (15) (30) (26)

Source: Norton 1990, 47–52

ideological amalgamation of neo-liberalism in the economic sphere (as advanced by economic dries) and neo-conservatism as promoted by social conservatives—or what Gamble described as the free economy and the strong state (Gamble 1988). The central finding from Norton’s research was that the Thatcherites were a minority within the PCP (Norton 1990, 43–4, 55). This chapter updates Norton’s study to assess how the ideological composition of the PCP has changed in the parliaments since Thatcher. In doing so, the chapter will embrace and extend existing academic studies on the ideological disposition of the PCPs that have followed since 1992. These studies have developed the Norton typology in the following ways: • First, by expanding the scale of the research undertaken in order to position each Conservative parliamentarian. By using a larger number and wider range of division lists and Early Day Motions in the subsequent Parliaments, and more extensive use of campaign literature and interviews, the number of loyalists (or those who cannot be ideologically categorised) was lower (see for example, Heppell 2002, 2013). • Second, by modernising the Norton typology to fully engage with the European ideological policy fault-line. This would come to dominate post-Thatcherite Conservatism, but it was not as central as the wet-dry distinction at the time when Norton constructed his

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t­ ypology, and therefore this need to be addressed, as other academics have identified (see Garry 1995; Heppell 2002; Heppell and Hill 2005). • Third, by accepting that the spectrum of opinion within post-­ Thatcherite Conservatism actually covers three distinct ideological dividing lines—i.e. on economic policy, on European policy and on social, sexual and moral matters—and that these should be viewed separately. This is because some Conservatives do not adhere to a straightforward distinction based on the left of Conservatism being economically wet, Europhile and social liberal, and the right of Conservatism being economically dry, Eurosceptic and socially conservative. A lot of cross-cutting opinions, or zig-zagging, will exist across these three ideological dividing lines, showcasing the complexities of contemporary British Conservatism, and the difficulties that these would create in terms of party management for respective party leaders after Thatcher. Given these arguments, the chapter will consider the evidence of continuity and change in relation to each ideological dividing line separately in each of the Parliaments since 1992, starting with the economic policy divide, then the European policy divide, and then the divide over social, sexual and moral matters.

The Economic Ideological Policy Divide: Wets versus Dries Thatcherism was an economic modernisation strategy which was designed to replace a corporatist economy with an essentially market based economy (Johnson 1991). This required a rebalancing of the relationship between labour and capital and addressing the trade union problem—i.e. organised labour was an obstacle to the effective functioning of the free market (Dorey 1995). Running parallel to these assumptions would be the emblematic politics of privatisation, with the sale of state-owned assets and council homes, being aligned to a wider strategy of economic liberalisation (Forrest and Murie 1988; Wolfe 1991). As Thatcherism promoted the merits of deregulation and enterprise, so individuals and corporations were incentivised to generate wealth, and to achieve these objectives

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Thatcher made the case for lower direct taxation upon corporate income, personal wealth and incomes (Riddell 1989). Not all Conservatives were entirely comfortable with the consequences of Thatcherite economic medicine. Those Conservatives who raised doubts about increasing unemployment, or the growing gap between the wealthiest and the poorest in society, or about regional inequalities, would incur the wrath of Thatcher. She would justify the inevitability of inequality and would reject egalitarianism. She could simultaneously praise those who were the wealth creators in the economy, and argue that if social deprivation and poverty did exist, it was due to the limitations of those individuals and not caused by the limitations of the capitalism (Dorey 2011). Those who did not endorse the Thatcherite approach to the economy became known as wets, and as a consequence her backers became known as the dries. The use of the term wets was said to have been coined by Thatcher as a rebuke for ministers unwilling to fully support her economic strategy, and those she felt too willing to seek compromise with the trade unions. A more detailed delineation of the views of wets and dries is offered in Table  2.2. At its most basic it was clear that the wets were uncomfortable with the anti-union legislation and the tax and public expenditure cuts, and they made the case for a more interventionist and conciliatory approach (Young 1990, 198–202). Over time, Thatcher would use her Prime Ministerial powers of appointment to undermine their influence within Cabinet. Leading wets were either (a) dismissed— e.g. Ian Gilmour in 1981 and Francis Pym in 1983; or (b) resigned—e.g. James Prior in 1984 and Michael Heseltine in 1986; or (c) they were retained but marginalised—e.g. Peter Walker held office throughout but Table 2.2  The wet-dry distinction and the economic policy ideological divide Non-Thatcherite wet

Thatcherite dry

Mixed economy Extended and interventionist state Interdependence Consultative policy making Pluralist society Trade unions legitimate/constructive Welfare state as universal right Social obligation

Free market economy Limited but directive state Independence Executive policy making Individualist society Trade unions undemocratic/destructive Welfare state as safety net Private self-help

Source: Adapted from Smith and Ludlam (1996, 12)

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in positions regarded by Thatcherites of low importance (Agriculture 1979–1983; Energy 1983–1987 and Wales 1987–1990 (Young 1990, 193–9). The wet critique of Thatcherism was easily dismissed by the dries. The leading wets—e.g. Gilmour, Pym and Prior—were closely associated with Edward Heath. Thatcherites could therefore imply that the wet alternative was a re-hash of the policy u-turn that fatally undermined the credibility of the Heath administration of 1970 to 1974 (Holmes 1989, 92, 103–4). The landslide parliamentary majorities that were secured at the general elections of 1983 and 1987 validated the Thatcherite approach, thus marginalising the wets and their arguments (Holmes 1989, 92). For young and ambitious Conservatives entering the parliamentary party in 1983 (e.g. Peter Lilley or Michael Howard) and 1987 (e.g. John Redwood or David Davis) there were few career incentives in identifying as a wet, and many career incentives for identifying as a Thatcherite dry (Table 2.3). When assessing their numerical strength within the PCP, Norton identified that they were of roughly equal standing to the Thatcherite faction—the wets numbering 67 (or 18.0 percent) of the 372 strong 1987–1992 PCP and the Thatcherite dries numbering 71 (or 19.1 percent) (Norton 1990, 41–58). When that process of attitudinal mapping is applied to the wet-dry distinctions in the subsequent parliaments a very clear pattern emerges, see Table 2.3. The level of wet representation with the PCP declined from 33.8 percent in the 1992 Parliament to only 13.6 percent in the 2005 Parliament, and with level of dry representation also increasing between the 1992 to 2005 Parliaments (from 56.8 to 80.8 percent), so the gap between wet and dry representation increased from 23 percent in the 1992 Parliament, to 67.2 percent. The wet/dry ideological battle had been the primary ideological battle of the Thatcherite Table 2.3  The PCP and the economic policy ideological (wet-dry) divide 1992 to 2010 Parliament

Agnostic

Wet

Dry

1992 (n = 331) 1997 (n = 164) 2001 (n = 166) 2005 (n = 198)

31 (9.4%) 13 (7.9%) 11 (6.6%) 11 (5.6%)

112 (33.8%) 40 (24.4%) 34 (20.5%) 27 (13.6%)

188 (56.8%) 111 (56.8%) 121 (72.9%) 160 (80.8%)

Source: Amended from Heppell (2002), Heppell and Hill (2008, 2009, 2010)

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era, and it was clearly won by the dries. The level of wet representation had diminished to such an extent that academic research on the ideological mapping of the PCP ceased to assess wet-dry representation after the study on the 2005 Parliament (see Heppell and Hill 2009; Heppell 2013).

The European Ideological Policy Divide: Europhiles versus Eurosceptics/Soft versus Hard Euroscepticism/Remainers versus Brexiteers When Thatcher replaced Heath as Leader of the Conservative Party in February 1975, she inherited a party in which the majority of Conservatives were pro-European and the minority anti-Marketeer faction were located on the backbenchers (Crowson 2007, 109). This was clear from the fact that when seeking parliamentary consent for the passage of the European Communities Act in 1972, a total of 40 Conservative parliamentarians would rebel out of 330 (or 12.1 percent), although a further 75 did not actually rebel, but were said to hold doubts about entering the community—that created a ceiling of 135 of potential anti-Marketeers which at 40.9 percent was still a minority of the PCP (Norton 1978, 208). Conversely, it was estimated that approaching 200 Conservative parliamentarians were members of the pro-European ‘Conservative Group for Europe’ (Crowson 2007, 124, 164). Furthermore, the lop-sided result in the European Community referendum of 1975 undermined the anti-­ European arguments within the PCP, and by the time the Conservatives reclaimed power in 1979, anti-Marketeer Conservatives were ‘virtually irrelevant’ in terms of their influence (Ashford 1980, 110–12). The Thatcher administrations of 1979 to 1990 were critical in the incremental process of the Conservatives morphing from pro-­Europeanism to Euroscepticism (see Fontana and Parsons 2015). Key developments in the mid to late Thatcher era would include the following: first, the creation of the single European market, second, the case for (and against) joining the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM), and third, the longer-term question to address of whether or not to proceed towards Economic and Monetary Union (EMU) (Buller 2000). Although Thatcher would later become identifiable with the Eurosceptic cause, she was a ‘willing participant’ to the signing of the Single European Act (SEA) (Crowson 2007, 51). With the SEA advancing market liberalisation it was clearly attractive to Thatcher as not only did it represent the ‘convergence of economic

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policy across Europe with that of the British Conservative Party’, but it could also ‘entrench neo-liberalism as a global hegemonic project’ (Gifford 2014, 89–94). However, Thatcher had underestimated the ‘expansionist elements’ of the SEA, and it formed the ‘basis for spill-­over initiatives’ which the President of the European Commission, Jacques Delors, could exploit—e.g. the promotion of a social dimension and harmonisation around the rights of workers (Gifford 2014, 89). As she came to recognise her own misjudgement, so her rhetoric moved in a Eurosceptic direction (Daddow et al. 2019; Roe-Crines and Heppell 2020). She concluded that (a) the social dimension spill over effects demonstrated that the free market philosophy that had underpinned to SEA was being reneged upon; and (b) the integrationist process being advanced by Delors, which would advance the power of European institutions, represented a threat to parliamentary sovereignty (Gifford 2014, 96). Those on the pro-European wing concluded that pooling their sovereignty with their European partners and allies, was essential not just for economic reasons, but for the renewal of British influence on the world stage. To Eurosceptics, sovereignty was something you either possessed or you did not, it could not be shared, and to imply otherwise was to misread the situation—i.e. you were surrendering your sovereignty to a supra-­ national body over which the British would have no real control (Heppell 2002, 303). This ideological battle would be running parallel to developments that did much to damage the governing credibility of the Conservatives in the early 1990s. Black Wednesday in September 1992— which resulted in a humiliating and forced ejection from the ERM—was a pivotal moment in Conservative Party history, as it did much to stimulate further Conservative mistrust of further integration within Europe (Kettell 2008). If this damaged their claims to governing competence, then the parliamentary passage (and ratification) of the Treaty of European Union fatally undermined their claims to party unity (Baker, Gamble and Ludlam 1993, 1994). Not only were there a significant number of rebellions—at least fifty backbench Conservative parliamentarians rebelled at least once during the passage of the legislation—but its eventual passage only occurred after Major tied it to a vote of confidence in his administration (in July 1993) (Cowley and Norton 1999). When, later in the Parliament, eight members of his own parliamentary ranks defied the whip on a budgetary contribution division, Major withdrew the whip from them, only to reinstate it months later without any guarantees about their future loyalty

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(Heppell 2007, 474). The scale of the discontent was laid open to the electorate in the general election campaign of 1997. On the vexed question of the single European currency, the official leadership position had the following three stages: first, win the general election; second, negotiate the terms for a possible entry into the single currency; and third, if appropriate conditions for entry are made available then put these to the people in a referendum. Approximately one third of Conservative candidates decided to reject the official leadership position of negotiate and decide (or wait and see), and made clear in their electoral campaigning material, that they would never agree to joining a single European currency (McAllister and Studlar 2000, 361). An irony existed with regard to the Conservative Party and Europe: voters were actually closer to the Conservatives on European policy than they were the more pro-European New Labour Party, but the Conservatives internal disagreements would ensure that they could secure no electoral benefit from this (Evans 1998). Between the end of the Major administration, and the beginning of the Cameron-led coalition government, a considerable amount of changes would occur in relation the Conservatives and the European question. It was increasingly clear that defining the cleavage within the Conservative Party around the terminology of pro-Europeanism and Eurosceptism was no longer credible (Cowley and Stuart 2010, 141). Opposition had seen a process of attitudinal realignment take place. Within this, the pro-­ European Conservative case for contemplating further integration had been marginalised. Running parallel to this a new distinction was emerging amongst Euroscepticism between two variants—hard and soft (for a more detailed discussion on hard and soft Euroscepticism, see Taggart and Szczerbiak 2008). The hard variant was not just rejecting what they perceived to be the excessively regulatory agenda of the European Union, but they were arguing the case for a hyperglobalist economy and the opportunities from prioritising the Anglosphere (Wellings and Baxendale 2015). For those of this rejectionist mindset the case for leaving the European Union was gradually being made. Those defined as soft Eurosceptics adopted a revisionist approach—i.e. like their fellow hard Eurosceptics they opposed any processes of further integration within the European Union—but they felt that the economic benefits justified continued membership, and the reform from within was the best strategy (Lynch 2015). On the hard-soft or rejectionist-revisionist distinction within the PCP, Cameron and his ministerial ranks were clearly aligned with the soft-­ revisionist faction. The hard or rejectionist faction, however, felt that

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Cameron had been complacent with regard to the threat from UKIP. They concluded that his modernising rhetoric, which downplayed immigration, was being exploited by UKIP. There was clear evidence that the electoral performance of UKIP improved significantly during the Cameron era, and that their vote base was primarily (but not exclusively) drawn from disaffected Conservatives (Ford and Goodwin 2014). Their frustrations manifested themselves in parliamentary dissent. During the 2010 to 2015 Parliament, 103 out of 306 Conservative parliamentarians would vote against the Conservative whip at least once on a European policy related division (Lynch 2015, 193). Although not his preference, Cameron was being forced to engage with the debates about the repatriation of powers, and by 2013 he had mapped out the following strategy—if the Conservatives won the general election of 2015, then he would aim to (a) renegotiate our terms of membership within the European Union, and then he would (b) put those new terms of membership to the people in an in-out referendum (Heppell et al. 2017, 768). In the ensuing 2016 European Union referendum the breakdown of the vote amongst the 330 Conservative parliamentarians of the 2015 PCP was as follows: 174 (or 52.7 percent) voted remain, 145 (43.9 percent) voted leave, and 11 (3.4 percent) did not publicly declare their vote (Heppell et al. 2017). Table 2.4 considers the ideological composition of the PCP in the six Parliaments between 1992 and 2015, and from this the speed and scale of the change in attitudes can be identified. That balance between Europhile (29.6 percent) and Eurosceptic (58.0 percent) forces Table 2.4  The parliamentary Conservative Party and the European Question(s) 1992 to 2017 Parliament

Agnostic

1992 (n = 331) 1997 (n = 164) 2001 (n = 166) 2005 (n = 198) 2010 (n = 306)

41 (12.4%) 11 (6.7%) 9 (5.4%) 10 (5.1%) 64 (20.9%)

2015 (n = 330)

11 (3.4%)

Europhile

Eurosceptic

(Soft)

(Hard)

98 (29.6%) 14 (8.5%) 8 (4.8%) 7 (3.5%) 7 (2.3%) 154 (50.3%) Remain/Euro-realists 174 (52.7%)

192 (58.0%) 139 (84.8%) 149 (89.8%) 181 (91.4%) 235 (76.8%) 81 (26.5%) Brexit/Euro-rejectionists 145 (43.9%)

Source: Amended from Heppell (2002, 2013), Heppell and Hill (2008, 2009, 2010), Heppell et al. (2017)

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when the Conservatives were in power under Major, changed significantly in opposition. A combination of retirements and defeats in the general election of 1997 saw Europhile sentiment within the PCP collapse from 98 (or 29.6 percent) to just 14 (8.5 percent). Whilst the Europhile faction lost 84 from their number, the Eurosceptics faction lost far less (n = 53) and from a higher base (n = 192), which meant that as a percentage of the PCP they increased their representation from 58 percent in 1992 to 84.8 percent in 1997. That balance between Europhile and Eurosceptic remained across the opposition years. Academic research sought to distinguish between the soft and hard variants of Euroscepticism only after the Conservatives were back in power in 2010, where the combined Eurosceptics forces amounted to 235 Conservatives, but within this 154 (or 50.3 percent) were soft and 81 (26.5 percent) were hard Eurosceptics. One limitation with the academic research profiling the 2010–2015 Parliament was the relatively high number of neutral or non-definable Conservative parliamentarians (perhaps a consequence of the very high number of new Conservative parliamentarians elected in 2010). Nonetheless the shift between soft Eurosceptics within the 2010 Parliament (154 at 50.3 percent) was relatively close to the number of soft Eurosceptics in the post 2015 PCP who voted remain (174 at 52.7 percent). That the number of hard Eurosceptics in the 2010 PCP (81 at 26.5 percent) was lower than the percentage in the Brexit referendum (145 at 43.9 percent) showcases the speed and scale of the moves towards hard Euroscepticism in the Cameron era. Given that the PCP was close to being evenly split—43.9 percent leave and 52.7 percent remain—it was clear that seeking parliamentary approval for Brexit would present Cameron’s successor, May, with significant party management difficulties.

The Social, Sexual and Morality Ideological Policy Divide: Social Liberal versus Social Conservatives It could be argued that scepticism towards further European integration was reflective of neo-conservative thought—i.e. the desires to promote and protect British national identify, and, aligned to this to preserve British national sovereignty (see Lynch 1999; Buller 2000). Such sentiments could also be seen to be aligned to scepticism towards multiculturalism and populist positioning vis-à-vis immigration, and it is from this perspective that the alignment between Thatcher(-ism) and Powell(-ism) can be

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identified (see Fry 1998). Alongside the protection of national identity, neo-conservatives also believed in authority; the maintenance of law and order; the sanctity of marriage and the importance of the family. This focus on morality within neoconservatism reflected their rejection of the socially liberal reforms of the 1960s, and their view that a correlation existed between sexual liberation and increasing divorce rates, single parenthood and welfare dependency (Durham 1991). However, not all Conservatives adopted such a traditionalist view as a clear social liberal-social conservative divide emerged. Thatcherites on the socially conservative right would, ironically, adopt an interventionist mentality, arguing that the state had a key role to play in supporting the family and protecting traditional moral values (Garry 1995, 172). They would also make clear their opposition to abortion, freedom of contraception and homosexual rights. Their views were controversially showcased in Section 28 of the 1988 Local Government Act, which outlawed the implied promotion of homosexuality in schools (Moran 2001). Standing against those of a social conservative persuasion were Conservatives who could be defined as social liberals—they did not proactively seek to make the case for liberal causes around gender equality between men and women, or the advancement of homosexual rights as a core objective of the political agenda, but they adopted a far less strident tone than their socially conservative colleagues (Cowley and Garry 1998, 479). In the post-Thatcherite era, the Conservatives experienced a number of difficulties when engaging with social, sexual and moral issues. For example, the speech that John Major delivered to the 1993 annual Conservative Party Conference, involved the phrase ‘Back to Basics’, by which Major meant attitudes towards teaching and law and order. However, his emphasis on traditional values left his slogan open to exploitation by the social conservative wing of the PCP. They decided to use it as a justification for them to attack single-mothers and preach sexual fidelity. Back to Basics would become seen as the hypocritical precursor to an avalanche of sleaze—i.e. allegations of financial and sexual wrong-doing by Conservative backbenchers in the mid-1990s (Bale 2010, 22–66). Trust was not the only problematic aspect for the Conservatives. By adopting such a socially authoritarian position, the Conservatives had allowed themselves to be portrayed as hectoring, intolerant and outdated. By being perceived as demonising certain sections of the electorate, for example, single mothers, homosexuals and immigrants, post-Thatcherite Conservatism came across as reactive and defined by who and what they opposed, rather than would

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that actually stood for (Norton 2009, 39). In the era of New Labour hegemony, Thatcherite Conservatism was increasingly felt to be obsessed with economics. Voters associated them with greed, selfishness and the profit motive, and felt that they were insufficiently aware of issues around social justice (Quinn 2008). The Conservative Party, in large part due to the socially conservative rhetoric, was a brand that was felt to be toxic— i.e. the ‘nasty party’ (Bale 2010, 283–362). The media attention that social conservatives could generate with their views on social, sexual and moral matters, overshadowed those seeking to promote a socially liberal mindset. The evidence of a social conservative-­ liberal divide was clear in the oppositon era of 1997 to 2005, as all three Conservative Party leaders—William Hague (1997–2001), Iain Duncan Smith (2001–2003) and Michael Howard (2003–2005)—experienced party management difficulties (Hayton 2012). Their parliamentarians were badly split on the following social, sexual and morality-based issues: first, on the repeal of Section 28 of the Local Government Act of 1988 under Hague; second, on providing equality for gay and unmarried couples to adopt children under Duncan Smith; and third, on the Civil Partnership Bill and the Gender Recognition Bill under Howard (McManus 2011). When Cameron won the leadership of the Conservative Party in 2005 it was on a modernising platform (Heppell 2008, 171–94). Central to modernisation was the notion of brand decontamination, and showcasing to the electorate that the Conservative Party was changing—i.e. that it would offer a more inclusive and socially liberal mode of Conservatism (Quinn 2008). The nasty party imagery could be negated by changing the focus and emphasis of Conservatism. At the most basic of levels this meant apologising for the mistakes of the Thatcher era on social, sexual and moral matters—and so, for example, Cameron spoke at Gay Pride, and offered an apology for section 28 of the Local Government Act 1988, and said that his party, and his predecessor had been ‘wrong’ on this issue (Bale and Webb 2011, 46). So, how successful was Cameron at engineering a shift towards social liberalism within the PCP? Table 2.5 identifies those shifts in opinion within the PCP in the period between 1992 and 2017. During the opposition years social conservative sentiment within the PCP increased, and for all three of the opposition Parliaments it was above 70 percent of the PCP.  When Cameron succeeded Howard as Leader of the Conservative Party he inherited a parliamentary party in which social liberal sentiment had fallen to as low as 12

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Table 2.5  The PCP and social, sexual and moral issues 1992–2017 Parliament

Agnostic

Socially liberal

Socially conservative

1992 (n = 331) 1997 (n = 164) 2001 (n = 166) 2005 (n = 198) 2010 (n = 306) 2015 (n = 330)

0 (0.0%) 13 (7.9%) 9 (5.4%) 28 (14.1%) 62 (20.2%) 63 (19.1%)

101 (30.5%) 29 (17.7%) 25 (15.1%) 25 (12.7%) 91 (29.8%) 148 (44.8%)

230 (69.5%) 122 (74.4%) 132 (79.5%) 145 (73.2%) 153 (50%) 119 (36.1%)

Source: Amended from Heppell (2002, 2013), Heppell and Hill (2008, 2009, 2010), Heppell et al. (2017)

percent. The composition of the PCP would change significantly in the aftermath of the general election of 2010. When adding together new Conservatives who held onto seats previously held by Conservatives who did not seek re-election, and the gains made, a total of 147 new Conservatives entered the parliamentary party in 2010. The new Conservative parliamentarians were disproportionately socially liberal, and the balance between socially liberal and socially conservative forces changed significantly as a result. The impact of the additional new entrants at the general election of 2015 resulted in the social liberals becoming the majority in the 2015 Parliament (148 members or 44.8 percent) as compared to 119 social conservatives (or 36.1 percent). Although this provides evidence of the impact of modernisation, we have to be cautious about describing this as evidence of the success of Cameron. That is because the Cameron era would involve a very serious conflict between the social liberals and social conservatives over same sex marriage. Cameron would come to regard legislating on this issue as the greatest achievement of his premiership and it was a significant ‘milestone’ for the Conservative Party in terms of them gaining ownership of a major piece of socially-liberal reforming legislation (Clements and Field 2014, 523). Cameron was always going to be able to secure his legislative objective on this matter, especially as the opposition Labour Party were supportive of the legislation. However, the parliamentary debates and divisions would reveal a raft of social Conservatives who argued that same sex marriage was morally wrong. Although the same sex marriage debate showcased that the socially conservative wing of the PCP was very vocal, the fact remains that their

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position was in numerical decline as a consequence of the Cameron era. However, although this may provide some evidence of progress, this has to be measured against two additional considerations. First, a patchy and inconsistent record would emerge in the Cameron era in relation to gender equality. Credit is due in relation to addressing issues around stalking, violence against women in the domestic sphere, female genital mutilation and anti-trafficking. However, austerity was pursued without sufficient consideration of its gendered impact—i.e. austerity would have a disproportionate impact upon women, notably those who were less well off, single mothers and single pensioners (Campbell and Childs 2015). And, second, the events in the aftermath of the general election of 2017 could be said to have done much damage to the socially liberal repositioning that Cameron had sought to engineer. The Conservatives lost their parliamentary majority as their parliamentary representation fell from 330 (at the general election of 2015) down to 317, which left them nine below the magic figure of 326 needed for a majority (Cowley and Kavanagh 2018, 497). May then decided to construct a confidence and supply arrangement with the ten members of the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), to provide her with a sufficient level of parliamentary stability to be able to govern. However, critics argued that this could be seen as the re-­toxification of the Conservative brand, given that they were aligning themselves with a party defined by their hard-line socially conservative views on abortion and marriage equality, views which seemed at odds with those of the Cameronite modernising social liberals (Bale and Webb 2018, 50).

Conclusion Based on the above analysis what patterns can we detect in terms of the changing ideological composition of the PCP? On the economic policy ideological divide, it is clear that the Thatcherite dries had triumphed over the non-Thatcherite wets. So comprehensive was that victory that the mapping of the wet-dry divide was not deemed worthy of coverage in academic research after 2010 (as the wets were in single figures). If the Thatcherite viewpoint triumphed in the economic policy divide, then a slightly more complicated interpretation has to be offered in relation to the European policy ideological divide. This is for two reasons. First, how we position Thatcher on the European question is complicated by her actions in office and her rhetoric as a former Prime Minister. Some of her actions in office contributed to the integrationist process, such as

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her commitment to the SEA, but some of her actions (and rhetoric) from 1988 to 1990 showcased her increasing scepticism about further integration. Without the constraints of office, Thatcher became a thorn in the side of her successor, as she simplified the complexities of the European debate, and became the figurehead of Euroscepticism in the 1990s (as demonstrated by Andrew Crines later in this collection). Second, it is actually an oversimplification to talk of the European question, or of being for or against European integration, because the question changes over time. When Thatcher became Leader of the Conservative Party the question was whether to be in the Common Market or not, yet by the end of her leadership tenure the primary question was whether to join the ERM or not. To her successor came the associated question of whether to join the single European currency or not. By the time that Cameron became Prime Minister, the circumstances had changed—the Eurozone crisis, the increasing saliency of immigration as an issue for voters, and the electoral threat from UKIP—made for an environment that was different from the environment that Thatcher faced. The questions were about the repatriation of powers and redefining their relationship with the European Union, and if that was not feasible, then the question was whether to leave or not. Whilst acknowledging these complexities it is clear that late Thatcherism was defined by a shift towards Euroscepticism. She legitimised Euroscepticism, and her parliamentarians clearly followed her lead, becoming overwhelmingly Eurosceptic once they were in opposition (Turner 2000, 124). However, whereas the changes in the positioning of the Conservative Party on the economic and European policy ideological divides demonstrate movement towards Thatcherism, the same cannot be said considering the social, sexual and moral ideological divide. Notwithstanding the doubts about their commitment to gender equality when in office, and the divisiveness caused by same sex marriage, what cannot be denied is that numerically a shift away from social conservatives and towards social liberalism had occurred at the parliamentary level. Cameron may have failed to withstand the tidal wave of Euroscepticism that would overcome his party at parliamentary level—and also amongst the membership—but this lesser acknowledged part of his legacy to the Conservative Party, should be acknowledged. As such, three decades after the fall of Thatcher, a mixed pattern of development exists in terms of the ideological composition of the PCP.

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References Ashford, Nigel. 1980. The European Economic Community. In The Conservative Party Politics, ed. Zig Layton-Henry. London: Macmillan. Baker, David, Andrew Gamble, and Steve Ludlam. 1993. Whips or Scorpions? The Maastricht Vote and the Conservative Party. Parliamentary Affairs 46 (2): 151–166. ———. 1994. The Parliamentary Siege of Maastricht. Parliamentary Affairs 47 (1): 37–60. Bale, Tim. 2010. The Conservative Party from Thatcher to Cameron. Cambridge: Polity. Bale, Tim, and Paul Webb. 2011. The Conservative Party. In Britain at the Polls 2010, ed. Nick Allen and John Bartle. London: Sage. ———. 2018. We Didn’t See It Coming: The Conservatives. Parliamentary Affairs 71 (1): 46–58. Buller, Jim. 2000. National Statecraft and European Integration: The Conservative Government and the European Union 1979–97. London: Pinter. Campbell, Rosie, and Sarah Childs. 2015. Conservatism, Feminisation and the Representation of Women in UK Politics. British Politics 10 (2): 148–168. Clements, Ben, and Clive Field. 2014. The Polls-Trends: Public Opinion Towards Homosexuality and Gay Rights in Great Britain. Public Opinion Quarterly 78 (2): 523–547. Cowley, Philip, and Mark Bailey. 2000. Peasant’s Uprising or Religious War? Re-examining the 1975 Conservative Contest. British Journal of Political Science 30 (4): 599–629. Cowley, Philip, and John Garry. 1998. The British Conservative Party and Europe: The Choosing of John Major. British Journal of Political Science 28 (3): 473–499. Cowley, Philip, and Dennis Kavanagh. 2018. The British General Election of 2017. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Cowley, Philip, and Philip Norton. 1999. Rebels and Rebellions: Conservative MPs in the 1992 Parliament. British Journal of Politics and International Relations 1 (1): 84–105. Cowley, Philip, and Mark Stuart. 2010. Where Has All the Trouble Gone? British Intra-party Parliamentary Divisions during the Lisbon Ratification. British Politics 5 (1): 133–148. Crowson, Nicholas. 2007. The Conservative Party and European Integration since 1945: At the Heart of Europe? London: Routledge. Daddow, Oliver, Chris Gifford and Ben Wellings. 2019. The Battle of Bruges: Margaret Thatcher, the Foreign Office and the unravelling of British European Policy. Policy Research Exchange 1 (1): 1–24. Dorey, Peter. 1995. The Conservative Party and the Trade Unions. London: Routledge.

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———. 2011. British Conservatism: The Politics and Philosophy of Inequality. London: I.B. Tauris. Dorey, Peter, Andrew Roe-Crines and Andrew Denham. 2020. Choosing Party Leaders: Britain’s Conservatives and Labour compared. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Durham, Martin. 1991. Sex and Politics. The Family and Morality in the Thatcher Years. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Evans, Geoffrey. 1998. Euroscepticism and Conservative Electoral Support: How an Asset Became a Liability. British Journal of Political Science 28 (4): 573–590. Fontana, Cary, and Craig Parsons. 2015. One Women’s Prejudice: Did Margaret Thatcher Cause Britain’s Anti-Europeanism? Journal of Common Market Studies 53 (1): 89–105. Ford, Robert, and Matthew Goodwin. 2014. Revolt on the Right. Explaining Support for the Radical Right in Britain. London: Routledge. Forrest, Ray, and Alan Murie. 1988. Selling the Welfare State: The Privatisation of Public Housing. London: Routledge. Fry, Geoff. 1998. Parliament and Morality: Thatcher, Powell and Populism. Contemporary British History 12 (1): 139–147. Gamble, Andrew. 1988. The Free Economy and the Strong State. London: Macmillan. Garnett, Mark. 2003. Win or Bust: The Leadership Gamble of William Hague. In The Conservatives in Crisis: The Tories after 1997, ed. Mark Garnett and Philip Lynch. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Garry, John. 1995. The British Conservative Party: Divisions over European Policy. West European Politics 18 (4): 170–189. Gifford, Chris. 2014. The Making of Eurosceptic Britain. Abington: Routledge. Gilmour, Ian. 1977. Inside Right: A Study of Conservatism. London: Hutchinson. Hayton, Richard. 2012. Reconstructing Conservatism? The Conservative Party in Opposition 1997–2010. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Heppell, Timothy. 2002. The Ideological Composition of the Parliamentary Conservative Party 1992 to 1997. British Journal of Politics and International Relations 4 (2): 299–324. ———. 2007. A Crisis of Legitimacy: The Conservative Party Leadership of John Major. Contemporary British History 21 (4): 471–490. ———. 2008. Choosing the Tory Leader: Conservative Party Leadership Elections from Heath to Cameron. London: I.B. Tauris. ———. 2013. Cameron and Liberal Conservatism: Attitudes within the Parliamentary Conservative Party and Conservative Ministers. British Journal of Politics and International Relations 15 (3): 340–361. Heppell, Timothy, and Michael Hill. 2005. Ideological Typologies of Contemporary British Conservatism. Political Studies Review 3 (3): 335–355.

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———. 2008. The Conservative Party Leadership Election of 1997: An Analysis of the Voting Motivations of Conservative Parliamentarians. British Politics 3 (1): 63–91. ———. 2009. Transcending Thatcherism? Ideology and the Conservative Party Leadership Mandate of David Cameron. Political Quarterly 80 (3): 388–399. ———. 2010. The Voting Motivations of Conservative Parliamentarians in the Conservative Party Leadership Election of 2001. Politics 30 (1): 36–51. Heppell, Timothy, Andrew Crines, and David Jeffrey. 2017. The United Kingdom Referendum on European Union Membership: The Voting of Conservative Parliamentarians. Journal of Common Market Studies 55 (4): 762–778. Holmes, Martin. 1989. Thatcherism Scope and Limits. London: Macmillan. Jeffery, David, Timothy Heppell, Richard Hayton, and Andrew Crines. 2018. The Conservative Party Leadership Election of 2016: An Analysis of the Voting Motivations of Conservative Parliamentarians. Parliamentary Affairs 71 (2): 263–282. Johnson, Christopher. 1991. The Economy under Mrs Thatcher, 1979–1990. London: Penguin. Kavanagh, Dennis. 1987. Thatcherism and British Politics: The End of Consensus? Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kettell, Steven. 2008. Does Depoliticisation Work? Evidence from Britain’s Membership of the Exchange Rate Mechanism 1990–1992. British Journal of Politics and International Relations 10 (4): 630–648. Lynch, Philip. 1999. The Politics of Nationhood: Sovereignty, Britishness and Conservative Politics. London: Macmillan. ———. 2015. Conservative Modernisation and European Integration: From Silence to Salience and Schism. British Politics 10 (2): 185–203. Major, John. 1999. John Major: The Autobiography. London: Harper Collins. McAllister, Ian, and Donley Studlar. 2000. Conservative Euroscepticism and the Referendum Party in the 1997 British General Election. Party Politics 6 (3): 359–371. McManus, Michael. 2011. Tory Pride and Prejudice: The Conservative Party and Homosexual Law Reform. London: Biteback. Moran, Joe. 2001. Childhood Sexuality and Education: The Case of Section 28. Sexualities 4 (1): 73–89. Norton, Philip. 1978. Conservative Dissidents: Dissent within the Parliamentary Conservative Party 1970–74. London: Temple Smith. ———. 1990. The Lady’s Not for Turning but What About the Rest’ Margaret Thatcher and the Conservative Party 1979–1989. Parliamentary Affairs 43 (1): 41–58. ———. 2009. David Cameron and Tory Success: Bystander or Architect? In The Conservatives under David Cameron: Built to Last? ed. Simon Lee and Matt Beech. Basingstoke: Palgrave.

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Quinn, Thomas. 2008. The Conservative Party and the Centre Ground of British Politics. Journal of Elections, Public Opinion and Parties 18 (2): 179–199. Riddell, Peter. 1989. The Thatcher Decade: How Britain Has Changed during the 1980s. Oxford: Blackwell. Roe-Crines, Andrew and Timothy Heppell. 2020. Legitimising Europscepticism? The Construction, Delivery and Significance of the Bruges Speech. Contemporary British History, Early view. Roe-Crines, Andrew, Timothy Heppell and David Jeffery. 2020. Theresa May and the Conservative Party Leadership Confidence Motion of 2018: Analysing the Voting Behaviour of Conservative Parliamentarians. British Politics. Early view. Rose, Richard. 1964. Parties, Factions and Tendencies. Political Studies 12 (1): 33–46. Smith, Martin, and Steve Ludlam. 1996. Introduction. In Contemporary British Conservatism, ed. Steve Ludlam and Martin Smith. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Taggart, Paul, and Aleks Szczerbiak. 2008. Theorising Party-Based Euroscepticism: Problems of Definition, Measurement and Casuality. In Opposing Europe: The Comparative Party Politics of Euroscepticism, ed. Paul Taggart and Aleks Szczerbiak. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Turner, John. 2000. The Tories and Europe. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Wellings, Ben, and Helen Baxendale. 2015. Euroscepticism and the Anglosphere: Traditions and Dilemmas in Contemporary English Nationalism. Journal of Common Market Studies 53 (1): 123–139. Wolfe, Joel. 1991. State Power and Ideology in Britain: Mrs Thatcher’s Privatization Programme. Political Studies 39 (2): 237–252. Young, Hugo. 1990. One of Us. London: Pan Books.

CHAPTER 3

Intellectual Reactions to Thatcherism: Conceptions of Citizenship and Civil Society from 1990–2010 Edmund Neill

This chapter seeks to investigate the effects of Thatcherism on Britain by examining its ideological legacy from the 1990s to around 2010, when the Cameron-Clegg coalition was elected. There continues to be, of course, a keenly fought debate about the long-term concrete effects of Thatcherism on British society and politics. Thus, those arguing in favour of Thatcherism’s transformative effects in practice have stressed the importance in the 1980s of lowering direct taxation rates, curtailing the power of trade unions, and the privatisation of major utilities and selling of council houses (Evans 1997, 24–39). By contrast, those more sceptical of Thatcherism’s practical impact have stressed that economic growth in the Thatcher period was lower than the post-war average, that the overall tax burden did not decrease, and that aspects of the welfare state (notably the NHS and education) were stubbornly resistant to change (Jackson 2012, 60). But arguably what marked out the Thatcherite governments of 1979–1997 was not simply what they accomplished in practice, but their

E. Neill (*) New College of the Humanities, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_3

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relative ideological consistency—regularly inspiring comparisons with the great progressive governments of the twentieth century, the New Liberal administration of 1905–14, and the Clement Attlee governments of 1945–1951—and success in disseminating their ideological message.1 Thus, to just to quote one example, despite being a fierce opponent, no less a figure than Tony Benn felt compelled to concede that Margaret Thatcher had ‘armed a lot of bright young people … with a new breed of right-wing concepts’ (Benn 1994, 257). What marked out Thatcherism, in other words, for Benn and other observers, was not only its unusual ideological coherence, but also its success in explicitly formulating and communicating its ideology—not least in such pithy slogans as ‘you can’t buck the market’, ‘rolling back the boundaries of the state’, and most notoriously and controversially ‘there is no such thing as society. There are individual men and women and there are families.’

The Ideology of Thatcherism and Its Challenges What, precisely, defined the essence of Thatcherite ideology? Clearly there is considerable room for debate on this subject, not least because Thatcherism drew inspiration from a number of divergent intellectual sources, including monetarists such as Enoch Powell and Milton Friedman, libertarians such as F.  A. Hayek, and traditionalists such as Maurice Cowling and Peregrine Worsthorne, amongst others (Neill 2019, 168–77). Nevertheless, it seems clear that Thatcherism essentially had three core principles. First, Thatcherites contended that individual citizens should have the liberty to make their own choices, particularly within the market—not least because the market was a far subtler and more exact satisfier of individual wishes than the state could ever be. This meant that individuals should be free from undue state interference—particularly from high 1  There remains something of a debate about the degree to which John Major’s 1990–1997 governments remained entirely Thatcherite. Certainly, Major’s emollient personal style, and his background as a councillor in Brixton who had never been to university, contrasted with Margaret Thatcher’s stridency, and her reputation as a politician most comfortable with ‘middle England’, or at least the ‘upwardly mobile’. Major also notably abolished the poll tax, and made some moves towards being more tolerant of gays and lesbians, at least at the level of rhetoric. However, most of the political instincts and significant pieces of legislation of Major’s government arguably remained Thatcherite: the Major government privatized British rail, and attempted to sell off the Post Office; Peter Lilley as Social Security Secretary endeavoured to reduce the welfare budget; and the instinct to keep direct taxes low remained strong.

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rates of direct taxation and high levels of inflation (since these affected individuals’ ability to use their own money)—and should also have the opportunity to own private property securely, especially their own house (Gamble 1994, 56–59). Second, although a key justification for advocating greater individual freedom for Thatcherites was that it ensured greater prosperity, by giving individuals a strong personal incentive to create wealth, also important to them was the conviction that granting greater liberty to individuals would make them more moral—by encouraging greater responsibility for themselves. Because individuals had to rely on their own resources to ensure their own security and self-development, in other words, the Thatcherites argued, they were much more likely to develop what Shirley Robin Letwin called the ‘vigorous virtues’ of self-­ reliance, moral responsibility, and independent-mindedness. By contrast, if their needs were wholly or largely provided by the state—as Thatcherites claimed they had been in the social democratic, post-war era—then they were much less likely to take care of themselves of themselves or others (Letwin 1992, 33–36). Finally, although Thatcherites stressed the worth of individual liberty and responsibility, they also tended to place considerable emphasis on the importance of loyalty to ‘natural’ institutions beyond the individual, notably the family, the nation-state, and British traditions more generally—which they often felt had been undermined by the ‘permissive’ values and legislation of the 1960s. If Thatcherite ideology certainly took inspiration from thinkers that were ‘libertarian’ therefore, it also drew on themes that were distinctively conservative—in that it ultimately sought to uphold ‘natural’ institutions like the family and the nation above the individual, and was (at least in theory) suspicious of radical, state-sponsored change (Freeden 1996, 385–93). Such an ideological position had distinct strengths. It helped Thatcherites justify the policies they claimed would increase individual freedom in the 1980s and 1990s, including the sale of council houses, decreasing direct taxation, and privatizing state industries mentioned earlier. Furthermore, Thatcherite ideology proved resistant to cruder types of criticism, notably that the aim of advocating greater economic liberty was simply incompatible with a ‘strong state’—since it was precisely one of their main justifications for advocating a strong state that it could remove illegitimate obstacles to freedom in the economic sphere, most notably overmighty trade unions. However, by the 1990s, the actual experience of Thatcherism in practice had raised four important questions for the ideology. First, although not necessarily inconsistent in theory, the twin aims of

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keeping inflation low and encouraging greater property ownership had come into conflict in the late 1980s, since a property boom, particularly encouraged by Nigel Lawson’s budgets in 1987 and 1988, had led to high rates of inflation, and eventually a recession in the early 1990s (Tomlinson 2012, 75). Second, more fundamentally, the experience of observing Thatcherism in practice raised the question of exactly what kind of individualism was being encouraged. Was Thatcherism designed to produce cautious, thrifty individuals, whose instinct was to save money, to be relatively self-denying, and to prioritize the importance of the family at all costs? Or was it to produce flamboyant, buccaneering risk takers, intent on maximizing their wealth, and hedonistically enjoying the fruits of their gambles? (Grimley 2012, 93). Third, related to this, was the question of whether a newly dynamic and energised market was fully compatible with the traditional structures of society that Thatcherites were also supposed to value—especially the family. Was the admonition to maximize wealth at all costs fully consonant with a stable marriage and healthy family life, in other words? (Jeffries 1996). Finally, although in theory the kind of state intervention sanctioned by Thatcherism was supposedly limited to allowing individuals to exercise economic independence, so as to enable other areas of civil society to develop as individuals pleased or tradition dictated, in fact the Thatcher and Major governments used the state to intervene fairly directly in these areas as well. One obvious example of this was the new national curriculum for secondary schools, instituted by the Education Reform Act (1988), which was highly prescriptive in terms of what it specified children should be taught in its new ‘national curriculum’. But more generally, the instinct of the Conservative governments of the 1980s and 1990s to intervene in local government directly, particularly by capping the amount local councils were able to spend, called into question their commitment to non-interference. These questions about Thatcherite ideology helped to stimulate debates about the nature of citizenship—namely what the relationship of individual, civil society, and the state ought to be.2 In particular, the question of 2  There were of course other reasons why politicians and political thinkers were inclined to start focusing more systematically on the nature of citizenship in the 1990s—notably the increasing impact of the European Union, questions concerning multiculturalism, feminist campaigns designed to achieve genuine equality for women, and a general desire to combat political apathy—but nevertheless queries about Thatcherism itself were highly important (Neill 2006).

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how compatible the free market was with a vibrant civil society attracted considerable attention—as did the question of how well the rights of a citizen could be modelled on those of a consumer (particularly in the context of the welfare state, as patients, students, or recipients of benefits). Such debates were conducted in different forums by a wide variety of people, including MPs, think-tanks, journalists, and commentators, both on the Right and the Left, and as such they can fruitfully be investigated in a number of different ways. One might, for example, look directly at how influential a Thatcherite conception of citizenship was amongst MPs after Margaret Thatcher lost power, or seek to analyse how deep-rooted such a conception was in central and local government decision-making. Here I take a different tack, and seek to investigate how influential a Thatcherite conception of citizenship remained by examining its impact on public intellectuals. Obviously, for reasons of space, we cannot give a completely comprehensive account of such debates on citizenship and civil society here, but nevertheless I will seek to examine a selection of the most important and influential contributions by intellectuals from the Left and Right. Thus, in the 1990s, I choose to examine the contributions of David Willetts, a lucid and influential conservative intellectual, as well as an MP, and, on the Left, the work of Professor Anthony Giddens, whose ‘third way’ has often been claimed to have influenced Tony Blair’s governments. In the 2000s, I focus, on the Right, on the conservative MP and political thinker Jesse Norman’s work on the ‘big society’, which David Cameron, as Conservative leader, showed considerable interest in, at least before being elected, and the conservative philosopher Phillip Blond, whose much cited Red Tory (2010) arguably went further in questioning the Thatcherite legacy. Finally, I briefly look at the work of the erstwhile Labour MP and influential politics professor David Marquand, who attacked the Thatcherite conception of citizenship for undermining both professionalism and civic participation, and felt that New Labour had done little to improve matters. As we shall see, one major theme that emerges is that political thinkers were inclined to mount more fundamental criticisms of Thatcherite approaches to citizenship and civil society in the latter period, although there was still considerable disagreement as to how best to remedy its failings, and some Thatcherite assumptions remained influential.

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Ideological Reactions to Thatcherism in the Early 1990s: David Willetts and Anthony Giddens First, then, we will consider how David Willetts sought to respond to the challenges thrown up by Thatcherism in the 1990s. Willetts had been a Treasury advisor and a senior figure in the Conservative Research Department in the 1980s, and in Modern Conservatism (1992) and ‘Civic Conservatism’ (1997), he sought to draw lessons from the 1980s and lay out a vision for future conservatives. For Willetts, the advent of Thatcherism in the 1980s had been largely successful in increasing individual freedom by liberating the market from overmighty trade unions, and he was also adamant in arguing that a commitment to the free market was in principle fully compatible with a rich and vibrant civil society, in which local differences were respected. Nevertheless, Willetts admitted, the actual experience of Thatcherite government in practice had been less successful in sustaining such a civil society, since heavy-handed government regulation had tended to damage its ability to flourish, or even (in some cases) to survive. Thus, for example, Willetts lamented the fact that the Food Safety Act (1990) had curtailed the range of meals offered by ‘Meals on Wheels’, that the Children Act (1989) had pushed up prices for playgroups, and that the Charities Act (1993) had stopped clients serving as trustees on trusts due to cost—so that, he had to admit, by the 1990s, ‘the pernicious effect of heavy-handed regulation on local voluntary groups’ was ‘greater than ever’ (Willetts 1997, 128). In response to this problem, Willetts offered two solutions. First, more theoretically, he argued strongly that the values of the free market are fully compatible with those of a flourishing civil society—and indeed that the two are mutually supportive of one another. For rather than free market capitalism being a phenomenon that necessarily undermines social institutions such as the family, local communities, and charitable giving, by reducing all relationships to instrumental, contractual ones, according to Willetts, as critics as varied as Marx and Schumpeter had argued, the two are (and always have been) symbiotically linked. This is so because although the market itself is an ‘amoral’ arena, in which nothing counts beyond efficiency and profit, nevertheless it promotes a certain ‘community of interest’, in which individuals are given the motivation to develop their particular talents, discrimination by race and gender is discouraged, and even co-operation between workers may be encouraged if it promotes the effectiveness of a firm. As such, although the market is insufficient to

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sustain a vibrant civil society, it is nevertheless generally supportive of it, rather than hostile (Willetts 1997, 84–89). Conversely, Willetts argued, to work properly, the market needs to be sustained by the existence of a vibrant civil society—since left to itself, the market does indeed tend to undermine useful social institutions, unable to distinguish between merely contingent arrangements, and the fundamental building blocks of society. Happily, in Britain, Willetts contended, there has been a long tradition of helpful civil society institutions, which had helped to sustain the free market benignly, notably a set of varied property rights bequeathed by the eighteenth century, and a plethora of voluntary organizations, bequeathed by the nineteenth—but less happily this inheritance has been increasingly menaced by the advance of the central state (Willetts 1997, 74–76). Thus since the Second World War in particular, Willetts argued, the growth of a centralized state has tended to be destructive of local variation, eliminating older communities by the government imposition of new housing estates, and dispensing welfare payments much more nationally and bureaucratically—a process unfortunately paralleled by the progressive weakening of any traditional local institutions between individual and state (Willetts 1997, 78). It was these processes that Thatcherism had failed to reverse—and indeed to some extent had exacerbated. Second, therefore, more practically, Willetts sought to revitalize civil society by combatting the advance of central government, enthusiastically advocating a greater use of local institutions and to some extent the market, to do this. In particular, he argued for reforms of the welfare state that he felt would enable it to address the major social problems of the 1990s more effectively, namely family breakdown, unemployment, and increasing crime. According to Willetts, all these phenomena were closely related to one another. In the first place, marriage rates, particularly in deprived areas, were declining due to the lack of young men who were regarded as economic ‘good bets’ for marriage—often because they themselves had come from broken homes (Willetts 1997, 105–106). Secondly, those most often likely to be unemployed on a long-term basis were young men from broken homes, with low educational attainment, who, finally, were most likely to turn to crime. Therefore, Willetts argued, rather than simply mechanically doling out money to recipients, the welfare state should instead be used much more creatively try to prevent the creation of broken homes and to improve behaviour, reuniting the link between welfare and desert, and increasing citizen choice where possible. In particular, he argued that parents be given a greater chance to choose schools for their

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children, since this would force schools to raise their educational standards far more effectively than by central governmental control, giving young men, even from single-parent homes, a better chance to succeed (Willetts 1997, 112). Furthermore, Willetts argued, welfare benefits should be contingent on good behaviour—to actively seek work, for example, if unemployed—and such judgments should be exercised by empowered local officials (as in France or Germany), rather than mechanically by the state (Willetts 1997, 122). And the punishment of crime, Willetts contended, should be clear and immediate, rather than opaque and bureaucratic, making clear the consequences of a criminal’s actions (Willetts 1997, 114). Thus in general, civil society, Willetts argued, should be reimagined as an entity capable of making moral judgments, unafraid of local variation, hence re-empowering citizens to participate actively in society, rather than being passive individuals at the mercy of an overmighty state. Willetts’ position is a coherent one, which clearly identifies some of the difficulties thrown up by Thatcherism in the 1980s and 1990s. What is striking about it, however, is its relative optimism and the degree to which it remains close to Thatcherite arguments—although it criticizes the way Thatcherism had operated in practice for undermining civil society by overzealous government regulation, it contends there is no contradiction in principle between the workings of the free market and a flourishing civil society. It takes the effects of global capitalism as being both inexorable and benign, and furthermore, in its insistence that the welfare state can be used to make moral judgments and improve social behaviour, it strongly implies that there is still a sufficient moral consensus in Britain to do this, despite the increased pluralism fostered by the ‘permissive’ values of the 1960s. As such, Willetts’s position only departed cautiously from Thatcherite norms. It is true, of course, that his views were certainly not universally held, either on the Right or the Left in the 1990s. For example, on the Right, the influential academic John Gray, previously an advocate of Thatcherism in the 1980s, was much warier of the idea that there was still any kind of strong moral consensus in Britain, arguing in his collection of essays Beyond the New Right (1993) that although maximizing citizens’ autonomous choices through the promotion of a flourishing civil society was an entirely proper aim of government, this had to be done against a background of considerable, perhaps intractable, moral disagreement (Gray 1993, 51). And, more fundamentally still, Gray was to become more pessimistic about the chances of even this program in the late 1990s, explicitly disputing—in ‘The Undoing of Conservatism’—Willetts’ claims

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that a rich, locally varied civil society could easily be reconciled with the free market, since unfettered markets themselves had a strong tendency to erase local differences (Gray 1997, 40–41). Meanwhile on the Left, the political philosopher and Labour peer Raymond Plant argued strongly that for a flourishing civil society to exist, significant redistribution to ensure greater equality needed to take place, since without this poorer citizens could not make genuinely autonomous choices. It was not enough to accept the results of market activity provided all citizens had access to sufficient resources, Plant argued, in other words, since genuinely autonomous choice-making was contingent on citizens being equally empowered—and such empowerment was dependent on a reasonable level of economic equality (Plant 1990, 21). Despite these exceptions, the Thatcherite aspects of Willetts’s position—namely that a freer market, and, more widely, economic globalization were unavoidable, and indeed could be harnessed for positive purposes to empower British citizens, was a highly influential one. We can see this if we consider the views on citizenship of a thinker with more Left-inclined views, the sociologist and political theorist Anthony Giddens, whose books, namely Beyond Left and Right (1994) and particularly The Third Way (1998) have often been credited with helping to provide the New Labour governments of 1997–2010 with a political program. Certainly, in some respects Giddens departed significantly from a Thatcherite position. Critically, for him, unlike Willetts, globalization could not be understood purely as an economic process, but only as one that also had fundamental sociological consequences—according to Giddens it transformed societies not simply through the creation of new trans-national trading and financial links, or even through new international bodies, but rather through a complex set of changes (including instantaneous mass communication) that altered societies on a personal as well as an institutional level. This had several important consequences, Giddens argued. In the first place, it meant that through such global interactions citizens would necessarily became more reflexive, aware of the possibility of following different traditions, so that they would inevitably become more cosmopolitan, unable to follow and rely upon national traditions as they had before, unless they became fundamentalists (Giddens 1994, 78–87). Second, Giddens argued, this would lead citizens to develop different moral norms, marrying a desire for individualism with greater interest in upholding human rights, sexual freedoms, and ecological values—and he claimed that he saw empirical evidence of this in the way that individuals

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had developed since the 1960s (Giddens 1998, 36–37). And thirdly, Giddens contended, this meant that some of the very social and political categories that had been traditionally used—notably the family, civil society, and even the state, needed to be redefined. Thus the nuclear family was downplayed as being the product of a particular phase of socio-­ economic development with a male breadwinner, which did not guarantee equality between the sexes, civil society needed to be redefined as a zone in which individuals co-operated with the agencies of the market and state (rather than carving out a separate sphere), and the state itself could no longer rely on traditional authority to attain legitimacy, but had to be much more responsive to the democratic, participatory wishes of citizens (Giddens 1998, 69–98). Thus far, Giddens’ position, with its scepticism of the traditional role of the nation-state, espousal of more ‘permissive’ moral values, and demand for the significant reformation of traditional institutions, like the family and the state, seemed to represent a wholesale rejection of Thatcherism. But this was not the whole story, since in important ways, Giddens’ position ceded ground to Thatcherite arguments. Most fundamentally, even though he differed from Willetts over some of the consequences of economic globalization, Giddens, like the conservative thinker, essentially accepted that it is an inevitable process, and one which ruled out the continuing feasibility of traditional post-war social democracy. Like the Thatcherites, in other words, rather than seeing the social democratic arguments of the 1950s and 1960s, which argued for greater economic growth and social equality, as still possible in the 1990s, for Giddens this was an ideological position that had seemed appropriate (if at all) for a very specific set of historical circumstances, and was now redundant. This was so partly, he argued, because British society had now become so much more plural and individualistic that it had become much harder to find a clear criterion for a just redistribution of resources—which had been the very linchpin on which social democrats had based their argument for equality. But it was also because, according to Giddens, it was now much harder for governments to have sufficient control over the economy to implement a social democratic program through planning - they simply no longer had the same power to control the economy in an era where economic competition was genuinely global, and where currency flows were no longer restricted and exchange rates no longer fixed as they had been in the post-war era (Giddens 1994, 74–77). And building on this conclusion, Giddens drew two further implications from it, spurning traditional

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social democracy, and arguably ceding further ground to the Thatcherites. In the first place, Giddens agreed with Thatcherite thinkers like Willetts that civil society needed to be revived, and that this could not be done simply by the state allocating it more money, as the ‘old Left’ had maintained. Rather, it needed help from a variety of other sources, including businessmen and charities, so that if Giddens differed from the Thatcherites in maintaining that the market alone was not enough, he nevertheless agreed with them that the state alone was not equal to the task. And secondly, Giddens argued, the role of the welfare state should be redefined so as to minimize the importance of pure redistribution, and instead emphasize its ‘enabling’ role—to allow citizens to help themselves if possible. Thus, like Willetts he argued that welfare should be provided less by the state, but more by locally organized entities, so as to be more responsive, stressing the importance of a ‘third sector’ of charities and non-­ governmental organizations (Giddens 1998, 111–118). If Giddens argued for more of a reformulation of traditional concepts and institutions than Willetts and the Thatcherites, therefore, nevertheless in important senses his position gave ground to their arguments.

Intellectual Reactions to Thatcherism in the 2000s: Jesse Norman, Phillip Blond, and David Marquand If political intellectuals’ criticisms of Thatcherite ideology tended to be fairly muted in the 1990s, both on the Left and the Right, the situation changed significantly in the subsequent decade. There were several reasons for this. Most obviously, the financial crash of 2007–2008, which directly led to lower economic growth and wages stagnating, caused considerable dissatisfaction and disquiet amongst voters, and forced political thinkers to reconsider whether economic globalization was quite such a positive development. But arguably this only crystallized three other concerns that many political intellectuals had already developed in the course of the 2000s. First, there were increasing worries about the degree of ‘trust’ that citizens had in public institutions and politicians, despite the considerable constitutional reforms undertaken by the 1997–2010 Labour government (in terms of devolution and reform of the House of Lords). This was highlighted in particular by the expenses scandal in 2009, when many MPs were embarrassed by the items they had claimed with taxpayers’ money, but it had already been highlighted by well-known

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intellectuals—most notably, Onora O’Neill in her Reith Lectures (O’Neill, 2002). Second, on a related point, there were increasing concerns that public services, notably schools and the NHS, were not ‘delivering’ the outcomes they were supposed to be providing, despite a plethora of performance indicators, and testing of various kinds. Finally, less specifically, there were worries amongst some commentators and intellectuals that citizens were increasingly becoming purely shallow and passive consumers, without any deeper moral convictions, and that this was a cause for concern. As we shall see precisely which of these problems (if any) intellectuals regarded as the most serious varied, of course, as did how much intellectuals sought to blame these tendencies on the legacy of Thatcherism or on its New Labour successors. Nevertheless, what does seem clear is that many, both on Left and Right, were more inclined to mount more searching criticisms of Thatcherism and economic globalization than had been the case in the 1990s. To illustrate this, we will examine Jesse Norman’s analysis in his work The Big Society (2010), before proceeding to consider the even more searching critiques by Phillip Blond in his book Red Tory (2010) and David Marquand’s Decline of the Public (2004). First, then, we will examine how Jesse Norman sought to diagnose and solve such problems in his work The Big Society (2010). Norman, currently an MP, and author of books on Adam Smith and Edmund Burke, had, before entering parliament, been the executive director of the thinktank ‘Policy Exchange’, and The Big Society was designed to provide a program for an incoming Conservative government—indeed its title was taken up by David Cameron and became something of a buzzword. To some extent, Norman echoed familiar conservative arguments that resembled those of Willetts, taking aim against the Blair/Brown Labour government for spending too much money, and exercising too much micro-managing centralized control when it came to organizing the welfare state. Thus economically, Norman attacked what he argued had been the illusion of strong economic performance in the 1990s and 2000s, claiming that this had actually been built upon four unsustainable ways of stimulating demand, namely government spending (financed by borrowing), high immigration, rising house prices, and private debt (Norman 2010, 19–25). So, although consumer demand had been stimulated by government spending on welfare (which directly gave consumers more money to spend) and by the inflation of house prices (which encouraged consumers to borrow against their houses’ increasing value), this inevitably led to huge amounts of public and private debt, and ultimately fuelled

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inflation—despite the mitigating effects of cheap labour provided by immigration. (Moreover, none of this was helped by Britain’s productivity lagging behind many of its major competitors.) And in terms of social policy, Norman, like Willetts before him, argued that welfare in the hands of the New Labour government had become far too centralized in the hands of the state, crowding out more locally sensitive provision, so that it operated in a way that was both high-handed and inefficient, confusing as well as micro-managing its recipients (Norman 2010, 42–48). This tendency to centralize by the Labour government had a number of causes, but was mainly caused by the dominance of Fabianism within the Labour tradition, with its love of state experts, and suspicion of local participation (Norman 2010, 82–85). However, there was more to Norman’s position than this. If his immediate target was the 1997–2010 Labour government, and the Fabian tradition that he saw as underlying it, then in some ways intellectually he sought to deviate from Thatcherism as well. This was because key to Norman’s position was not just a critique of centralization, but the economic philosophy which he saw as underlying it—one which treated human beings as rational, self-interested individuals, intent only on maximizing their pleasure (Norman 2010, 45; 51–58). For although such a model, and the cost-benefit analyses it had inspired, had yielded certain benefits in terms of efficiency, nevertheless, Norman argued, by insisting on a picture of mankind that ignored the importance of the institutions of civil society in motivating individuals, it had necessarily encouraged a top-­ down ‘command and control’ model of government (Norman 2010). Despite assaults from within the profession, such an economic model had been dominant within government circles since at least the 1970s, and, as such, it had had negative consequences in the Thatcherite period as well as subsequently. Instead, Norman argued, borrowing from Amartya Sen (amongst others) it was vital to conceptualize individual selves as active entities with various ‘capabilities’, so that the aim of public policy should be to try to fulfil these as far as possible—rather than maximizing pleasures, or promoting equality of opportunity or outcome. Such ‘capabilities’, according to Norman, comprised a very wide variety of abilities, including everything from having a proper resistance to disease to having the ability to realize one’s talents, and to enable citizens to fulfil them as much as possible, he argued, we need to rethink both our attitude to economics and politics (Norman 2010, 129–30). Economically, he believed that we should celebrate competition and entrepreneurship—but also

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recognize they have their limitations, so that we appreciate that economic competition will only work well in the context of having appropriate institutions, and admit that in certain circumstances limiting competition and encouraging co-ops instead will be more beneficial (Norman 2010, 166–69). And politically, Norman argued, it was imperative that we reject the combination of libertarianism and centralized control that had tended to characterize Thatcherism in practice, re-emphasizing the importance of intermediate institutions, in a tradition that he attempts to trace all the way back to Aristotle (Norman 2010, 188–94). In practice, many of the prescriptions Norman recommended—such as empowering local councils, reducing bureaucracy for secondary schools, and simplification of the tax system—sounded similar to those of Willetts’ ‘civic conservatism’. But there were also some differences. Just to give one example, Norman’s greater scepticism of the market led him to be notably more critical of current structures of corporate governance, suggesting mechanisms to curb excessive executive pay, and to make it easier for shareholders to appoint genuinely independent members on to corporate boards (Norman 2010, 212–15). If Norman’s ‘Big Society’ to some extent revived Willetts’ conception of ‘civic conservatism’, therefore, it was significantly more critical of Thatcherism in practice, and more sceptical of the benefits of the free market in theory. Turning to the work of Phillip Blond, a former lecturer in philosophy and theology, and subsequently director of the influential think-tank ‘Res Publica’, we encounter a thinker who mounted criticisms of New Labour and of Thatcherism that to some extent resembled Norman’s, but went further in criticizing the degree to which British politics and society have been damaged by the pincer movement of the increasing power of both market and state. Thus in his book Red Tory (2010), Blond echoed some of Norman’s criticisms of the socially damaging effects of Thatcherism, pointing to the considerable increase in government centralization that had occurred at the same time as the liberalization of the market. Like Norman, too, Blond criticized the New Labour government for exacerbating some of the worst tendencies within Thatcherism—highlighting in particular its micro-managing of schools and the criminal justice system, and its failure to do anything to rebalance the economy from its Thatcherite reliance on the City of London (Blond 2010, 19–24). But Blond’s critique arguably went much further. For him, despite some undoubted successes under Margaret Thatcher’s governments, including the controlling of inflation, and the democratization of trade unions, ultimately both

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Thatcherism, and the New Labour government that succeeded it, were fundamentally flawed because they were the products of liberalism, and not conservatism at all (Blond 2010, 121–26). And for Blond, the liberal tradition was totally inadequate for two connected reasons. In the first place, Blond argued, since liberalism contended it was impossible to agree what was genuinely good and virtuous, so that the best that could be achieved was the maximization of individual choice, the liberal tradition was inherently nihilistic, because it could conceive of no greater common end for mankind than hedonistic pleasure (Blond 2010, 141–45). And in the second, since liberalism elevated individual freedom above all else, it found it hard to justify the worth of civil society institutions, all too often viewing them negatively as potential threats to liberty, and often paradoxically turning to the state to subdue them, as in Rousseau’s political thought (Blond 2010, 148–52). In a British context, Blond argued, this helped to explain why Thatcherism had inevitably favoured centralization, but it was important to understand that the problem was a deep seated one. For though he shared the arguments of Willetts and Norman that Britain had been the fortunate beneficiary of a tradition that married free enterprise with stable political institutions in the 18th and 19th centuries, he argued that this had been corrupted as early as the interwar decades, when the cynicism of the middle-classes in response to the slaughter of the First World War, personified above all by the Bloomsbury Group, had helped to destroy the great codes of conduct that knitted British society together—namely the mutual associations of the agrarian and industrial working classes, on the one hand, and the paternalist tradition of the aristocracy on the other (Blond 2010, 162–65). Previously, the middle classes had helped to combine these associations, offering a vision of public service and the common good, but as this was progressively eroded by the self-hating cultural elite personified by Philip Larkin in the 1950s, and by aspects of the ‘permissive society’ in the 1960s, the result has been an unpleasantly atomized and anomic society, where individuals seek instant gratification, personal debt is generally accepted, the family has been undermined, the entertainment sought is coarse and voyeuristic, and few participate actively in politics (Blond 2010, 165–67). In such circumstances, it was unsurprising that the state had stepped in to regulate such an anomic society, imprisoning more people, creating the largest DNA database in the world, and micro-­ managing the school curriculum. The only solution, Blond maintained, was a wholesale remoralization of society, which would entail re-learning

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a respect for the common good, and for the best aspects of tradition, rejecting liberalism entirely. Such an approach, he argued, had obvious implications for education, where all too often an obsession with measurable factual information crowded out a genuine respect for cultural knowledge, and prevented any freedom for local variation and innovation (Blond 2010, 174–80). But Blond argued it also had implications for economics and politics. Economically, he maintained that the market had to be re-­ moralized, arguing that a neo-liberal, Thatcherite model of the market is too likely to promote bad ethical practices, and too individualist to do justice to the essentially communal essence of firms (Blond 2010, 195–200). Instead, Blond argued for the importance of co-operative structures within the economy, including voluntary employee organisations, employees having a genuine stake in firms (following the model of John Lewis), local community trust structures, and even some redistribution to enable more citizens to be genuine investors in their pensions (Blond 2010, 239–42). Politically, he argued that purely negative freedom was not enough, so that although Thatcherism had correctly stressed the importance of representative democracy and individual freedom, a political system genuinely aiming at the common good would also require participatory democracy, through unions, churches, and third-sector organizations (Blond 2010, 263–65). Far more directly than Norman’s, therefore, Blond’s work represented an important departure from Thatcherism. If thinkers on the Right were arguably prepared to criticize Thatcherism more fundamentally in the 2000s compared to the 1990s, the same is also true of thinkers on the Left. It is true that they still generally eschewed trying to mount traditional social democratic arguments for equality, based upon state redistribution, since it was difficult to think of effective answers to the problems of economic globalization, identified by Giddens. (There were of course still sections of the Labour Party, and social democratic thinkers like Roy Hattersley who maintained such a position, but arguably their influence was fairly marginal.) Nevertheless, it is undoubtedly true they were more confident in criticizing the implications of Thatcherism for citizenship and civil society, and a good example of this is provided by the political thinker and erstwhile Labour MP, David Marquand—especially his book Decline of the Public (2004). Interestingly, to some extent his criticisms of Thatcherism, and of the New Labour governments that followed it, echoed those of Norman and Blond. Thus, for Marquand, just as for the others, the undermining of civil society by the

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combination of increased state centralization, on the one hand, and increased use of the market, on the other, was a cause of considerable concern (Marquand 2004, 88–115). Furthermore, some of the remedies Marquand advocated also resembled those of Norman and Blond to some extent—notably that of trying to encourage greater local participation in institutions that had become too impersonal and centrally run, such as hospitals, schools, and local government more generally (Marquand 2004, 142–43). But there were two crucial differences. First, if Norman and Blond went beyond Willetts in arguing that the Thatcherite conception of the free market had to be significantly rethought in order for civil society to flourish, and for citizens to participate successfully in society, they still thought that the free market could play a fruitful role in providing a model for citizenship. Second, not only were Norman and Blond very hostile to the bureaucratic machinery of the post-war welfare state, and the Fabian tradition of centralization they saw as underlying it, they also had little positive to say about professionals in general—at most, they stressed the importance of local engagement with professionals. By contrast, firstly, Marquand argued explicitly that citizenship rights were distinct from both those of the private domain and the family on the one hand, and the free market on the other—so that our rights as a citizen are intimately related to the maintenance of a disinterested public realm of equity, debate, and disagreement, which cannot be modelled upon our rights as a purchasing consumer (Marquand 2004, 134–36). Although of course a healthy civil society of active citizens could co-exist with a free market, therefore, there will always be a fundamental tension between acting as a good citizen, and acting as an effective free market competitor. And secondly, although suspicious of welfare institutions that were justified purely by bureaucratic efficiency, Marquand argued strongly that good relationships with genuine experts like doctors and teachers essentially had to be based upon respect and trust—since ultimately, they could never be guaranteed by either a purely contractual relationship, or by any number of performance indicators (Marquand 2004, 53–56; 106–10; 135). For Marquand, then, a healthy civil society, a public domain, rested upon insulating both types of relationships from the impact of the market, and as such his position arguably departed further than any of the other thinkers from Thatcherism.

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Conclusion This chapter has aimed to examine how influential Thatcherite ideology continued to be in the 1990s and 2000s, by considering its impact on debates concerning citizenship and civil society amongst some key political thinkers and public intellectuals. While it makes no claims to be comprehensive, the following conclusions can be tentatively drawn. First, throughout this period, certain aspects of Thatcherite ideology remained highly influential—so that arguing explicitly for egalitarian redistribution to secure the equal rights of citizens, let alone robustly upholding post-­ war social democracy tout court became fringe positions. Second, furthermore, in the 1990s, whatever their other differences, important thinkers from both Right and Left like Willetts and Giddens remained relatively sanguine that the benefits of the global free market could be harmonized with a flourishing civil society, and empowering local citizens, in harmony with Thatcherite ideology—despite the fact they felt the 1979–97 governments had significantly erred in practice. Third, however, political thinkers from both sides of the political spectrum became much more willing to question Thatcherite assumptions in the 2000s, as the work of Norman, Blond, and Marquand testifies. Thus, Norman queried the philosophical assumptions underlying Thatcherite economics, Blond the failure of Thatcherism to be sufficiently conservative, and Marquand Thatcherite assumptions about the public realm. How influential Thatcherite ideology will continue to be in the era of Brexit and Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour Party, no doubt time will tell.

References Benn, Tony. 1994. The End of an Era: Diaries, 1980–90. London: Arrow Books. Blond, Phillip. 2010. Red Tory. London: Faber and Faber. Evans, Eric. 1997. Thatcher and Thatcherism. London: Routledge. Freeden, Michael. 1996. Ideologies and Political Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gamble, Andres. 1994. The Free Economy and the Strong State. London: Macmillan. Giddens, Anthony. 1994. Beyond Left and Right. Cambridge: Polity Press. ———. 1998. The Third Way. Cambridge: Polity Press. Gray, John. 1993. A Conservative Disposition. In Beyond the New Right, 46–65. London: Routledge. ———. 1997. The Undoing of Conservatism. In Is Conservatism Dead? ed. John Gray and David Willetts, 3–65. London: Profile Books.

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Grimley, Matthew. 2012. Thatcherism, Morality, and Religion. In Making Thatcher’s Britain, ed. Ben Jackson and Robert Saunders, 78–94. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jackson, Ben. 2012. The Think-Tank Archipelago: Thatcherism and Neo-­ Liberalism. In Making Thatcher’s Britain, ed. Ben Jackson and Robert Saunders, 43–61. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jeffries, Alison. 1996. British Conservatism: Individualism and Gender. Journal of Political Ideologies 1 (1): 33–52. https://doi.org/10.1080/ 13569319608420727. Letwin, Shirley Robin. 1992. The Anatomy of Thatcherism. London: Fontana. Marquand, David. 2004. Decline of the Public. Cambridge: Polity Press. Neill, Edmund. 2006. Conceptions of Citizenship in Twentieth Century Britain. Twentieth Century British History 17 (3): 424–438. https://doi.org/10.1093/ tcbh/hwl014. ———. 2019. Conservative Thinkers and the Post-War State, 1945–79. In Welfare and Social Policy in Britain since 1870, ed. Lawrence Goldman, 162–177. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Norman, Jesse. 2010. The Big Society. Buckingham: University of Buckingham Press. O’Neill, Onora. 2002. A Question of Trust. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Plant, Raymond. 1990. Citizenship and Rights. In Citizenship and Rights in Thatcher’s Britain: Two Views, ed. Raymond Plant and Norman Barry, 3–32. London: IEA Health and Welfare Unit. Tomlinson, Jim. 2012. Thatcherism, Monetarism and the Politics of Inflation. In Making Thatcher’s Britain, ed. Ben Jackson and Robert Saunders, 62–77. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Willetts, David. 1992. Modern Conservatism. London: Penguin. ———. 1997. Civic Conservatism. In Is Conservatism Dead? ed. John Gray and David Willetts, 90–141. London: Profile Books.

CHAPTER 4

Data-Driven Government: The Triumph of Thatcherism or the Revenge of Society? Kieron O’Hara

Shortly after her third general election victory in 1987, British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher gave an interview to journalist Douglas Keay, published in the women’s lifestyle magazine Woman’s Own in October of that year, under the title ‘Aids, education and the year 2000!’ One notorious paragraph became the focus of much ire, ridicule and outrage. I think we’ve been through a period where too many people have been given to understand that if they have a problem, it’s the government’s job to cope with it. ‘I have a problem, I’ll get a grant.’ ‘I’m homeless, the government must house me.’ They’re casting their problems on society. And you know, there’s no such thing as society. There are individual men and women, there are families. And no government can do anything except through people, and people must look after themselves first. It’s our duty to look after ourselves and then, also, to look after our neighbours. People

Web and Internet Science Group, Electronics and Computer Science, University of Southampton, SO17 1BJ, [email protected] K. O’Hara (*) University of Southampton, Southampton, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_4

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have got the entitlements too much in mind, without the obligations. There’s no such thing as entitlement, unless someone has first met an obligation.1

This statement, and especially the phrase “there’s no such thing as society”, has been strongly identified with Thatcher ever since (O’Hara 2018a). It is certainly unusual for a key political statement to appear in a women’s magazine, yet this is characteristic of a politician who, as her political opponent Tony Benn suggested, was a great teacher (Bogdanor 2004), whose political success rested upon mobilising aspirational blue collar workers impatient of the leftward move of Britain’s Labour Party (she had the uncanny ability, as Chris Patten remarked, to “detect the first slight stirrings of an issue in the loins of a Sun reader”—Bogdanor 2004), and whose signature policies were designed to undermine the reliance of the working class on the social institutions and safety nets designed by socialist politicians, which she believed were corrupting. My purpose in this chapter is to understand this statement, first of all in terms of the conservative thinking of the time, and secondly, in relation to more recent developments in technology and government. I will argue that Thatcher’s position is somewhat cruder than those of her contemporaries, and that the problems with her position become clear when it fails to provide an adequate critique of the current rise of data-driven government.

After, Behind and Before “No Such Thing” It took a long time for the Conservative Party to live down this interview, and several senior politicians took to print in the Conservatives’ wilderness years to qualify what she had said (Willetts 1992, 47–53; Willetts 1997, 15–20; Streeter 2002; Letwin 2002). Iain Duncan Smith, who had already made waves following his visit as Tory leader to Easterhouse estate in Glasgow in 2002, set up the Centre for Social Justice with Tim Montgomerie and Philippa Stroud in 2004, after his defenestration, whose mission, “to put social justice at the heart of British politics and make policy recommendations to tackle the root causes of poverty” (Duncan  The transcript of the full interview is available on the Margaret Thatcher Foundation website, at http://www.margaretthatcher.org/document/106689. Keay slightly rewrote Thatcher’s words, and the phrase ‘there’s no such thing as society’ was actually uttered by Thatcher a short while after the rest of the quote. 1

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Smith 2004), was deliberately pitched against the claim made by philosophers of the hard right such as Hayek and Scruton that the term ‘social justice’ was an oxymoron (Hayek 1976, Scruton 2006a). Thatcher had famously been a champion of Hayek in particular, so while the overt use of Christian thinking within the CSJ chimed with Thatcher’s Anglicanism, the rejection of Hayekian nostrums was a serious attempt to move on from her social legacy. While campaigning for the Tory leadership in 2005, David Cameron settled on the formula that ‘We know we have a shared responsibility, that we’re all in this together, that there is such a thing as society; it’s just not the same thing as the state’,2 and promoted his idea of the Big Society with Steve Hilton in 2010–2013  in order to put the nagging issue to bed (Smith 2010; Lowndes and Pratchett 2012). It was argued immediately that Cameron and Hilton’s Big Society idea “overlooks the crucial role that needs to be played by the state in promoting social justice, which is vital to the development of active citizenship and vibrant communities” (Kisby 2010, 484), a helpful sort of response that positioned Cameron in the Thatcherite zone of the Conservative Party, while also making his point for him that his opponents couldn’t conceive of a self-standing society capable of functioning beyond the state’s watchful, paternal eye. Even less ideologically-committed critiques worried about whether reduced state and public funding would threaten the “unity” of the third sector of voluntary organisations which had developed in tandem with its increasing engagement with the state under New Labour (Alcock 2010). Thatcher herself believed that her meaning had been “distorted beyond recognition” (Thatcher 1993, 626),3 and at the time of writing the trope is still routinely trotted out in left-wing newspapers as characteristic of hard-hearted Tory devil-take-the-hindmost individualism, thirty years later (e.g. Moore 2017). In the same way that some of the left-wing critiques seem prima facie contradictory, so does Thatcher’s slogan. Her overarching policy aim became at some point in her leadership to change the relationship between the individual and the state, focusing on “the extension of choice, the  The speech is online at https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2005/oct/04/conservatives2005.conservatives3, and was given at the Conservative Party conference on 4th October, 2005. Online version accessed 7th April, 2019. 3  Thatcher was not, of course, the principle author of The Downing Street Years (it was Robin Harris), but of course she approved the text, and intended the book to be the central statement of her philosophy. 2

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dispersal of power and the encouragement of responsibility” (Thatcher 1993, 618). The sale of council housing, for example, was intended to boost the number of prudent property owners with a stronger interest in stability while reducing the influence of local government over communities (Thatcher 1993, 568–9). Yet, if the state really is a witless Leviathan that crushes the life out of society, doesn’t that entail that society is something that does exist, or did exist once, and indeed, freed from dependency on and oppression by the state, ought to exist? This is certainly implied by some other of Thatcher’s claims, at least post hoc, in her memoirs. For instance, she rejected the claim of many conservatives and others that the urban riots of 1981 were an indication that economic policy was causing social breakdown (Thatcher 1993, 144), on the ground that the deprivation and squalor of the troubled estates would have galvanised communities to clear up the mess if they weren’t lacking both respect for the law (Thatcher 1993, 146), and “a sense of pride and personal responsibility—something which the state can easily remove but almost never give back” (Thatcher 1993, 145). Indeed, socialism and the state not only could but deliberately did try to obliterate the personal responsibility of their clients. “The conditions of dependency are the conditions for socialism” (Thatcher 1993, 618, cf.625f., 661). For instance, councils tended to create artificial neighbourhoods in “badly designed and ill-maintained estates” while “welfare arrangements encouraged dependency and discouraged a sense of responsibility” (Thatcher 1993, 146) thanks to “the deep-rooted hostility of the Left to the improvement and enfranchisement of those who lived in the ghettoes of dependency which they controlled” (Thatcher 1993, 601). This hostility emerged from the essentially delusional nature of left-wing thinking, refusing to accept previous failures of policy (Thatcher 1993, 753). While the creation of the welfare state was lionised by its proponents as idealistic and progressive, Thatcher instead chose to remember “the petty jealousies, minor tyrannies, ill-neighbourliness and sheer sourness of those years” (Thatcher 1993, 12). The massive upheaval of the Community Charge was intended to place the state’s clients in a position where even they had “something to lose from electing a spendthrift council” (Thatcher 1993, 642–3, 648). Her early economic policy was centred on a deliberate reversal of policies that involved the government directing the economy, on the ground that government could not do it effectively over the medium term, an idea reversed only when Chancellor Nigel Lawson wished to take credit for a

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boom that occurred on his watch (O’Hara 2013). The early, conservative period of Thatcher’s premiership was marked by a focus on supporting citizens’ pursuit of happiness, not, as with previous governments (and later ones such as David Cameron’s), purporting to create happiness directly, either by the construction of artificial neighbourhoods or the magic creation of more money for people to spend. Hence, Thatcher’s view was that personal responsibility and autonomy were necessary conditions for communities to function as communities, and for sought-after political goods to flow. The well-being of democracy itself depended on “limitation of the powers of government, a market economy, private property—and the sense of personal responsibility without which no such system could be sustained” (Thatcher 1993, 800). This explains her focus in her Woman’s Own interview on self-interest as a vital precondition for genuinely free and collective action in all sorts of enterprises, but it leaves us wondering what such enterprises might be, in the aggregate, if they do not comprise society. She certainly thought about such enterprises. As she wrote in her memoirs, “Society was made up of individuals and communities. If individuals were discouraged and communities disorientated by the state stepping in to take decisions which should properly be made by people, families and neighbourhoods then society’s problems would grow not diminish” (Thatcher 1993, 626). Yet the tension remained: “every time I came back from some spotlessly maintained foreign city my staff and the then Secretary of State for the Environment knew that they could expect a stiff lecture on the litter-strewn streets of parts of London. But this was essentially and necessarily a matter for the local community, though the privatizing of badly run municipal cleaning services often helped” (Thatcher 1993, 638). If it was, however, a matter for the local community, it is not altogether clear quite why the poor Environment Secretaries received their earfuls; was it because the state apparatus for which they were responsible was getting in the way, disorienting local communities, or was it because they presided over badly-run services? Neither do we know whether Thatcher ever investigated who maintained the spotless foreign cities. Prior to 1987, Thatcher’s close colleagues certainly had been known to speak in terms that implied some sort of notion of society, although Thatcher’s own attitude to their thinking was somewhat equivocal. Keith Joseph had several concerns about ‘cycles of deprivation’, where educational attainments, poverty and addiction were transmitted through generations (Such and Walker 2002; Welshman 2008), and agonised constantly

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about the effects that Conservative Party policy might have on those trapped in such cycles, and whether policy might break them open to allow greater social mobility (Denham and Garnett 2002, 219–25; Letwin 2017, 64–8). Thatcher hardly shared those doubts; as her biographer says, “Joseph was the intellectual driving force of Thatcherism, but he was also, by character, a Hamlet” (Moore 2015, 33), while Thatcher was rather more of a Coriolanus (O’Hara 2018a). As another example, Thatcher approved the 1983 election manifesto, largely written by Geoffrey Howe, which invoked the Burkean idea of “a great chain of people stretching back into the past and forwards into the future … linked by a common belief in freedom, and in Britain’s greatness. All are aware of their own responsibility to contribute to both” (Thatcher 1993, 285). However, her enthusiasm for it was lukewarm; only after the successful conclusion of the Falklands War “did she realize there might be a second term, but after the burdens and anxieties of the summer she was more tired than she would admit, and she did not give serious consideration to what she might do if re-elected” (Cannadine 2017: 55). Her legislative programme, based on the manifesto, “was lacklustre, with few concrete or original proposals, and no radical or coherent agenda” (Cannadine 2017: 66), and she blamed Howe for the ‘tame’ manifesto (Thatcher 1993, 284–5), despite its presentation of the government rather than the opposition as the radicals (Thatcher 1993, 287).

Angus Maude: ‘Society’ as a Statistical Abstraction Thatcher’s claim that there is no such thing appears problematic in itself, was the subject of several attempts at repudiation after she uttered it, and was also in tension with the ideas of some of her allies. Is it possible to get another perspective on her individualism, or was it so complete that social aggregations greater than the family were irrelevant? One potential, and neglected, source that may throw some light on this question is Angus Maude’s philosophical book The Common Problem (Maude 1969; O’Hara 2018a).4 4  This section follows and extends (O’Hara 2018a) in its argument. Thanks to Mark Garnett and Edmund Neill for past discussions on this topic; neither of these scholars can be accused of such neglect. Thanks also to Francis Maude for an interview about his father’s work. The Common Problem didn’t make a big splash upon publication, and so its relative obscurity is perhaps understandable.

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Maude, sacked from Heath’s Shadow Cabinet even before his friend Enoch Powell, was an early convert to the Thatcher cause who wrote speeches and newspaper articles for her, worked with her on her leadership campaign and the 1979 election, and was rewarded with a place in her first Cabinet. He features, if not prominently, in both (Thatcher 1995) and (Moore 2013), though The Common Problem receives no mention in either. He is often bracketed with Powell, but his 1969 book, though it followed Powell and Lord Coleraine (Hickson 2009) in rejecting corporatism and big government, was far less enthusiastic about free markets and was positively dismissive of the influence of Adam Smith, whom he blames, eccentrically, for “the whole philosophy of ‘planning’” (Maude 1969, 39). Maude’s philosophy of self-reliance and individualism (Garnett and Hickson 2009) rests on his analysis of ‘society’, which he conceived to be a statistical abstraction, anticipating more recent arguments such as (Hacking 1990). He deplores the dissolution of Burke’s ‘little platoons’ into larger, less heterogeneous and more predictable abstractions (Maude 1969, 45), because statistical patterns of mass behaviour then become accepted as norms (Maude 1969, 89–90). This kind of ‘society’, understood as the data about what people within a society do, or have done, and the collective preferences supposedly revealed by the aggregation of such data, is certainly not a moral code, but cannot even be understood as a set of pragmatic conventions which enable social life to function and flourish (Maude 1969, 40). There is a tendency in political discourse to sentimentalise and attribute agency to this ‘society’, to assume that there are social needs (as opposed to people with needs), a social conscience that drives reform (as opposed to the efforts of political thinkers and entrepreneurs), and social provision of support (as opposed to the state which collects and redistributes tax revenue). Indeed, in many ways, what is called ‘society’ is often the state (Maude 1969, 41–42). Maude’s book, which though now forgotten is interesting in its own right, is perhaps chiefly remarkable however for the following passage, which eerily prefigures Thatcher’s Woman’s Own quote. The bewildered individual, seeking lost authority, certainty and standards, is reduced to social conformism. It is a kind of ‘back to the womb’ movement, or at the least a demand not to grow out of the childhood state of security without responsibility. And ‘society’ is expected to provide the security. Here we have the demand for ‘social security’, which means that ‘society’

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must increasingly take over the moral and financial responsibilities of individuals and families. But ‘society’, of course, cannot do this, for it does not exist. (Maude 1969, 41)

Maude, however, is careful to put the word ‘society’ into scare quotes, and to allow that individuals can transcend their individuality via communities recognised as such, voluntarily participated in and committed to by those individuals (Maude 1969, 54). He wants to preserve the intuition that human communities are ‘natural’ or ‘organic’ institutions without which an individual cannot flourish or express him- or herself, while rejecting the idea of abstract ‘society’ in scare quotes, discovered by analysis and quantitative methods, as an end in itself (Maude 1969, 104), and which can take over the responsibilities of individuals to their communities and fellow citizens, thereby absolving them of those responsibilities (Maude 1969, 54). While Thatcher certainly worried about individuals neglecting their responsibilities, she seemed to de-emphasise this contrast, so although Maude seems to express the fundamental point Thatcher was making, he does it in a far subtler and more sensitive way. Thatcher had a long-­ standing opposition to ‘adversarial group identities’, which, for example, explained feminism’s lack of attraction for her (Cannadine 2017, 61), and her rejection of collective guilt, because only individuals can be accountable for their actions (Thatcher 1993, 791). There are other interesting contrasts. Maude was relaxed about free-­ riding on welfare (Maude 1969, 179), and focused on the positives of self-reliance; Thatcher in contrast tended to sound punitive rather than supportive of the efforts of those on low incomes, and to connect her arguments with those about public expenditure. Because, she believed, public spending was too high, cuts were desirable and inevitable; however, this position was often interpreted by commentators as an uncaring desire to cut services to those believed to be less deserving, to create savings to fund tax cuts for the wealthy. Thatcher’s failure to counter this perception of an unequal culture of greed contrasts with Maude’s imaginative distinction between private property (a good which confers space and status in the world to the owners) and private wealth (the basis of unearned political power over others), which led him to argue that rights to property did not licence unlimited acquisition of wealth, and that wealthy private citizens might be more of a threat to the institution of private property than the state (Maude 1969, 25, 51). Thatcher, like a later generation of New Labour politicians, was

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extremely relaxed about the filthy rich. In her ‘no such thing’ interview, she remarked that working for money “is the great driving engine, the driving force of life. There is nothing wrong with having a lot more money. … It is not the fact of having money. It is whether it becomes the sole or only thing in your life and you want money because it is money. The exercise of the spirit and the inspiration is what you do with that money. There is nothing wrong in wanting more.” Yet, exasperatingly, people did not seem to use their freedom as prudently as they might. Newly liberated from controls on spending and borrowing, individuals still consumed more than they earned, in two senses. First of all, they demanded that wages increased faster than productivity— the error of the trade unions, and a serious concern of Maude (Maude 1969, 49). And second, in lieu of the receipt of services from the state, they took advantage of new credit lines, so that personal indebtedness rose more quickly than earnings (Cannadine 2017, 83). Even the government eschewed prudence; the proceeds of privatisation, for example, were used to enable tax cuts, rather than invested in infrastructure as capital (Cannadine 2017, 82). The failure to adjust wisely to the new economic liberties, and the associated political fallout had been anticipated by Maude, who warned of the dangers of the neoliberal policy of promoting private enterprise at the cost of reducing the public sphere, partly for political reasons, and partly because public goods such as hospitals require not only a growing economy but also a strong sense of priorities (Maude 1969, 113). Whether or not Thatcher was subconsciously channelling Maude in her ‘no such thing’ interview, his ideas help us diagnose the political problem of Thatcher’s phrasing, which gave the left a stick with which to beat the Tories for many years. Her ‘society’ is not in scare quotes (which may possibly have been an artefact of the interview format, although she did not ask for it to be changed), and she is only sketchy about intermediate units between families and societies. Her positive point, that people are better off financially, politically and spiritually if they take control (or are allowed by the state to take control) of their own environments, follows Maude, as does her emphasis on behavioural and moral standards (cf. Maude 1969, 16, 50). However, she would quickly veer into punitive rhetoric and seemed to have little sympathy for those who, for whatever reason, were unable or unwilling to reap the benefits of self-reliance.

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Data-Driven Policy, Agency and Law Maude’s argument can be summarised fairly straightforwardly. Statistics aggregate and summarise the actions of a population, but often come to be seen as expressing a kind of reality, the real behaviour of an apparently real entity, ‘society’ (Maude 1969, 39). But ‘society’ is an abstraction subtended by quantification, aggregation and the production of statistics (cf. Hacking 1990), becoming the output of statistical processes and the statistical way of thought. The parameters of statistical models of ‘society’ are laid out, and the goal of policy becomes the optimisation of such parameters. This optimisation comes to be seen as constituting the interests of ‘society as a whole’, and so, rather than being reflective of a set of aggregative observations of samples, becomes an end of social and economic policy in itself. However, this is hardly desirable, because there is no reason to think that these optimisations translate into policy that will serve any normative, moral or political good that is meaningful to any social group except in the context of statistical abstraction (Maude 1969, 40). The twenty-first century has been characterised by a dramatic increase in the use of data generated in the context of digital processes by private actors to create new services. The creation of data is in an increasing spiral—as the new services are consumed by customers, they add to the mountain of data being created. Furthermore, older services are being disintermediated or otherwise brought online, usually in order to save the costs of maintaining physical infrastructure and/or employing a workforce to interface with customers. Bringing offline services online also adds to the data available, because interactions can be recorded in some detail. The ways in which this dynamic is unfolding with relation to the consumer and citizen depends on geopolitics and Internet governance (the authoritarian Internet of China is different from the commercial Internet of the US, which is different again from the regulated Internet of the EU—O’Hara and Hall 2018); in this chapter I will focus on technology as it is presented in the rich democracies. The data comes in three forms: volunteered by data subjects (e.g. via social media postings), created as a by-product of an interaction (e.g. the record of an online purchase), and inferred from other data (e.g. a recommendation by an e-commerce site of what the consumer might wish to purchase next, inferred from her own purchases in the past, together with the purchases of consumers of a similar profile). Together, these can be analysed using machine learning (ML), whose palette is rather small

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(basically, ML techniques consist of: clustering items into groups; associating one pattern with another; predicting missing values; and detecting outliers or anomalies), but which can be very powerful, and can act in real time, when combined with very large quantities of data. The proprietary data of the tech giants has become highly valuable (if not always linked to a profitable business model), on a metric based on Metcalfe’s Law, that the benefit of a network is proportional to the square of the number of those connected by it (Metcalfe 2013). This means that as a network grows, the benefits for its members grow exponentially. As a result of building large networks of users, the services the tech companies offered to consumers could be provided for free; the aim of a company on this model is to monetise the data that the free services generate, in a model that Zuboff has christened ‘surveillance capitalism’ (Zuboff 2019). This model has led to enormous profits for Facebook and Google, if not for Uber or Twitter. More to the point from the governmental view, the data economy has appeared to demonstrate the power that ML can wield in the presence of sufficient data; Facebook in particular has garnered a reputation for being able to interfere in all sorts of events, even swinging elections and creating Brexit, although when looked at more closely the effects are perhaps less marked (O’Hara 2015). This ability to influence has created an envious desire within the public sector for data-driven government, innovating the delivery of government services via data. This might include improving the citizen’s experience through data, improving decision-making through better use of data, operating more efficiently, and providing economic impact through supporting the digital economy, including through the provision of open data for use by the private sector. Digital government, and the use of AI in government, are assumed to produce better decisions and therefore better government (Eggers et al. 2017). For example, the UK’s National Digital Strategy of 20175 explicitly references the successes of the private sector when it describes its ambition for government: “The new Government Transformation Strategy published on 9 February 2017 sets out our intention to serve the citizens and businesses of the UK with a better, more coherent experience when using government services online—one that meets the raised expectations set by the many other digital services and tools they use every day.” It is sensible to use technologies known to be effective rather than trying to build 5

 https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/uk-digital-strategy.

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government-­specific systems at great cost, and to try to deliver services more efficiently, and the strategy tries to capture those ideas. However, whereas it is part of the aggressive business models of Google, Uber or Tencent to enmesh the consumer in a web of data and to create a parallel world in which a digital avatar can be tracked, monitored and manipulated, this should not be the driving aim of government, as long as its role is understood as protecting a realm in which private life and civil society can thrive in a plural setting.

The Subjunctive World: The Recreation of Society Through Data The transformation of space has been a key factor in digital modernity, as it has been throughout the evolution of modernity (O’Hara 2018b). The important spatial contrast is between being at the centre of things, hubs, centres of excellence, clusters of creativity and industry where innovation happens (Formica 2017) where value is created, and being peripheral (Shils 1975). The intersection of this thought with digital technology was first stated in a popular format by the science fiction writer William Gibson. Cyberspace. A consensual hallucination experienced daily by billions of legitimate operators, in every nation, by children being taught mathematical concepts. … A graphic representation of data abstracted from the banks of every computer in the human system. Unthinkable complexity. Lines of light ranged in the nonspace of the mind, clusters and constellations of data. Like city lights, receding … (Gibson 1984, 69)

Because data is searchable and increasingly abundant, cyberspace affords opportunities for order and rationality such as Condorcet described. The rational reorganisation of society would put an end to spiritual and intellectual confusion, the reign of prejudice and superstition, blind obedience to unexamined dogmas, and the stupidities and cruelties of the oppressive regimes which such intellectual darkness bred and promoted. All that was wanted was the identification of the principal human needs, and the discovery of the means of satisfying them. (quoted in Berlin 1992, 5)

Cyberspace is populated by digitally-extended selves (Parkinson et al. 2017). As the self is quantified, the individual is rendered transparent,

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thereby allowing digital feedback to support optimisation (or biohacking)—in terms dictated by the data (Ruckenstein and Pantzar 2017). Smart cities are a response to the technical, material, social and organisational problems challenges posed by urban growth, to improve quality of life and provide a competitive and sustainable city (Shapiro 2006). Like the individual, the city achieves an online presence. The Internet of Things will accelerate these trends further, instrumenting the environment as a whole (Zanella et al. 2014). Policy is driven by the state of the citizen’s data, not of the flesh and blood human. The profusion of data means that the individual is measurable, and via feedback, perfectible. Imperfection is to a large extent policed by the digital citizenry itself (Goldman 2015), but the drive to perfectibility depends on the implicit assumption that someone in possession of the data is in a better position to make decisions than the people directly involved, who are unlikely to have the same access to comprehensive data and inferential power. Rather than enable individuals to express their individuality through choice, those with the data can honour the individuality of the individual through personalisation. Rather than being challenged to make a (possibly flawed) choice, the individual is now presented with the things that he or she would have chosen, if only he or she had had the data. The world of data is a subjunctive world. Despite the differences between private sector tech giants and governments, the latter are, perhaps unsurprisingly, tempted by the possibilities of the subjunctive world. The paternalistic practice of nudging (Thaler and Sunstein 2008) is particularly effective given networked, pervasive and dynamically updated data, which furnishes the means of assessing citizens’ performance, choices or well-being, as well as providing feedback, amplifying the nudge (Yeung 2017). Modernising governments, such as that of Conservative David Cameron, invested resources in the development of units for implementing policy based on the nudge philosophy (Halpern 2015). We can be studied, diagnosed and perfected, by something that resembles what Oakeshott (1975) called the therapeutic state. Now, we might say, there unequivocally is such a thing as society, as communities are disintermediated, and our future choices are constrained by new norms, created by the past choices of ourselves and others, in order to furnish externally-defined well-being; indeed, there is no thing other than society (O’Hara and Garnett 2020). We can be profiled and categorised in terms of the data, using clustering algorithms that maximise diversity between groups and minimise it within them, but only in terms of

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selected attributes of the data, to create groups that may or may not be meaningful to the groups’ members, and of whose membership they will typically not be aware (Hildebrandt 2008). The position of the individual is undermined, but without the compensation of the creation of a significant collective, failing to provide group identification or solidarity. Collective action happens only at the level of coincidental choices from menus of recommendations that themselves are skewed toward producing similarity of choice. And once such collectives are created, statistics that represent the aggregate of the group (e.g. mean levels of health or wealth) can also be created, so that policy is driven to maximise them, rather than to benefit individuals per se. The position is surprisingly similar to Tocqueville’s description of the despotism of a democratic future. I see an innumerable crowd of men, all alike and equal … [Each], living apart, is almost unaware of the destiny of all the rest. … Above these men stands an immense and protective power which alone is responsible for looking after their enjoyments and watching over their destiny. It is absolute, meticulous, ordered, provident, and kindly disposed. It would be like a fatherly authority, if, fatherlike, its aim were to prepare men for manhood, but it seeks only to keep them in perpetual childhood; it prefers its citizens to enjoy themselves provided they have only enjoyment in mind. It works readily for their happiness but it wishes to be the only provider and judge of it. It provides their security, anticipates and guarantees their needs, supplies their pleasures, directs their principal concerns, manages their industry, regulates their estates, divides their inheritances. Why can it not remove from them entirely the bother of thinking and the troubles of life? (Tocqueville 2003, 805)

Tocqueville’s view was that the ‘protective power’ would be constructed out of the principled equality which he detected in the United States, about which he was writing. As institutions were eroded, because of their contribution to inequality, and as people became used to the reduction in free choice and autonomy that would accompany the removal of the institutions, the protective power would be: … covering the surface of social life with a network of petty, complicated, detailed, and uniform rules through which even the most original minds and the most energetic of spirits cannot reach the light in order to rise above the crowd. It does not break men’s wills but it does soften, bend, and control

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them; rarely does it force men to act but it constantly opposes what actions they perform; it does not destroy the start of anything but it stands in its way; it does not tyrannize but it inhibits, represses, drains, snuffs out, dulls so much effort that finally it reduces each nation to nothing more than a flock of timid and hardworking animals with the government as shepherd. (Tocqueville 2003, 805–806)

Whereas Tocqueville envisaged a monopoly of power, under digital modernity similar ‘authorities’, largely in the private sector, compete to be shepherds (O’Hara and Garnett 2020). Otherwise, his prediction is remarkably resonant. Data enables the creation of a world in which security, needs and pleasures are indeed anticipated and managed, based on the creation of data by abstraction from real-world events, aggregation in unintuitive ways, and automated analysis.

Conclusion: Thatcher’s Underspecified Critique Angus Maude’s work gives a specific sense of taking this type of ‘society’, enclosing it safely in inverted commas, and resisting its hegemony over our personal autonomy—all to contrast it with an existing society which makes sense to those within it (Scruton 2006b). Not only does the cult of ‘society as a whole’ destroy the importance and autonomy of the little local groups and communities through which men and women were able both to express their individuality and to exercise some control over their immediate environment; the whole process is intensified by the fact that new generations are brought up and educated to become conformist members of a society which is itself the determining factor of their lives, rather than something to be critically assessed and shaped to the ends of its component members. (Maude 1969, 101)

Maude’s critique specifically includes meaningful institutions between the level of the family and the entire population, and quotes Tocqueville as witness to their importance for autonomy. As we have seen, others of Thatcher’s peers, particularly Keith Joseph, developed a paternal concern for the capabilities of disadvantaged citizens—a ‘fatherly’ concern in Tocqueville’s terms, aiming to, as it were, “prepare men for manhood”. Thatcher, on the other hand, by failing to make the distinctions to which Maude was alert, produced in her thinking the very atomism that Tocqueville and Maude (and others such as Scruton) argued would enable

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the statistical generalisations to become norms. Thatcher’s individual ended up abstracted from its context, so while her aim was to promote self-reliance and human dignity, the outcome of her philosophy in policy action arguably failed to have the promised effects. Could she, for example, have included within her thinking the idea of social machines which have recently been observed, self-organising networks of people and machines acting together to solve problems at scale (Shadbolt et al. 2019)? Could social machines be the little platoons of today’s big data world? The individualism that Thatcher valorised may, unwittingly, have helped create the cyberspace of digital modernity that now challenges the communities and collective institutions through which individuals have resisted the tide of ‘society’ in inverted commas; certainly her valorisation of the private sector shows she did not anticipate that private companies would become the most important creators of ‘society’, and the conservative response to data-driven agency may well be to rethink and re-energise the role of the state (O’Hara and Garnett 2020). Whether or not there is such a thing as society, powerful abstractions can always be created by technology, especially if the institutions that stand between the individual and the whole of ‘society’ are ignored or undermined.

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Formica, Piero, ed. 2017. Entrepreneurial Renaissance: Cities Striving Towards an Era of Rebirth and Revival. Cham: Springer. Garnett, Mark, and Kevin Hickson. 2009. Conservative Thinkers: The Key Contributors to the Political Thought of the Conservative Party. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Gibson, William. 1984. Neuromancer. New York: Ace Books. Goldman, Lauren M. 2015. Trending Now: The Use of Social Media Websites in Public Shaming Punishments. American Criminal Law Review 52: 415–451. Hacking, Ian. 1990. The Taming of Chance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Halpern, David. 2015. Inside the Nudge Unit. London: W.H. Allen. Hayek, Friedrich A. 1976. Law, Legislation and Liberty, Volume Two: The Mirage of Social Justice. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hickson, Kevin. 2009. Lord Coleraine: The Neglected Prophet of the New Right. Journal of Political Ideologies 14 (2): 173–187. https://doi. org/10.1080/13569310902925758. Hildebrandt, Mireille. 2008. Profiling and the Rule of Law. Identity in the Information Society 1 (1): 55–70. https://doi.org/10.1007/s12394-0080003-1. Kisby, Ben. 2010. The Big Society: Power to the People? Political Quarterly 81 (4): 484–491. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-923X.2010.02133.x. Letwin, Oliver. 2002. For Labour There Is No Such Thing As Society, Only the State. In There Is Such a Thing as Society, ed. Gary Streeter, 38–51. London: Politico’s. ———. 2017. Hearts and Minds: The Battle for the Conservative Party from Thatcher to the Present. London: Biteback Publishing. Lowndes, Vivien, and Lawrence Pratchett. 2012. Local Governance under the Coalition Government: Austerity, Localism and the ‘Big Society’. Local Government Studies 38 (1): 21–40. https://doi.org/10.1080/0300393 0.2011.642949. Maude, Angus. 1969. The Common Problem: A Policy for the Future. London: Constable & Co. Metcalfe, Bob. 2013. Metcalfe’s Law after 40 Years of Ethernet. IEEE Computer 46 (12): 26–31. https://doi.org/10.1109/MC.2013.374. Moore, Charles. 2013. Margaret Thatcher, The Authorised Biography, Volume One: Not for Turning. London: Allen Lane. ———. 2015. Margaret Thatcher, The Authorised Biography, Volume Two: Everything She Wants. London: Allen Lane. Moore, Suzanne. 2017. Populists Blame Migrants—But Hateful Discourse Starts at the Top. The Guardian, February 22. https://www.theguardian.com/politics/commentisfree/2017/feb/22/hateful-discourse-stems-from-the-top-buttheres-plenty-of-evidence-britain-is-not-broken.

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Oakeshott, Michael. 1975. On Human Conduct. Oxford: Clarendon Press. O’Hara, Kieron. 2013. The Conservative Dialectic of Margaret Thatcher’s First Term. In The Foundations of the British Conservative Party, ed. Bradley W. Hart and Richard Carr, 39–61. London: Continuum. ———. 2015. Data, Legibility, Creativity … and Power. IEEE Internet Computing 19 (2): 88–91. https://doi.org/10.1109/MIC.2015.34. ———. 2018a. Margaret Thatcher (1925–2013). In Conservative Moments: Reading Conservative Texts, ed. Mark Garnett, 127–135. London: Bloomsbury. ———. 2018b. The Contradictions of Digital Modernity. AI and Society. https:// doi.org/10.1007/s00146-018-0843-7. O’Hara, Kieron, and Mark Garnett. 2020. The Conservative Reaction to Data-­ Driven Agency. In Life and the Law in the Era of Data-Driven Agency, ed. Mireille Hildebrandt and Kieron O’Hara, 175–193. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. O’Hara, Kieron, and Wendy Hall. 2018. Four Internets: The Geopolitics of Digital Governance. CIGI Paper No. 206, Centre for International Governance Innovation. https://www.cigionline.org/publications/four-internets-geopoliticsdigital-governance. Parkinson, Brian, David E. Millard, Kieron O’Hara, and Richard Giordano. 2017. The Digitally Extended Self: A Lexicological Analysis of Personal Data. Journal of Information Science. https://doi.org/10.1177/0165551517706233. Ruckenstein, Minna, and Mika Pantzar. 2017. Beyond the Quantified Self: Thematic Exploration of a Dataistic Paradigm. New Media and Society 19 (3): 401–418. Scruton, Roger. 2006a. Hayek and Conservatism. In The Cambridge Companion to Hayek, ed. Edward Feser, 208–231. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2006b. Sexual Desire: A Philosophical Investigation. London: Continuum. Shadbolt, Nigel, Kieron O’Hara, David De Roure, and Wendy Hall. 2019. The Theory and Practice of Social Machines. Cham: Springer. Shapiro, Jesse M. 2006. Smart Cities: Quality of Life, Productivity and the Growth Effects of Human Capital. Review of Economics and Statistics 88 (2): 324–335. Shils, Edward. 1975. Center and Periphery: Essays in Macrosociology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Smith, Martin J. 2010. From Big Government to Big Society: Changing the State–Society Balance. Parliamentary Affairs 63 (4): 818–833. https://doi. org/10.1093/pa/gsq023. Streeter, Gary, ed. 2002. There Is Such a Thing as Society. London: Politico’s. Such, Elizabeth, and Robert Walker. 2002. Falling Behind? Research on Transmitted Deprivation. Benefits 10 (3): 185–192. Thaler, Richard H., and Cass R.  Sunstein. 2008. Nudge: Improving Decisions About Health, Wealth and Happiness. New Haven: Yale University Press. Thatcher, Margaret. 1993. The Downing Street Years 1979–1990. London: HarperCollins.

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———. 1995. The Path to Power. London: HarperCollins. Tocqueville, Alexis de. 2003. Democracy in America. London: Penguin. Welshman, John. 2008. The Cycle of Deprivation: Myths and Misconceptions. Children and Society 22 (2): 75–85. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.10990860.2007.00088.x. Willetts, David. 1992. Modern Conservatism. Harmondsworth: Penguin. ———. 1997. Why Vote Conservative? Harmondsworth: Penguin. Yeung, Karen. 2017. ‘Hypernudge: Big Data as a Mode of Regulation by Design. Information, Communication and Society 20 (1): 118–136. Zanella, Andrea, Nicola Bui, Angelo Castellani, Lorenzo Vangelista, and Michele Zorzi. 2014. Internet of Things for Smart Cities. IEEE Internet of Things 1 (1): 22–32. https://doi.org/10.1109/JIOT.2014.2306328. Zuboff, Shoshana. 2019. The Age of Surveillance Capitalism: The Fight for a Human Future at the New Frontier of Power. London: Profile.

PART II

Regions

CHAPTER 5

‘Rolling Back the Frontiers of the State, Only to See Them Re-imposed in Docklands?’: Margaret Thatcher, Michael Heseltine and the Contested Parenthood of Canary Wharf Jack Brown

Thatcher and Canary Wharf Following Margaret Thatcher’s death in 2013, BBC News visited Canary Wharf to discuss her legacy with office workers and evening drinkers. The development’s popular association with Thatcherism is in part due to the financial service jobs that it houses, part of legacy of the ‘Big Bang’ of 1986 and the subsequent rise of the ‘Yuppie’, but it is also due to the Prime Minister’s own personal association with the project. Thatcher launched her 1987 general election campaign from Docklands, and she gave at least two inauguration speeches for Canary Wharf, in 1988 and 1989. The development would subsequently be described as a ‘monument to Thatcherism’, ‘Thatcher’s greatest legacy’, and somewhat less tastefully, as J. Brown (*) King’s College London, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_5

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‘Thatcher’s cock’, in the popular press (Falconbridge and Osborn 2013; Hatherley 2012; Jenkins 2009; Ruddick 2013). Despite this, most academic studies of Thatcher’s premiership neglect or overlook the origins of Canary Wharf. Urban Development Corporations, a policy initiated by the first Thatcher Government, and which included the London Docklands Development Corporation that oversaw the regeneration of Docklands and the emergence of Canary Wharf, are mentioned only briefly in biographies of Thatcher (Campbell 2012; Moore 2015), if at all (Young 1993; Vinen 2009). Events in Docklands and Canary Wharf are given small nods in some studies of Thatcherism (Riddell 1991; Evans 2000; Fry 2008), but are wholly absent from most (Jackson and Saunders 2001; Clarke and Roy 2006). The Docklands experience is often assumed to be a logical and inevitable consequence of the ‘Big Bang’ of regulatory adjustment in the City of London in 1986, a more typically ‘Thatcherite’ policy measure which has been somewhat more widely studied. However, this is simply not the case. The Canary Wharf development was first formally announced in 1985, and finally signed off for construction in 1987. By 1992, its once-­powerful Canadian owners had gone spectacularly bankrupt, leaving the development sitting half-built and rudderless on the banks of the Thames, branded ‘White Elephant Wharf’ (Daily Mail Reporter 1999). Remarkably, Canary Wharf rapidly emerged from the ashes of administration the following year, and began a phoenix-like rise, sold to an international consortium with its first phase 80% occupied by 1995. In 2012, it employed more bankers than the City of London, the capital’s financial centre for hundreds of years, for the first time in history (Hammond and Jenkins 2012). Today, the financial centre on the wharf employs more people than the docks that preceded it. But whilst Canary Wharf may have matured under Major and Blair, the development was clearly born during Margaret Thatcher’s premiership.

Canary Wharf and Thatcherism Despite their significance for London’s and the nation’s economy, however, events in London’s Docklands during Thatcher’s premiership have suffered from a lack of academic attention. As archival evidence has demonstrated, and this chapter will argue, Canary Wharf’s genesis does not lie with Thatcher herself. Furthermore, it is questionable how much the development’s emergence is a consequence of ‘Thatcherite’ ideology.

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Understanding the ideas, people and events that led to the birth of Canary Wharf and that wider transformation of Docklands are not only of historical interest, but have implications for both current and future policymakers. The re-introduction or adaptation of some of the policy measures taken in Docklands in recent years, alongside recent invocations of the Docklands experience in announcing new policies, make questions around the role of ‘Thatcherism’ in the birth of Canary Wharf particularly relevant.

Urban Development Corporations The transformation of London’s Docklands was driven by the London Docklands Development Corporation (LDDC). The LDDC was a quasi-­ autonomous non-governmental organisation (QUANGO) established under Michael Heseltine’s Local Government, Planning and Land Act of 1980, and was one of two initial Urban Development Corporations (UDCs) set up in inner city locations early on in the first Thatcher administration. Liverpool’s Merseyside Development Corporation came into being slightly earlier due to a lack of local opposition: the area that it was made responsible for covered only one small housing block (compared to the 39,700 residents affected by the LDDC) and therefore faced much less local opposition (Meegan 1999, 76). However, a lengthy appeal process delayed the establishment of the LDDC in London’s Docklands until July 1981. The establishment of the LDDC, which forcibly seized planning powers from three elected local authorities in Docklands (namely the London boroughs of Tower Hamlets, Newham and Southwark) against their will and gave them to a central government-appointed QUANGO staffed by a mix of public and private sector employees, was perceived by some as an undemocratic power grab on the part of the Conservative Government. In his influential 1991 work Urban Planning under Thatcherism, Professor Andy Thornley (1991, 208–12) termed the Thatcher Government’s approach to urban planning ‘authoritarian decentralisation’, bringing together economic liberalism, anti-planning sentiments, and the stripping of local government powers by central government, in order to hand them over to the private sector and market forces. However, UDCs were a strange tool of economic liberalism. The model was based heavily upon the socialist Attlee Government’s (1945–1951) New Town Development Corporations. The legislation that enabled them

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even directly ‘borrowed’ much of its wording from the New Towns Act of 1946 (HM Government 1946; HM Government 1980). That they faced local opposition should not have caught ministers by surprise: the original designation of then-sleepy Stevenage as a ‘New Town’ had seen a visit by Minister of Town and Country Planning Lewis Silkin greeted by slashed tires and cries of ‘Gestapo’ and ‘Dictator’ from local residents. The town’s railway station sign was wittily amended to read ‘Silkingrad’ (Hennessy 2006, 172–3). It is remarkable that it was the Thatcher Government that resurrected a policy attacked as too statist during the most economically left-wing administration of the post-war era. Urban Development Corporations were technically granted wide-­ ranging powers, as broad as the New Town Corporations that preceded them. But their brief was more limited in reality. UDCs were designed to regenerate run-down inner city areas, where the main industries that had previously sustained their populations had collapsed. The LDDC was encouraged by Heseltine and his successors to do this using three main methods: firstly, by acquiring, reclaiming and selling off land, removing its ‘negative value’ caused by pollution and dereliction; secondly, by putting in vital infrastructure; and thirdly by selling (in this case) Docklands as a place to invest in around the world. This function was funded by public money, invested in a sort of localised Keynesianism. The success of the UDCs were later measured by their ‘leverage ratio’, or how much private money followed this initial investment. However, no numerical targets were ever set for this. Some academic studies of UDCs portray them as tools for taking power from central government and handing it to the private sector (Brownill 1990, 13; Thornley 1991, 208–12). However, it can be argued that UDCs were designed from the start to be deliberately interventionist, and had wide-­ ranging powers to control development, primarily by acting as planning authorities and landowners, but also by negotiation and regulation. In 1979, UDCs were described by the Treasury, who opposed their creation, as ‘rolling forward the frontiers of the state, instead of backwards’ (Patterson 1979). And yet they were initiated under a newly elected Conservative Government, committed to reducing QUANGOs, liberating enterprise and cutting public expenditure. This chapter will discuss how archival releases over the last few years have challenged what we know about Thatcher, Thatcherism and Canary Wharf, firstly by looking at the early involvement of Michael Heseltine, and then by investigating the

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Thatcher Government’s response to the emergence of the Canary Wharf proposals in the mid-1980s.

Michael Heseltine and Urban Regeneration Michael Heseltine was a powerful and popular figure within the Conservative Party. Such was Heseltine’s confidence in his place within the first Thatcher Government that he felt able to refuse the Prime Minister’s initial offer for his first ever full Cabinet post, as Secretary of State for Energy, and demand the Environment portfolio instead (Heseltine 2000, 185–6). Thatcher gave in on the spot, telling a Private Secretary afterwards that she didn’t like confrontations with him (Moore 2013, 429–30). Heseltine was unusually difficult to categorise as a ‘wet’ or ‘dry’ minister in the Thatcher Cabinet, but he was certainly no doctrinal free-­ marketeer. The Environment Secretary believed in the role of the state as an active enabler of economic activity, later going so far as to pledge to intervene ‘before breakfast, before lunch, before tea and before dinner’ to help British industry (Clark and Heseltine 2012). He was also highly individualistic, and liable to strike off on his own; convincing the Prime Minister to permit him to become the unofficial ‘Minister for Merseyside’, following the riots in Toxteth in 1981, provides an excellent example of this tendency (Lankester 1981).1 Docklands was another. Heseltine first saw the dereliction of the post-docks East End when flying overhead as Minister for Aerospace in 1972 (Heseltine 2000, 211–12). However, the former Environment Secretary claimed to have had plans for Urban Development Corporations drawn up even earlier than this, when serving as Under-Secretary of State for the Environment under Peter Walker, between October 1970 and April 1972. Heseltine’s initial interest in the idea came in response to the ‘architectural desert’ he perceived to be emerging on London’s South Bank, which he felt ‘an appalling waste of an urban landscape’ that he wished had been better controlled and coordinated (Interview, Lord Heseltine 2012). Unable to implement these plans before he was moved to Aerospace, Heseltine would have to wait until he was able to manoeuvre himself into 1  More formally referred to as ‘the Cabinet Minister with special responsibility for Merseyside’ by the Prime Minister, during a meeting to discuss Heseltine’s work so far in September 1981.

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the role of Secretary of State for the Environment in 1979. Upon entering office, Heseltine (2008) claimed that he immediately handed over instructions written on the back of an envelope to his Permanent Secretary, asking him to dig out plans that Heseltine had had drawn up some years ago for establishing Development Corporations. By 1979, Heseltine had London’s Docklands in mind for his UDC, but it is important to note that the Environment Secretary’s instincts in creating UDCs were initially based on a desire to intervene and control private development on the South Bank. This would go on to influence how Heseltine interacted with the LDDC, and, consequentially, the approach that the LDDC’s senior staff took to their task.

The Thatcher Government and Urban Development Corporations Initially, civil servants in the Department of the Environment urged caution. The head of the London Directorate within the DoE warned early on that existing arrangements in Docklands had not yet failed demonstrably enough for a UDC to be accepted locally or nationally (Gunn 1979). But Heseltine was determined to push ahead. An internal DoE paper investigating the prospects for a UDC for Docklands, and comparing it with possible alternatives, labelled the UDC option ‘the most radical’, and noted that it was likely to require ‘a substantial extra flow of Exchequer resources in Docklands’ (GLP 1979). Heseltine was unperturbed. The Urban Development Corporation concept was greeted with some scepticism by the Industry Secretary Keith Joseph, who was chair of the Economic Affairs subcommittee of Cabinet (E(EA)) initially tasked with considering Heseltine’s proposal, and is considered by many to be one of the intellectual forefathers of Thatcherism. Geoffrey Howe, Chancellor of the Exchequer, was equally concerned. Howe (1979) told Heseltine early on in the process that ‘The thrust of our philosophy lies in liberating the private sector and cutting the public down to size’, not ‘the uncosted extension of public sector activity’. Howe expressed concerns over unleashing demand for further, expensive UDCs. Joseph was cautious of the implications for regional policy and public expenditure (E(EA) 1979a, 1). Unable to agree on a way forward, Joseph wrote to the Prime Minister, recommending a meeting with herself, Joseph, Howe and Heseltine, to discuss how to proceed (E(EA) 1979b, 2). Heseltine described seeking

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the advice of Conservative MP Reg Prentice in advance of the meeting. Prentice had been a Labour MP until he defected to the Tories in 1977, representing Newham North East until 1979. It was his experience of the politics of the East End that Heseltine sought. According to Heseltine (2000, 213), Prentice suggested that he simply ‘tell the Prime Minister, “They’re all communists down there”.’ Heseltine (2008) claimed that he did just that, later recalling the effect that this tactic had on the Prime Minister: ‘Well, if you ever lit a blue touch paper!’ Unfortunately for historians, but perhaps unsurprisingly, the official record of this meeting is somewhat less exciting. However, it does show that Heseltine put his proposal to create two new publicly-funded, potentially high spending QUANGOs in the context of his cutting the overall number of QUANGOs at the DoE from 119 to 57, and that he sought to assure all present that UDCs would not use their wide ranging powers to their full extent. He also pledged that the DoE would stay within existing departmental spending limits (Lankester 1979). Heseltine ultimately got his UDCs by talking down his ambition for them. The Prime Minister agreed, given the Environment Secretary’s arguments regarding the wider context at his Department, and his commitments to limit the scope and scale of UDCs. However, whilst Heseltine’s commitment to cutting departmental expenditure overall was sincere, his commitment to limiting the scope of UDCs was more questionable. The LDDC’s own archives reveal that, once the Corporations were approved and established, the Environment Secretary was actively encouraging them to find ways to spend the entirety of their allocated budgets, so that their funding was not cut the following year (LDDC-DoE Liaison Meeting 1982).

Heseltine on Manoeuvres The Environment Secretary also employed what was described by the Treasury as a ‘Good old Heseltine bounce’, in order to get his policy through (Patterson 1979). Throughout the negotiations leading up to the establishment of UDCs, the Treasury, which opposed and sought to block the policy, repeatedly complained of ‘a ridiculously tight timetable for such a complex subject’ (Treasury Circular 1979). Treasury notes of a crucial meeting of E(EA) claim that Keith Joseph and the Cabinet Office minute writers had ‘different interpretations of the extent to which there was already agreement in principle to go ahead with the scheme’ (op. cit.).

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Rushing officials and colleagues alike into decisions was a common theme in Heseltine’s approach to getting what he wanted. In addition, the Treasury was also seriously concerned that the establishment of the initial two UDCs in London Docklands and Liverpool Merseyside would lead to a clamour for further, increasingly expensive Development Corporations across the country (Patterson 1979). Whilst Heseltine initially reassured Chancellor Geoffrey Howe that this would not be the case, he changed his tune very soon after the first two UDCs at Docklands and Merseyside were approved. Following the collapse and closure of the Chatham Docks in Medway, Kent, in early 1982, Heseltine proposed a new UDC to ‘E’ Committee. In this case, the Environment Secretary ‘failed to win any support’ for his idea (Gregson 1982). It is clear that his instincts were not aligned with those of his colleagues, and that Michael Heseltine got his Urban Development Corporation for London Docklands (and for Merseyside) through an impressive sleight of hand, described by one Department of the Environment civil servant as ‘political magic’ (Interview, anon. civil servant, 2013). There are a number of reasons why the process by which Heseltine established UDCs is relevant to their subsequent operation, and to understanding the nature of the policy itself. The very fact that the policy was something of a pet project of the Secretary of State, pushed through was not unusual in itself. But there are three main reasons why this case deserves detailed study. Firstly, because it shows that UDCs were born of a desire to intervene in the market, not necessarily to free it from the clutches of statist left-wing local government in the East End. Whilst this rationale may (or may not) have been used to persuade the Prime Minister and other senior colleagues of the value of UDCs, Heseltine was attracted to it by a desire to influence and control development. His concerns for public expenditure implications appear to have been minimal; for him, this was a price worth paying, and ‘priming the pump’ to enable public sector development was exactly the sort of thing that governments should be doing. Secondly, the speed and slightly clandestine nature of the process by which UDCs were pushed through is indicative of how little regard was given to their strategic implications for a ‘Thatcherite’ approach to the economy. The concerns of Howe and Joseph were borne out, and the frontiers of the state were certainly rolled forwards, not backwards, in Docklands and Merseyside. However, the pace at which the decision was

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forced through allowed for little consideration of the wider implications for the future. Thirdly, it demonstrates the power and importance of personality. Governments are never ideologically homogenous, even those with leaders who achieve the rare honour of an ‘ism’. But Heseltine was a particularly powerful and influential figure within the government, due to sheer force of personality, and his popularity with Conservative Party members and the wider public. Neither ‘wet’ nor ‘dry’, with a business background, Heseltine had a view on the value of public-private partnership that was perhaps ahead of its time. As the late Sir Peter Hall described, Heseltine’s approach was highly unusual when compared to many of his peers: He’s a French corporatist. His style is curiously that of French corporate planning since the 1950s, of bringing the public and private sectors together in a sort of concatenated planning (…) Michael believes in big-scale planning, to trigger stuff off. Leverage is key, of course. (Interview, Sir Peter Hall, 2013)

The Thatcher Government was never to truly reconcile itself with this ‘French corporatist’ approach. It appears it truly did not know what it had signed itself up for.

The Thatcher Government and Emergence of Canary Wharf Once the LDDC was underway, it was all but inevitable that its continued existence would lead to clamours to spend more public money, even after Heseltine left the Department of the Environment (and, later, the government). The Corporation’s early work focused on acquiring and ‘reclaiming’ (that is, making serviceable) derelict and polluted land, connecting this land to the rest of London with roads, power supplies and telephone lines, and marketing the opportunities available in Docklands as best they could. This work, focused on the physical improvement of a limited geographical area, revolved around using public money to ‘prime the pump’ in Docklands, in order to ‘lever in’ private investment. The LDDC’s early successes were mainly ‘tin sheds’—relatively small-­ scale, light industrial units and small offices, dotted across Docklands. Much of this initial activity occurred in the Enterprise Zone on the northern part of the Isle of Dogs. Enterprise Zones were an alternative urban

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policy devised by Chancellor Geoffrey Howe. Enterprise Zones were based on the ideas of the planner Peter Hall, and involved deregulation of planning controls and tax incentives for development within a limited area, to stimulate economic recovery. However, it was no coincidence that it was on the Isle of Dogs, where the Enterprise Zone coincided with the interventionist LDDC, that Canary Wharf was to emerge. The LDDC’s board first heard of the proposals to develop Canary Wharf into an entirely new financial service district, perhaps employing as many as the docks that went before it, on 4 April 1985 (LDDC 1985). The sudden and surprising scale of the project, driven by American property developer G Ware Travelstead and a shapeshifting ‘consortium’ of US investment banks, magnified the amount of public investment required in Docklands exponentially. However, crucially, the Thatcher Government did not resist. The day after meeting with the initial developers of Canary Wharf, on 2 October 1985, the new Environment Secretary Kenneth Baker wrote a gleeful note to the Prime Minister, entitled ‘Good News’ (Baker 1985). Baker was particularly taken by the number of anticipated jobs, and the ‘visually stunning’ plans for the proposed development. He also acknowledged that it may be impossible for the LDDC to meet the additional infrastructure costs necessitated by the development from within its existing budget, but advised that, ‘For a scheme of such importance, I should not willingly permit that to be an obstacle.’ The Prime Minister was also warned by her Economic Affairs Private Secretary that whilst this was ‘good news indeed’, the news was accompanied by ‘the smell of extra bids for public expenditure’ (Norgrove 1985). Treasury officials complained to their DoE counterparts about the ‘vagueness on the financial aspects’ in Baker’s note, and warned that there was ‘a risk of everyone getting too far committed in principle before they have properly assessed this public sector cost’ (Osborn 1985). There were also serious concerns within the Department of the Environment itself over the terms of the proposed deal for Canary Wharf. The Department’s property adviser was particularly sceptical about the terms of the deal, and became increasingly exasperated and fatalistic as negotiations progressed. Repeated warnings that the land values of £400,000 per acre that had been agreed to by the LDDC’s Chief Executive Reg Ward amounted to an ‘indefensibly low price’, and would likely attract negative attention in the coming years were ignored. This was primarily due to the manner in which the terms of the deal between the LDDC, via

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Ward, and G Ware Travelstead, had been reached—of which more later (Howes 1986, 1987a, 1; 1987b, 2). The Department’s financial advisers, Rothschilds, also expressed concern at the failure to provide a mechanism for recovering a share of any ‘super profits’ for the public sector, should Canary Wharf prove extremely profitable for its developers (Public Accounts Committee 1989). In the No. 10 Downing Street Policy Unit, businessman John Wybrew (1986) warned the Prime Minister that there was a chance that ‘critics will draw attention to public expenditure of the order of £300 million on the transport infrastructure (albeit not solely for Canary Wharf) and ask why the Government was such a soft touch’. However, the Prime Minister was not sufficiently deterred by the potential costs to risk losing the potentially transformative development. Mrs. Thatcher ultimately agreed with Kenneth Baker that the price was worth the prize of a huge, visible project like Canary Wharf. In fact, the Prime Minister only intervened in the negotiations in order to prevent intervention from the DoE, who were seeking a better deal. The Prime Minister forbade this, fearing that it may collapse the deal (op. cit.). Yet in electing not to intervene in negotiations, the Prime Minister was effectively signing up to a great deal of government intervention in Docklands, on a previously unimaginable scale. The government had already agreed to the upgrading and extension of the Docklands Light Railway westwards to Bank underground station during negotiations with the Travelstead Consortium. However, this wasn’t enough for Canary Wharf’s developers, and the hugely expensive extension of the Jubilee Line and the construction of the Limehouse Link road tunnel soon followed. The Prime Minister may have been unaware of the extent of expenditure that would be required over time, but it was clear from the start that an increase in investment would be required. However, the pragmatic Prime Minister decided this was justified, given the increase in jobs and the highly-visible statement of the East End—and of Britain’s—economic recovery represented by the proposed development. If this meant investing more in transport for Docklands than elsewhere, then so be it.

Heseltine, Reg Ward and Canary Wharf At the heart of the issue lies the growing mistrust between the DoE and the LDDC’s Chief Executive Reg Ward, who the Department felt had not properly consulted officials before signing up to terms he felt appropriate.

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Departmental papers demonstrate that Ward’s 1981 appointment as Chief Executive had been an error-strewn process. A failure to take up his references before he was given the job was attributed partly to a barnstorming interview, but also to the time pressures an eager Secretary of State placed upon departmental civil servants (Hornsby 1980). This failure to properly vet the Chief Executive had important ramifications for Canary Wharf and Docklands. Ward was a highly unusual public servant. At first glance, he may have seemed a perfectly traditional choice, arriving at the LDDC with experience of running several local authorities, including the London borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, and Hereford and Worcester County Council, as well as several years as a tax inspector (Ward n.d.). However, had his references been taken up, they would have revealed that the new Chief Executive had a history of alienating those who worked for, repeatedly acting without consulting his superiors (Hereford Times 2011). Ward was perfectly comfortable with admitting to this tendency: If I’m passionately committed to something I don’t really want to be totally dependent on the extended consultation process in convincing people. I’d rather get on and do it and attempt to persuade and carry people with me. (Foster 1999, 88)

The extent of the DoE’s concerns over Ward’s role in the early stages of the Canary Wharf process have been revealed as new material has reached the National Archives in Kew in recent years. The DoE view was that Ward had allowed himself to become too close to the American would-be developer of Canary Wharf, G Ware Travelstead. The issue revolved around an ‘option’ agreement for the Canary Wharf site, which the two had negotiated and signed privately, without Ward consulting the DoE. Ward argued that as the deal represented an option on the land, only transferring ownership if exercised, it did not yet constitute a disposal of land, which would have necessitated consultation on his part. The Chief Executive was well aware that this line of argument was flimsy at best, but it reflected his personal distaste for what he perceived to be inherently conservative civil servants, whose involvement Ward believed would have collapsed the deal. Ward’s managed departure from his role at the LDDC followed shortly after Canary Wharf was signed off (Brown 2017, 70–92).

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Despite all this, Michael Heseltine remained a strong admirer of Reg Ward. In a 2015 interview, Heseltine told the author that: ‘Of all the public servants I have known over many years, he is the one who was most unacceptably not rewarded, in terms of a title, for what he did’. It is worth re-stating that Heseltine’s primary objective for Docklands, and for UDCs in general, was to see physical change occur in a managed and (in his view) successful fashion. In this sense, Ward was made in Heseltine’s image. In fact, the Chief Executive claimed that Heseltine intervened to prevent him being removed from his position early on in his LDDC career, something that DoE files show was certainly considered (Permanent Secretary 1981). Heseltine (2011) even subsequently attempted to get Reg Ward posthumously awarded an honour for his work in Docklands, although the former LDDC Chief Executive’s name appears to have too powerful a negative connotation in some parts of Whitehall. The Ward-DoE tension reflected a wider contradiction inherent in the Heseltinian approach to the regeneration of London’s Docklands. As the Department of the Environment noted in an internal note in August 1986, there was a distinction between the LDDC’s specific goals and those of the government as a whole. Speaking of the westwards extension of the DLR, one DoE civil servant (McQuail 1986) wrote that for the LDDC, ‘the Western Extension is a major part of the prize of Canary Wharf; for Government, its share is part of the price.’ This distinction was present from the LDDC’s establishment onwards, and unavoidable throughout. Michael Heseltine had not set up the LDDC to take powers from the Docklands boroughs and hand them to the private sector, but to replace failing public bodies with a more efficient, pro-development one. Whilst Margaret Thatcher ultimately signed Canary Wharf off, it had come about because of the work of the Heseltine’s LDDC.

‘Reverse Leverage?’ Canary Wharf’s eventual developers, the Canadian property giants Olympia & York (O&Y), began lobbying the government for additional transport infrastructure for their project almost as soon as construction began. The Docklands Light Railway had to be upgraded shortly after the initial railway was completed, due to the sudden escalation in predicted usage brought about by Canary Wharf and the associated employment. However, this increase in capacity was nowhere near enough. Having

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signed the Master Building Agreement for Canary Wharf on 17 July 1987, Olympia & York’s Paul Reichmann wrote to the Secretary of State for the Environment as early as September of that year to insist that further transport investment was necessary (LDDC-DoE Liaison Meeting 1987). The Limehouse Link road, described by the Public Accounts Committee as ‘much the most expensive stretch of road in the country’, was one part of this package of infrastructure investments deemed necessary if Canary Wharf was to succeed (Public Accounts Committee 1995). The extension of the Jubilee Line, which, like the Limehouse Link ran over time and significantly over budget, (opening 21 months late and costing over £1bn more than expected), was another (Omega Centre 2014). This led to a situation that some commentators described as ‘reverse leverage’, whereby the promise of private sector investment now necessitated public expenditure on a previously unforeseen magnitude (Brownill 1990, 143–5; Home 1990, 122). The cost of building the Limehouse Link had risen by 107 per cent by the time of its completion, when compared with initial pre-­ tender estimates (Public Accounts Committee, 1995). The Jubilee Line Extension, initially estimated to cost £1.36 billion, cost £3.46 billion (Omega Centre 2014). The exchequer would sink a significant sum of money into improving transport provision in Docklands. However, even this sizeable investment was not enough to avoid Olympia & York’s bankruptcy. The development ultimately outlasted the developer. Canary Wharf went on to lead the way in driving the transformation of East London from the late 1980s onwards. Subsequent developments flowed from this initial eastwards shift in momentum, and the return to growth in London’s population and economy in the same period. Michael Heseltine was influential in locating the Millennium Dome on the Greenwich peninsular. Its construction saw the reclamation of highly contaminated land on a site that had been omitted from the LDDC’s remit due to concerns over resources (Heseltine 2000, 510–16). The Olympic Park, Westfield Shopping Centre and the Excel Centre in the Royal Docks all built on this momentum, and East London’s Thames-side boroughs are currently the capital’s growth region, a trend predicted to continue for years to come (Elledge 2015).

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Further UDCs Having resisted initial calls for more Urban Development Corporations in the early 1980s, the later-period Thatcher Government became surprise converts to the idea. In October 1986, a ‘second wave’ of five new UDCs were announced for Black Country, Cardiff, Teesside, Trafford Park, and Tyne and Wear. December 1987 saw UDCs established in Bristol, Leeds and Central Manchester, and the Black Country UDC extended. A further UDC for Sheffield, and the doubling in size of Merseyside, was announced in March 1988. When announcing this final expansion of the nation’s UDCs, Environment Secretary Nicholas Ridley described the policy as ‘Our most direct and positive contribution to solving some of the worst problems of urban decline and dereliction’ (Thatcher Government 1988). As Thatcher biographer Charles Moore (2015, 90) has noted, Ridley was a ‘close ideological ally’ of Thatcher’s, arguably ‘drier’ on economic issues than the Prime Minister herself. The Environment Secretary’s attraction to UDCs, initially viewed by Geoffrey Howe and Keith Joseph as black holes for public money, may have come as he saw them as a tool to ‘bypass the Socialist councils’, as a letter from Ridley to Thatcher described (Ridley 1986). However, the expansion of such an interventionist urban policy remains an unusual move for a small-state conservative and self-described ‘countryman’ (Ridley 1991, 114–16). The lack of serious consideration and analysis that preceded this prominent volte face is even more surprising. The following year, the Public Accounts Committee investigated the process that had led up to the expansion of the UDC programme. The Committee found that the DoE had conducted practically no analysis of the policy’s relative merits and challenges, nor reviewed the lessons to be learned from the initial two UDCs in Docklands and Merseyside (Public Accounts Committee 1989). It appears that the immensity of the Canary Wharf development was enough to convince the government that UDCs were, in fact a ‘good thing’. In doing so, they signed up to a form of ‘localised Keynesianism’ that rolled the frontiers of the state forwards, not backwards, in the areas that they affected.

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Docklands and Thatcherism: A Legacy Misinterpreted? As mentioned in the introduction to this chapter, both the policies used to regenerate Docklands and rhetoric around the Docklands experience have since re-emerged in contemporary political discourse. The Cameron Government’s planned commissioning of housebuilding on public land, announced in early 2016, was described as ‘a radical new policy shift, not used on this scale since Thatcher and Heseltine started the Docklands’ (gov.uk 2016). Former Chancellor George Osborne’s proposed development of Ebbsfleet in Kent as a ‘garden city’, (orchestrated by a Development Corporation and announced in 2014), was another interventionist measure announced with reference to events in Docklands (Swinford 2014).2 However, the area’s regeneration and subsequent economic success has also been cited as the inspiration behind much more de-regulatory policy measures. On 1st August 2019, International Trade Secretary Liz Truss announced plans for up to 10 ‘freeports’ at sites across the UK.  The announcement of these deregulated zones, exempt from customs and taxation, was accompanied by a claim that ‘Freedoms transformed London’s Docklands in the 1980s, and free ports will do the same for towns and cities across the UK’ (Kentish 2019). Ultimately, it is no coincidence that the game-changing Canary Wharf development emerged at a point where the interventionist Urban Development Corporation overlapped with a deregulatory Enterprise Zone. The Thatcher Government, like most governments, was a coalition of sorts, featuring a range of individuals with competing visions of the respective roles of the state and the private sector in driving economic growth. The ideological diversity of this government, and the power dynamics between particular individuals, meant that, in London’s Docklands, ‘Thatcherism in practise’ contrasted clearly with the Prime Minister’s own rhetorical commitment to simply ‘rolling back’ the state’s boundaries. It also means that contemporary commentators are wrong to pick and chose the aspects that appeal to them, claim them to be ‘Thatcherite’, and therefore expect them to produce similar results to those experienced in the 1980s and 1990s.

2  In announcing the policy, a Treasury spokesman claimed that: ‘The government wants to create a powerful new body—similar to what happened in Docklands in the 1980s’.

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Conclusions It is clear that Canary Wharf would not have happened without the LDDC’s initial ‘localised Keynesianism’, acquiring and reclaiming land, investing in infrastructure, and marketing Docklands as an appealing location for new businesses. It is also clear that the LDDC would not have happened without Heseltine, something reinforced by recently-released archival material. The LDDC was in fact an extremely un-Thatcherite mechanism for achieving urban regeneration, involving a great deal of intervention in the market, and staffed primarily by public sector officials, many of whom arrived from left-wing Labour councils elsewhere in London. Heseltine’s appointment of, and backing for, Reg Ward was also crucial to the emergence of Canary Wharf, but took a major risk that necessitated even more public investment than intended. At her second inaugural speech for the Canary Wharf development, Margaret Thatcher (1989) quoted Proverbs 29:18. ‘Where there is no vision, the people perish’, the Prime Minister recited, ‘And we started to provide the vision’. However, as the archives show, this vision was not entirely hers. It was that of one of her ministers, who shaped the Docklands in his own mould. Margaret Thatcher may have set the tone nationally and internationally, but without Heseltine, there simply would not be a Canary Wharf development, employing over 100,000 today. The Prime Minister pragmatically backed the development once its scale and potential became clear, but those seeking to take historical lessons from Canary Wharf’s success must be clear about its origins in the first years of the first Thatcher Government.

References Brown, Jack. 2017. If You Build It, They Will Come: The Role of Individuals in the Emergence of Canary Wharf, 1985–1987. The London Journal 42 (1): 70–92. Brownill, Sue. 1990. Developing London’s Docklands: Another Great Planning Disaster? London: Paul Chapman. Campbell, John. 2012. Margaret Thatcher: Volume Two—The Iron Lady. London: Vintage Books. ebook. Clark, Greg, and Michael Heseltine. 2012. London Has Led the Way—Now Let Our Other Cities Follow. Telegraph, 30 August. Accessed 2 August 2012. www. telegraph.co.uk/sport/olympics/london-2012/9509112/London-has-ledthe-way-now-let-our-other-cities-follow.html.

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Clarke, John, and Subroto Roy. 2006. Margaret Thatcher’s Revolution: How It Happened and What It Meant. London: Bloomsbury. Daily Mail Reporter. 1999. ‘White Elephant’ Is Big in Money Jungle. Thisismoney, 6 April. Accessed 2 May 2019. https://www.thisismoney.co.uk/money/ news/article-1581396/White-Elephant-is-big-in-money-jungle.html. Elledge, John. 2015. Where Will All Those Extra Londoners Live? CityMetric, 2 February. Accessed 10 March 2015. http://www.citymetric.com/skylines/ where-will-all-those-extra-londoners-live-702. Evans, Brendan. 2000. Thatcherism and British Politics: 1975–1999. Stroud: Sutton. Falconbridge, Guy, and Andrew Osborn. 2013. Thatcher’s Legacy: Citadel of Finance Atop Once-Derelict Docks. Reuters, 17 April. Accessed 11 October 2015. http:// uk.reuters.com/article/britain-thatcher-wharf-idUKL5N0D33KR20130417. Foster, Janet. 1999. Docklands: Cultures in Conflict, Worlds in Collision. London: UCL Press. Fry, Geoffrey. 2008. The Politics of the Thatcher Revolution: An Interpretation of British Politics, 1979–1990. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Gov.uk. 2016. PM: The Government will Directly Build Affordable Homes. Gov.uk, 4 January. Accessed 5 January 2016. https://www.gov.uk/government/news/pm-the-government-will-directly-build-affordable-homes. Hammond, Ed, and Patrick Jenkins. 2012. Canary Wharf Claims High Ground on City. Financial Times, 13 May. Hatherley, Owen. 2012. The Myth that Canary Wharf Did East London Any Good. Guardian, 15 May. Accessed 2 May 2019. https://www.theguardian. com/commentisfree/2012/may/15/canary-wharf-east-london-myth. Hennessy, Peter. 2006. Never Again: Britain 1945–1951. London: Penguin. Hereford Times. 2011. ‘Death of Pioneering Council Chief’. Hereford Times, 20 January. Accessed 6 July 2015. http://www.herefordtimes.com/ news/8799908.Death_of_pioneering_council_chief/. Heseltine, Michael. 2000. Life in the Jungle: My Autobiography. London: Coronet. ———. 2008. ‘The Vision of Canary Wharf’. Mile End Group, 16 July. Accessed 3 July 2012. http://www.meg.qmul.ac.uk/pastevents/Michael%20 Hesseltine/index.html. ———. 2011. Video for Reg Ward Memorial Event. Youtube, July. Accessed 6 August 2015. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p2EggOAm5ZA. HM Government. 1946. ‘New Towns Act 1946’. Legislation.gov.uk, 1 August. Accessed 1 September 2014. http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1946/ 68/contents/enacted. ———. 1980. ‘Local Government, Planning and Land Act’. Legislation.gov.uk, 13 November. Accessed 22 July 2012. http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/1980/65/contents/enacted. Home, Robert. 1990. Planning Around London’s Megaproject: Canary Wharf and the Isle of Dogs. Cities 7 (2): 119–124.

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Jackson, Ben, and Robert Saunders, eds. 2001. Making Thatcher’s Britain. London: CUP. Jenkins, Simon. 2009. Margaret Thatcher: Acceptable in the 80s? Guardian, 11 April. Accessed 7 January 2016. http://www.theguardian.com/books/2009/ apr/11/thatcher-and-the-arts. Kentish, Benjamin. 2019. Up to 10 ‘free ports’ to open across the UK after Brexit. Independent, 1 August. Accessed 20 April 2020. https://www.independent. co.uk/news/uk/politics/freeports-brexit-uk-trade-boris-johnson-eu-customs-duty-liz-truss-a9035031.html. Meegan, Richard. 1999. Urban Development Corporations, Urban Entrepreneurialism and Locality: The Merseyside Development Corporation. In British Urban Policy: An Evaluation of the Urban Development Corporations, ed. Rob Imrie and Huw Thomas, 64–106. London: Sage. Moore, Charles. 2013. Margaret Thatcher—The Authorised Biography, Volume One: Not for Turning. London: Allen Lane. ———. 2015. Margaret Thatcher—The Authorised Biography, Volume Two: Everything She Wants. London: Allen Lane. Omega Centre (UCL). 2014. Project Profile: Jubilee Line Extension. Bartlett School of Planning. Accessed 22 November 2015. http://www.omegacentre. bartlett.ucl.ac.uk/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/UK_JLE_PROFILE.pdf. Public Accounts Committee. 1989. Twentieth Report: Urban Development Corporations. London: HMSO. ———. 1995. Forty-Seventh Report: London Docklands Development Corporation— The Limehouse Link. London: HMSO. Riddell, Peter. 1991. The Thatcher Era and Its Legacy. Oxford: Blackwell. Ridley, Nick. 1991. My Style of Government: The Thatcher Years. London: Hutchinson. Ruddick, Graham. 2013. ‘Will Canary Wharf be Barnoess Thatcher’s Greatest Legacy?’. Telegraph, 9/4. Accessed 17 January 2016. https://www.telegraph. co.uk/finance/newsbysector/constructionandproperty/9981618/WillCanary-Wharf-be-Baroness-Thatchers-greatest-lasting-legacy.html. Swinford, Steven. 2014. George Osbourne: Ebbsfleet will be first garden city in Britain for 100 years. Telegraph, 16 March. Accessed 11 November 2015. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/georgeosborne/10701063/ George-Osborne-Ebbsfleet-will-be-first-garden-city-for-100-years.html.. Thatcher, Margaret. 1989. Speech Inaugurating Canary Wharf. Margaretthatcher.org, 29 November. Accessed 12 April 2019. https://www.margaretthatcher.org/ document/107834. Thatcher Government (Various). 1988. Press Conference to Launch ‘Action for Cities’. Thatcher Foundation, 7 March. Accessed 9 September 2015. http:// www.margaretthatcher.org/document/107188.

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Thornley, Andy. 1991. Urban Planning Under Thatcherism: The Challenge of the Market. London: Routledge. Vinen, Richard. 2009. Thatcher’s Britain: The Politics and Social Upheaval of the Thatcher Era. London: Simon & Schuster. Young, Hugo. 1993. One of Us. London: Pan Books.

Archival Baker, Kenneth. 1985. Letter to Prime Minister, ‘Good News’. 3/10/85, National Archive (hereafter ‘NA’), PREM19/1920. E(EA). 1979a. 9th Meeting: Minutes. 25/7/79, NA, CAB134/4340. (1) ———. 1979b. ‘12th Meeting: Minutes’. 6/9/79, NA, CAB134/4340. (2) GLP. 1979. ‘Docklands: The Options’. 18/7/79, NA, AT41/319. Gregson, Peter. 1982. Letter to M. Thatcher, ‘Medway Town and Chatham Dock Closure’. 15/3/82, NA, PREM19/1114. Gunn, John. 1979. Letter to Mr Evans, ‘UDC’. 13/8/79, NA, AT41/319. Hornsby, Timothy. 1980. Letter to P. McQuail, ‘Post Mortem on Appointment of UDC Chief Executives’. 12 June 1980, NA, AT41/377/1. Howe, Geoffrey. 1979. Letter to M. Heseltine, ‘UDCs’. 7/9/79, NA, T374/409. Howes, C.  K. 1986. Letter to P.  McQuail, ‘Canary Wharf’. 30/1/86, NA, AT41/476/1. ———. 1987a. Letter to P.  McQuail, ‘Canary Wharf’. 20/1/87, NA, AT41/484/1. (1) ———. 1987b. Letter to P.  McQuail, ‘Canary Wharf—An Estates View’. 17/3/87, NA, AT41/486. (2) Lankester, Tim. 1979. ‘No. 10 Record of Conversation’. 11/9/79, NA, PREM19/577. ———. 1981. ‘Note of Meeting held at 10 Downing Street’. 7/9/81, NA, PREM19/578. LDDC. 1985. Emergency Board Minutes. 4/4/85, LMA, BO6/140/ LD163/CB50. LDDC-DoE Liaison Meeting. 1982. Minutes. 9/9/82, London Metropolitan Archives (hereafter ‘LMA’), BO6/140/LD163/CB22. ———. 1987. Minutes. 16/9/87, LMA, BO6/140/LD163/CB82. McQuail, Paul. 1986. Letter to PS/Sir G. Young, ‘Canary Wharf: Sale of Freehold’. 1/8/86, NA, AT41/479/1. Norgrove, David. 1985. Letter to Prime Minister, Note attached to ‘Good News’. 3/10/85, NA, PREM19/1920. Osborn, F.  A. 1985. Letter to P.  McQuail, ‘Canary Wharf’. 3/10/85, NA, AT41/475/1. Patterson, J. 1979. ‘UDCs’, Internal Memorandum, HM Treasury. 24/7/79, NA, T374/409.

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Permanent Secretary. 1981. Letter to Secretary of State, ‘London Docklands Development Corporation’. 20/3/81, NA, AT81/215. Ridley, Nick. 1986. Letter to Prime Minister, ‘Urban Development Corporations. October 1986, NA, PREM19/1921. Treasury Circular. 1979. ‘UDCs’. 16/8/79, NA, T374/409. Ward, Reg. n.d. ‘Curriculum Vitae’, NA, AT41/377/2. Wybrew, John. 1986. Letter to Prime Minister, ‘Docklands Light Railway and Canary Wharf’. 18/4/86, NA, PREM19/1921.

Oral History Interviews Interview with Anonymous Civil Servant by Jack Brown, 5/9/2013. Interview with Lord Heseltine by Jack Brown, 17/7/2012. Interview with Sir Peter Hall by Jack Brown, 6/11/2013.

CHAPTER 6

‘The Jezebel Who Sought to Destroy Israel in a Day’: Margaret Thatcher’s Impact on the Northern Ireland Peace Process, 1984–1990 Fiona McKelvey After her election as Conservative Party Leader in 1975, Margaret Thatcher was invited to attend a meeting with Labour Prime Minister James Callaghan and Merlyn Rees, Secretary of State for Northern Ireland.1 Thatcher accepted and brought along Airey Neave, her Shadow Secretary of State for Northern Ireland.2 The discussion saw Thatcher and Neave quiz Callaghan on key Northern Ireland issues that would resonate throughout her time as Conservative leader. Following this meeting, and with the guidance of Neave, Thatcher concluded that the problem with Northern Ireland lay in a lack of security (PREM 16/520). She believed 1  James Callaghan, Leader of the Labour Party 1976–1980, Prime Minister 1976–1979. Merlyn Rees, Lord Merlyn Rees, Labour MP 1963–1992. Secretary of State for Northern Ireland 1974–1976. 2  Airey Neave, war hero and Conservative MP 1953–1979. Killed by INLA car bomb 1979. Shadow Secretary of State for Northern Ireland 1974–1979.

F. McKelvey (*) Belfast, UK © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_6

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that the threat posed by paramilitary groups would be reduced if there was a greater security presence within the province and better cooperation between the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) and the Garda Síochána.3 Thatcher also showed some interest in the context of the  Northern Ireland problem. Thatcher admitted that her knowledge of the source of the problem was limited and sought to improve it. Before going on holiday in 1980 she requested a reading list from Jim Prior, her Private Secretary.4 The list included Richard Rose’s, Governing Without Consensus and F.S.L. Lyons, Ireland Since the Famine (PREM 19/498). She requested another list in July 1983 and noted beside Dervla Murphy’s A Place Apart that she had ‘read this more than once’ (PREM 19/1068). During her time as Leader of the Opposition, Thatcher visited Northern Ireland every year (except for 1976, when confidential details of her visit were stolen). Her trips were meticulously organised, and were intended to reassure unionists of her commitment to the province. She travelled to inner cities and border areas and in 1979, following the Mountbatten/Warrenpoint attacks, she made a point of visiting the army barracks at Crossmaglen (PREM 19/385). Her message was clear; I care, I am not afraid, I will help. It is apparent that in the early stages of her leadership, Thatcher displayed a dedication to the province that is stark when compared with her predecessors. However, Thatcher’s attempts to understand the origins of the tensions in Northern Ireland did not give her any new ideas on how to handle the situation. The death of Neave at the hands of the Irish National Liberation Army (INLA) only confirmed to her that the basic issue with the conflict was the lack of military presence.5 She was persuaded by her team of Northern Ireland advisors that talks with her Irish counterpart, namely the Taoiseach, could lead to improved cross-border security co-operation.6 3  This was a policy she followed throughout her time as Prime Minister, although it fluctuated with incidents in Northern Ireland and according to her relations with Haughey or FitzGerald. 4  Lord James ‘Jim’ Prior, Baron Prior, Conservative. Secretary of State for Northern Ireland 1981–1984. Many believed Thatcher moved Prior to the ‘dustbin’ of Northern Ireland to get him away from central Cabinet. Prior was widely regarded as leader of the ‘wets.’ Thatcher had beaten Prior to leadership of the party in 1975. 5  Neave died in April 1979 when the Irish National Liberation Army (INLA) planted a bomb under his car. Neave was primed to become Secretary of State on Thatcher’s election. 6  Thatcher’s main Anglo-Irish advisors were Robert Armstrong, Baron Armstrong of Ilminster, Conservative. Secretary of the Cabinet 1979–1987; Douglas Hurd, Baron Hurd of Westwell, Conservative MP 1974–1997, Secretary of State for Northern Ireland

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‘We Are Doing Our Best-Of Course We Shall Help You’: 1984–1986 In 1984, it was accepted in British and Irish government circles that the key to the Irish issue lay in stable Anglo-Irish relations. In order to have regular summits, Thatcher needed to build a professional relationship with her Irish counterpart. How did she get along with Garret FitzGerald?7 As well known for his ‘often over-fluent’ speeches as Thatcher was for her impatience, Thatcher’s team knew that she found FitzGerald difficult to work with—his notorious verbosity clashing with her irascibility. On one occasion she fell asleep during a meeting with him (Moore 2016, 300). Thatcher herself characterised FitzGerald as a ‘cosmopolitan intellectual’ who was ‘more sensitive to imagined snubs and more inclined to exaggerate the importance of essentially trivial issues than Mr. (Charles) Haughey’ (Thatcher 1993, 393).8 But FitzGerald had been planning a new initiative since early 1982. His idea was to involve all the Irish and Northern Irish parties in ‘consultations on the manner in which lasting peace and stability can be achieved in a new Ireland through the democratic process’ (FitzGerald 1992, 462–463). His idea emerged as the New Ireland Forum (NIF). The Forum was open to nationalist and unionist parties based in the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, with the exception of Sinn Féin.9 The 1984 forum report stated that the key to solving the Northern Ireland 1984–1985, Home Secretary 1985–1989, Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs 1989–1995 until he was replaced as Secretary of State by Tom King, Baron King of Bridgewater, Conservative MP 1970–2001. Secretary of State for Northern Ireland 1985–1989, Secretary of State for Defence 1989–1992; Geoffrey Howe, Baron Howe of Aberavon, Conservative MP 1964–1966, 1970–1992. Chancellor of the Exchequer, 1979–1983, Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, 1983–1989, Deputy Prime Minister and Leader of the House of Commons, 1989–1990; David Goodall, Sir David Goodall, British diplomat. Deputy Secretary (Overseas and Defence), Cabinet Office 1982–1984, Deputy Under-Secretary for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs (Defence and Intelligence) 1984–1987, High Commissioner to India, 1987–1991. 7  Dr. Garret FitzGerald, academic and leader of Fine Gael, 1977–1987. Taoiseach 1981–1982, 1982–1987. 8  Charles J. Haughey, leader of Fianna Fáil 1979–1992, Taoiseach 1979–1981, 1982, 1987–1992. 9  The NIF also sought to counter the emergence of Sinn Féin as a viable political party by shoring up the Social Democratic and Labour Party (SDLP), the moderate nationalist party in Northern Ireland. The SDLP promoted the unifaction of Ireland and Northern Ireland by peaceful means, but its popularity declined in the aftermath of the 1981 Hunger Strikes which saw Sinn Féin candidates elected to Westminster in the 1981 general election. See John Whyte, Interpreting Northern Ireland (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2003) for more on this.

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issue lay in stable Anglo-Irish co-operation. Robert Armstrong, secretary to the British Cabinet, wrote to Thatcher to advise that they faced a paradox, ‘we cannot afford to do nothing, the risks of doing nothing are as great or greater than the risks that would be attendant upon an agreed package’ (PREM 19/1289). Thatcher told the press that she looked ‘forward to continued contact with Dr. FitzGerald and his Government’ (The Irish Times, 1984). It appeared that Thatcher and FitzGerald were in agreement, however, things took an unexpected turn. The progress made by the teams from Dublin and London since FitzGerald’s return to office was challenged by events in Brighton in October 1984. During the Conservative Party Conference at the Grand Hotel, the PIRA detonated a bomb. It failed to kill Thatcher, its primary target, but caused five fatalities and left others with life changing injuries. Following the attack, Thatcher’s Private Secretary told her that FitzGerald was ‘wildly over-optimistic’ about the speed of their negotiations. Thatcher noted on a memo that ‘The bomb has slowed things down and may in the end kill any new initiative because I suspect it will be the first of a series’ (PREM 19/1288). But in spite of Thatcher’s hesitation, the bomb did not slow things down, ‘after the slightest of pauses, the machine of negotiation rolled on as before, almost as if nothing had happened’ (Moore 2016, 316). Thatcher was shaken but continued to seek a solution to Northern Ireland. She was advised to work on the so termed ‘climate of increased realism’ to pressurise FitzGerald into accepting ‘limited joint arrangements of the kind we have been prepared to offer them in the exploratory talks between our officials’ (PREM 19/1408).10 The next Anglo-Irish summit was set for November. FitzGerald and his team travelled to Chequers to meet with Thatcher and her team on 18 November. From the outset it was apparent that he faced intense pressure from home. Previous talks were significant to their personal relationship but the question emerged; did these meetings yield any tangible results? Dublin stated that they didn’t ‘want simply to have talks for the sake of talks’ while Geoffrey Howe commented that ‘if the talks were to continue they could only do so on the basis of the continued shared belief that the efforts would be worthwhile.’ London intended to work on the so termed ‘climate of increased realism’ to pressurise FitzGerald into accepting ‘limited joint arrangements of the kind we have been prepared to offer them in the exploratory talks between our officials’ (PREM 19/1408/2). London knew this would be difficult, but Thatcher  Underlines appear on original documentation.

10

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was determined that Dublin should not over-step the mark and ask for more than she could give (PREM 19/1408/2). After a ‘heavy night’ of overindulgence with food and alcohol, FitzGerald’s team were presented with a speaking note from London over breakfast (BBC 2001). London would not accept any form of joint authority (TAOIS 2014/105/827).11 FitzGerald’s idea was rejected outright, a heavy blow just before his tête-­ à-­tête with Thatcher. The record of conversation shows that FitzGerald and Thatcher had a tense meeting. The tone of their conversation was particularly robust and wholly different to previous encounters. Thatcher commanded the discussion; she quick-fired questions and statements at FitzGerald who retorted concisely (DFA 2014/32/2059 and TAOIS 2014/105/776). FitzGerald did advise that power-sharing in Northern Ireland was the only way that the republican minority would have confidence in their own future. The Northern Ireland problem was about more than basic security. Sinn Féin had the potential to destabilise the political system in both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. Furthermore, denying nationalist’s right to identify as Irish would only further inflame the situation. Thatcher became ‘worried by the trend of the conversation. The Taoiseach seemed to be saying that he wanted a republican enclave in Northern Ireland’ (PREM 19/1408/2). Thatcher ‘was obsessed with the idea of creating a purely British enclave in Northern Ireland’ (Jackson and Saunders 2012, 203). FitzGerald told her that ‘eighty-five thousand Catholics had been driven out of their homes … All he was seeking was effective policing with which the minority community could identify in the areas where it predominated’ (PREM 19/1408/2). Contrary to her notation on the presummit briefing, Thatcher told FitzGerald ‘We don’t want to cause problems for you back home. We like you. We want to deal with you and not with that other man’ (DFA 2014/32/2059).12 The meeting was initially reported positively, Armstrong recalled later that ‘business appeared to have gone reasonably well’ (Spencer 2015, 49). Hurd remembered that at one stage, Thatcher ‘began to compare the nationalists in the border counties with the Sudeten Germans in 1938; the Taoiseach looked grey and sad. The summit petered out with an empty communiqué’ (Hurd 2003, 339–340). This was the first warning that Thatcher had lost patience with the Irish question. 11  The original note is referred to, and read from, in ‘Endgame in Ireland- Bomb and Ballot Box,’ BBC 2001. 12  ‘That other man,’ it is safe to presume, being Charles Haughey.

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The second was  Thatcher’s infamous ‘out … out … out …’ burst which caused palpable damage to the Anglo-Irish relationship. This is the first instance when Thatcher made the blunder. Previous Anglo-Irish diplomatic quarrels occurred due to some inappropriate action (real or perceived) by Dublin.13 In this respect, it is the greatest of the Anglo-Irish fall outs because as Roy Jenkins, then President of the EEC remarked, ‘she does have the advantage of being almost totally impervious to how much she offends other people’ (Pugliese 2003, 158). But reports had focused on the ‘lowering of expectations’ in Dublin, so were her remarks to be wholly unexpected? Albeit a public press conference was the worst setting to share her comments, but Thatcher was repeating the behind-the-scenes reactions to the report. She saw it as a threat to the unionist majority and to British sovereignty in Northern Ireland. While the Ulster Unionists reacted with ‘glee,’ Thatcher’s speech was reproached in Dublin (Jackson and Saunders 2012, 201). It was reported that FitzGerald had ‘agreed to a suggestion that the prime minister’s behaviour at her press conference was ‘gratuitously offensive’ (PREM 19/1408/2). The remarks were leaked to the Irish press and saturated headlines the following day (PREM 19/1408). Thatcher’s speech left a feeling of ‘gloom and depression’ in its wake in Ireland. Dublin warned that relations had been profoundly ‘altered for the worse, in a manner that may be very difficult to recover.’14 Another face-to-face conversation needed to be organised. The two leaders met again at the EEC summit in Dublin in December. Thatcher defended herself during the discussion, telling FitzGerald that ‘In the Anglo-Irish arena, I am doing everything I can. I have been smiling all day!’ (DFA/2014/32/2059). Following the post-summit press conference, the pressure on FitzGerald was lifted and Thatcher agreed to more meetings in place of an apology. Her intransigence actually paved the way for the AIA of 1985, widely acknowledged as the first step towards the Good Friday Agreement of 1998. But the AIA was not without its problems. 13  For more on the pre-1984 Anglo-Irish relationship, please see Fiona McKelvey, ‘From ‘as British as Finchley’ to ‘no selfish strategic interest’: Thatcher, Northern Ireland and Anglo-Irish Relations, 1979–1990,’ PhD Thesis, Ulster University, 2018 and Stephen Kelly, ‘A Failed Political Entity’: Charles Haughey and the Northern Ireland Question, 1945–1992. Kildare: Merrion Press, 2016.. 14  Underlines appear on original documentation.

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Sean Donlon, then Head of the Irish Diplomatic Service, noted that Thatcher expected the AIA to be like ‘a magic wand’ (BBC 2014). She thought Dublin understood the need to step-up their security co-­operation and therefore, she believed the paramilitaries would be defeated. She also believed the Agreement addressed the concerns of the minority whilst reaffirming the position of the majority population in Northern Ireland. She was disappointed in all three aspects. The AIA was not universally accepted. Thatcher’s Government tried to predict the unionist response but was taken aback by the level of bitterness (CENT 3/10). Unionist resistance to the AIA seemed to be unanimous from the leadership down to their supporters. Many saw it as ‘a sell-out to Dublin,’ the rest felt it was ‘a well-­ meaning but ill-judged attempt which will collapse and lead to less rather than more stability.’ Thatcher’s team concluded that there was no hope of convincing the unionists to accept the AIA, ‘the best we are likely to obtain is a grudging acquiescence’ (PREM 19/1810). Unionists were infuriated and set out on a series of strikes and protests. Attacks by republican and loyalist paramilitaries continued. In fact, violence escalated in 1986 as civilians were increasingly targeted. Although she was frustrated, Thatcher continued to meet with FitzGerald. But each meeting marked a deterioration in her interest in Northern Ireland. Thatcher’s comment during a meeting with FitzGerald in February 1986 reflects her overall sense of disappointment in Northern Ireland. Thatcher was ‘depressed’ that security along the border had not improved. She had expected violence to be stopped by the AIA, but it had escalated instead. Thatcher’s next comment reflects her overall sense of frustration with Northern Ireland. FitzGerald remarked that the border areas were almost impossible to patrol. He said, ‘It is not the border that we would prefer!’ She retorted, ‘Yes, we got it wrong in 1921’ (TAOIS 2016/52/65). This was a startling admission from Thatcher. Did she mean that a United Ireland would have been better? Or was she referring to redrawing the border?15 The clue lies in further comments during the discussion.

15  Another of Thatcher’s ideas for Northern Ireland, in 1984 she thought that redrawing the Northern Ireland border to allow much of the Catholic population of West Northern Ireland to join the Republic of Ireland would solve the issue. The potential plans for this and the discussions around it by Thatcher’s team is explored in McKelvey, ‘From ‘as British as Finchley’ to ‘no selfish strategic interest,’ 2018 chapter four.

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FitzGerald told an anecdote of a man whose house straddled the border. The RUC tried to arrest him ‘by using an entrance which was in the South, even though it was the most northerly part of the house!’ As so often happened, Thatcher did not pick up on the joke. She curtly replied that towns close to the border, like Dundalk, were common places for terrorists to hide from the RUC. FitzGerald said that law abiding people had moved to the Republic of Ireland to live and work, but added, ‘We have 200 people from the North in our jails. You can have them back any time you want.’ Thatcher replied, ‘I don’t want them. You can have all the nationalists in the North if you like.’ She also added, ‘rather with a wistful reference … whether she could continue, in all seriousness, to send young men to their death in Northern Ireland’ (TAOIS 2016/52/65). John Houston, Political Advisor to Geoffrey Howe, reported to Richard Ryan, counsellor in the Irish Embassy in London, that Thatcher was ‘a bit fed up about the whole thing … She doesn’t see where it’s going … She doesn’t see what’s coming out of it’ (TAOIS 2016/52/98).16 Where once she referred to Finchley and Northern Ireland as one, now there was a definite separation reflected not only in her attitude but in her choice of words. ‘I don’t want them’ was her response to transferring British citizens from Irish jails. ‘They’ were more trouble than they were worth. Moore recalls a private conversation with Thatcher along similar lines, She went on about Ulster and how the unionists had persecuted the minority and how she couldn’t send ‘wave after wave’ of young men to look after the place … She was sparky. She referred to matters of Ulster as ‘foreign affairs’. (Moore 2016, 338)

FitzGerald later recalled another example of this shift following the AIA.  Whilst discussing grants from Europe and the USA for Northern Ireland, Thatcher rebuffed, ‘More money for these people?’ She said waving her hand in the general direction of Northern Ireland. ‘Look at their schools; look at their roads. Why should they have more money? I need that money for my people in England, who don’t have anything like this’. (FitzGerald 1992, 568)

16  Ryan was seen as Fine Gael’s Trojan horse into the Conservatives, due to his talents as poet and his love of shooting.

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Her reflection on whether she could continue to send the Army to Northern Ireland reveals the guilt she felt over the increasing attacks and deaths. It had all started during her first few months as Prime Minister with the Warrenpoint ambush. In public she had maintained that she would stop these attacks and protect ‘her boys.’ She knew she had failed. Thatcher’s unionism, from this point on, is best described as an English unionism (Cunningham 2001, 48). She saw Northern Ireland in terms of them and us. Her English unionism is illustrated by her concern for the plight of ‘our boys’ in the British army. She also saw Northern Ireland as an economic drain on the rest of the UK (Dixon and O’Kane 2008, 197). Thatcher’s own weariness with the Ulster Unionists, particularly during the 1986 anti-AIA protests, is another important factor in this English unionism. ‘Thatcherism did not seek to conserve the fragile web of understood relationships … that make up the Conservative nation’ (Jackson and Saunders 2012, 123). So when the Ulster Unionists reacted to the AIA with protests, vandalism and mass riots, Thatcher likened them to a threat to ‘the body politic.’ Just as the Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA) paramilitary prisoner was ‘invisible,’ so too were the Ulster Unionists (Jackson and Saunders 2012, 113–114). Indeed the protests ‘exposed the unionist mainstream not merely as politically ineffectual but as intellectually feeble also’ (Coulter 2015, 496–507). With the first anniversary of the AIA approaching, things were not about to improve in Northern Ireland. One of the main reasons why Thatcher signed the AIA was to gain security concessions from the Republic of Ireland. It was a point she was fixated with and which she brought up at every opportunity. When Haughey returned as Taoiseach in 1987, Noel Dorr, former Ambassador to the United Nations, briefed him on how to handle Thatcher during their future meetings.17 Dorr warned that Thatcher was ‘prone to say that she has had all the ‘kicks’ from the Agreement so far, while Irish Nationalism has had all the benefit.’ He also told Haughey that she still tended to ‘lecture’ or ‘preach a bit about security.’ Dorr knew that the best way to handle Thatcher when she pursued ‘some issue where she feels she is in the right, in a single minded—not to say self-righteous way’ was with patience

17  Noel Dorr, Irish representative to the United Nations Security Council 1981, Irish Ambassador to the United Kingdom 1983–1987, Secretary-General of the Irish Ministry of Foreign Affairs 1987–1995.

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and advised Haughey accordingly (DFA 2017/4/149). But escalating incidents confirmed that security was an ongoing issue.

‘It Was So Cruel, So Callous That the People Who Did It Can Have Nothing of Human Thoughtfulness or Kindness or Sensitivity at All. It Was Utterly Barbaric’: 1987 At the May 1987 meeting of the Anglo-Irish Intergovernmental Conference (AIIGC), Dublin said that they hoped the PIRA would ‘opt for a relatively low profile over the coming months’ (DFA 2017/4/54). Obviously news of the Loughall ambush had not yet reached the meeting. On the evening of 8 May, an eight-man PIRA unit had stolen a digger, planted a bomb in its front bucket, and drove into the village of Loughgall to attack the RUC station. The men were also armed with automatic rifles and some were wearing bullet proof vests. After driving the digger through the perimeter fence of the station, the bomb was detonated. The station was badly damaged but before the PIRA men could continue with their attack, the SAS ambushed the group. All eight PIRA men, and a civilian, died at the scene. It was the biggest loss of life in one incident the PIRA would suffer throughout The Troubles. It was obvious that the SAS had prior knowledge of the attack (Ellison and Smyth 2000, 122). This incident reignited accusations of a secret order allowing British security forces to operate a shoot-to-kill policy.18 The PIRA prepared for a campaign that would target the security forces and civilians. Thatcher was about to discover the true extent of international support for the PIRA. On 1 November, an Irish fishing vessel called the Eksund was intercepted by French authorities. It was found to have 150 tonnes of arms and ammunition from Libya. Colonel Gaddafi had previously vocalised his support to the republican campaign to force the British out of Ireland, but the Eksund revealed the true extent of his aid. Libya had sent £10m to the PIRA, and the Eksund was not the first shipment of arms to be sent from the mad dog of the Middle-East (TAOIS 2017/10/34). The episode 18  For more on shoot-to-kill see Graham Ellison and Jim Smyth, The Crowned Harp: Policing Northern Ireland, 2000, London: Pluto. John Stalker, Assistant Chief Constable to the Greater Manchester Police, had been tasked with investigating shoot-to-kill in Northern Ireland in 1984. He wrote about his investigation, suspension and suspicions in Stalker: Ireland, Shoot to Kill and the Affair, 1988, Harmondsworth: Penguin.

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revealed a serious lapse in British and Irish intelligence, as well as the extent of the arsenal in paramilitary hands. One week later, one of the worst incidents of The Troubles occurred. 8 November 1987 was Remembrance Sunday. The PIRA targeted two Remembrance Day ceremonies at Ennsikillen and Tullyhommon. The larger bomb at Tullyhommon did not explode, but eleven people were killed in the Enniskillen bomb. The attack sent shockwaves through Dublin and London. Haughey immediately wrote to Thatcher to send his sympathies and support, ‘All the security forces in this island must combine in an all out effort to have the perpetrators brought to justice’ (CJ 4/6872). Thatcher was horrified by the attack. She told the BBC, It was so appalling, really I could scarcely believe it because every civilised country honours and respects their dead. And every civilised country expects others to honour their dead too. And to take advantage of those people, assembling in that way, was really a desecration. (CJ 4/6872)

Enniskillen further highlighted holes in Anglo-Irish security cooperation. The town was targeted because it was close to the border. The bombers could detonate or plant a bomb and evade capture by crossing the border into the Republic of Ireland in as little as twenty minutes. The RUC and British Army were unable to pursue suspects. Once there, unless there was first hand evidence against them, they were safe from extradition. Even if an extradition order was drawn up, previous cases had fallen through due to errors including spelling mistakes (Thatcher 1993, 405). Thatcher was agitated when she met Haughey in December 1987. She told him, I am very angry about all this. My feelings go deeper than anger. (Paddy Mayhew, the Northern Ireland Attorney General) tells me there may never be another extradition case again. I know now from what you told me that you have extreme difficulties with your people, but where are they living? … I did not have to sign the (AIA). I could have got by without it. The only thing it has brought me is criticism and bad blood with the unionists. I had thought that if we operated it for a time, we could calm their fears: that has not come about. The nationalists are  quite glad about it. I (thought) we could build on all that. Then we get this! (TAOIS 2017/10/56)19

 Underlines appear on original documentation.

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Haughey could do little but listen to Thatcher’s rant. At one point he tried to reassure her that he had launched ‘the most massive security operation in the history of the State’ and that incidents had been prevented by the work of the Garda. She exclaimed, ‘Why do I even try!’ and told Haughey that she thought signing the AIA would mean better security. Haughey pointed out that there was better security, ‘far better than you have ever got’ (TAOIS 2017/10/56). Ennsikillen had far reaching impact. According to her memoirs, Enniskillen confirmed two things to Thatcher; that ‘terrorism would have to be met with more and more effective counter-terrorist activity’; and that the best way forward was to ‘stand almost alone’ when it came to Northern Ireland (Thatcher 1993, 407). She therefore worked on increasing the presence of the Army, particularly near the border. Meanwhile in Northern Ireland, Patrick J. McGrory, a Belfast criminal Lawyer, told David Donoghue, an official from the Department of  Foreign  Affairs, that Gerry Adams, leader of Sinn Féin, had indicated that it was time for Sinn Féin to distance itself from the ‘armed struggle.’ McGrory felt that Adams had become disenchanted with violence and wanted to present himself as a ‘politician more than a gunman.’ McGrory’s information was important. He indicated that republicans were more likely to accept an invitation to talk. As Adams had the support of the majority of republicans, the contact concluded that ‘whatever Adams says, the Provos  (PIRA) will eventually do’20 (DFA 2017/20/17 and DFA 2017/20/18).

‘Appalling Savagery’: 1988–1990 March 1988 saw two weeks of escalated paramilitary activity from both sides of the divide. It started with the deaths of three PIRA volunteers, Seán Savage, Daniel McCann and Mairéad Farrell, in Gibraltar. The three suspects were shot dead by plain-clothed SAS soldiers. It was suspected that the three had planned to attack the changing of the guard ceremony outside the residence of the Governor of Gibraltar with a bomb. It later emerged that Savage, McCann and Farrell were unarmed when they were shot, and no car bomb was found (Eckert 1999). The bodies of Savage, McCann and Farrell were flown home to Belfast. A large crowd had gathered for the joint funeral service and burial at Milltown Cemetery. As the third coffin was lowered into the ground, Michael Stone, a member of the loyalist paramilitary  Provos, a colloquialism for PIRA.

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Ulster Defence Association (UDA), threw a grenade towards the crowd. Stone hoped to kill Gerry Adams and Martin McGuiness, but failed. He continued to throw grenades and fired as he ran towards the M1 motorway. He killed three people and injured at least sixty others before he was apprehended by the crowd, badly beaten and arrested by the RUC (McKittrick 2008, 1117–1124).21 The funeral of Caoimhín Mac Brádaigh, one of Stone’s victims, took place three days later. As the procession travelled towards Milltown Cemetery, a silver Volkswagen Passat drove towards the funeral. The car was trapped by the crowd who believed they were under attack by loyalists. Two plain-clothed soldiers, Corporals Derek Wood and David Howes, were in the car. As the crowd surged, Wood fired his handgun. The Corporals were eventually overpowered. All of this happened in full view of the media who recorded the Corporals being dragged from their car. They were beaten before being taken to a waste ground where they were further beaten, stripped, searched, stabbed and shot (McKittrick 2008, 1120–1124). Thatcher was outraged by the murder of the Corporals. She told the BBC it was an act of ‘appalling savagery’ (MTF 1988). In her memoirs, Thatcher wrote, ‘No one who saw the film of the lynching of the two young soldiers trapped by that frenzied republican mob … will believe that reason or goodwill can ever be a substitute for force when dealing with Irish Republican terrorism’ (Thatcher 1993, 407). In light of these events, Haughey requested a meeting with Nicholas Fenn, the British Ambassador.22 Communications between Dublin and London had decreased to the extent that there was no contact from London after any of the incidents in March. Haughey asked Fenn if Thatcher was ‘trying to destabilise his administration. We’d come from the relative harmony of Enniskillen to full crisis in the space of a few weeks in Dublin; and London hadn’t noticed’ (British Diplomatic Oral History Programme (BDOHP) 2010). Fenn later recalled that he had tried to keep London updated, but that ‘if British Ambassadors in Dublin want to be heard, they need to shout, because the British government is always too busy fighting a war in the Balkans or wherever it may be’ (BDOHP 2010). Fenn tried to grab Thatcher’s attention with a brief entitled ‘Litany of Horror.’ In it he 21  For more on the Milltown Cemetery attack see especially Martin Dillon, Stone Cold: The True Story of Michael Stone and the Milltown Massacre (London: Hutchinson, 1992). 22  Sir Nicholas Fenn, British diplomat. Ambassador to Ireland 1986–1991.

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advised that contact should be maintained in accordance with the AIA.  Fenn was then called to London by Thatcher who, by this time ‘regarded Haughey with utter contempt.’ She was furious with Fenn because she felt he had defended Haughey, She was icily civil. She acknowledged that I should go on telling the truth, but she said I should tell Mr. Haughey in the language that she had just used to me, what she thought of him. And then she got up and the interview was clearly at an end, and she hissed in my ear as I left the room: ‘Go back to Ireland where you belong’. (BDOHP 2010)

Fenn then had to tell Haughey what Thatcher said, I carried out the Prime Minister’s instructions. Haughey was visibly shocked. I told him what she thought of him. I shan’t repeat it. And he said: ‘The Prime Minister has lost confidence in me.’ I said: ‘Yes, Taoiseach.’ ‘Confidence once lost cannot be restored.’ ‘That’s a counsel of despair.’ ‘The Irish have lived with despair for 800 years.’ That was the flavour of this difficult passage in our relations with the Irish in 1988. (BDOHP 2010)

In October 1988, the British Government introduced a broadcasting ban. The voices of members of Sinn Féin, the UDA and the PIRA, to name a few, were prohibited. This left the Thatcher Government open to more accusations of censorship, but Thatcher wrote that she believed the ban worked, even though journalists found a loophole and used actor’s voices for their reports (CJ 4/6877; Thatcher 1993, 412).23 To her mind, the undesirables in Northern Ireland were silenced. From the available records we can see that both Haughey and Thatcher began to pay more attention to, and take more interest in, world affairs from 1989 onwards. Before she left Number 10 in November 1990 Thatcher did not meet with Haughey at an Anglo-Irish summit again (CAIN 1988, 1989, 1990). The two premiers continued to meet during EEC summits, but in 1990 Haughey asked that he and Thatcher no longer treat Northern Ireland as a key issue (PREM 19/3403). Haughey and Thatcher both turned their attention to the wider political stage. 23  For more on the broadcasting ban see Mary Corcoran and Mark O’Brien, Political Censorship and the Democratic State: The Irish Broadcasting Ban (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2005) and The Media and Northern Ireland, ed., by Bill Rolston, (Hampshire: Macmillan, 1991).

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After her incredibly successful Moscow visit in 1987 Thatcher became an internationally recognised world leader (Moore 2016, 614–634 and 670–672). She had spoken about the need to help the people of Eastern Europe who lived under communism (Moore 2016). Now, with the help of US President Ronald Reagan, she was in a position to make a move.24 Haughey meanwhile, wanted to remain as Taoiseach for as long as possible. The Irish economy proved to be a greater priority in the late 1980’s and Ireland’s presidency of the Council of the European Union (CEU) gave Haughey the opportunity to parade as President on the international stage (PREM 19/3403; Kelly 2016, 334–340). Then, just before Thatcher resigned as leader, Peter Brooke, who had replaced Tom King as Secretary of State for Northern Ireland in 1989, made the Whitbread speech in which the British Government confirmed it had ‘no selfish strategic interest in Northern Ireland: our role is to help, enable and encourage’ (Dixon and O’Kane 142–143). Thirteen days later, Thatcher resigned as Prime Minister and withdrew from front-line politics.

Conclusion Thatcher was more engaged with the Northern Ireland problem than many of her predecessors at Westminster. She made an effort to understand the roots of the problem, but was never open to any other solutions apart from increasing the security presence. Her thoughts were confirmed to her in the run up to the AIA when she was targeted by the PIRA at Brighton, and then again when the group attacked the Remembrance Day Service at Enniskillen in 1987. Although the PIRA’s escalating campaign and the lack of security cooperation led Thatcher to disengage from Northern Ireland, her decision to send more troops and to proscribe Sinn Féin led Adams down the path to peace by persuading him that talks were more constructive than violence. Thatcher’s Northern Ireland  policies from 1984 to 1990 initially look counterproductive, even damaging. But her impact, at times unintentional, meant that eight years after she left Downing Street, the Good Friday Agreement  and relative peace were achieved in Northern Ireland. Was she the jezebel who sought to destroy Israel in a day? No. She was a conviction politician who attempted to solve the Irish problem. 24  Ronald Reagan, actor turned Republican politician. 40th President of the United States 1981–1989.

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References Coulter, Colin. 2015. ‘British Rights for British Citizens’: The Campaign for ‘Equal Citizenship’ for Northern Ireland.’ Contemporary British History 9(4). Cunningham, Michael J. 2001. British Government Policy in Northern Ireland, 1969–2000. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Dixon, Paul, and Eamonn O’Kane. 2008. Northern Ireland: The Politics of War and Peace. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Eckert, Nicholas. 1999. Fatal Encounter: The Story of the Gibraltar Killings. Dublin: Poolbeg. Ellison, Graham, and Jim Smyth. 2000. The Crowned Harp: Policing Northern Ireland. London: Pluto. FitzGerald, Garret. 1992. All in a Life: An Autobiography. London: Macmillan. Hurd, Douglas. 2003. Memoirs. London: Little Brown. Jackson, Ben, and Robert Saunders. 2012. Making Thatcher’s Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kelly, Stephen. 2016. ‘A Failed Political Entity’: Charles Haughey and the Northern Ireland Question, 1945–1992. Kildare: Merrion Press. McKittrick, David. 2008. Lost Lives: The Stories of the Men, Women, and Children Who Died as a Result of the Northern Ireland Troubles. Edinburgh: Mainstream. Moore, Charles. 2016. Margaret Thatcher: The Authorized Biography: Volume Two: Everything She Wants. London: Penguin. Pugliese, Stanislao. 2003. The Political Legacy of Margaret Thatcher. London: Politico Publishing. Spencer, Graham. 2015. The British and Peace in Northern Ireland: The Process and Practice of Reaching Agreement. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thatcher, Margaret. 1993. The Downing Street Years. Dublin: Harper Collins.

Archival Sources British Broadcasting Corporation Interview with Robert Armstrong. Endgame in Ireland- Bomb and Ballot Box. 2001. Interview with Sean Donlon. Thatcher and the IRA: Dealing with terror. 2014.

British Diplomatic Oral History Programme Interview with Nicholas Fenn. 2010

Conflict Archive on the Internet Chronology of the Conflict. 1988, 1989, 1990.

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The National Archives, Dublin DFA 2014/32/2059. Meeting between FitzGerald and Thatcher in Chequers. 19 November 1984. ——— 2014/32/2059. FitzGerald Meeting with Thatcher. 3 December 1984. ——— 2017/4/54. Fifth Meeting of the AIIGC, London. 9 May 1986. ——— 2017/4/149. Developments Ahead on Northern Ireland—The Taoiseach’s Meeting with Thatcher. 23 June 1987. ——— 2017/20/17. Meeting with P.J. McGrory, Belfast. 16 February 1987. ——— 2017/20/18. Meeting with Bishop Cathal Daly. 31 March 1987. TAOIS 2014/105/776. Meeting between FitzGerald and Thatcher in Chequers. 19 November 1984. ——— 2014/105/827. Statement of British Position. November 1984. ——— 2016/65. Meeting between FitzGerald and Thatcher. 19 February 1986. ——— 2016/65. Meeting between FitzGerald and Thatcher. 6 November 1986. ——— 2017/34. Libya and the PIRA. 16 November 1987. ——— 2017/56. Meeting between Haughey and Thatcher, Copenhagen. 4–5 December 1987.

The National Archives, London CJ 4/6872. Note from Norgrove Thatcher. 8 November 1987. ———. Quotes: Enniskillen Bombing. 8 November 1987. CJ 4/6877. Draft Agreement, Steps to Improve the Security Situation in Northern Ireland. 18 December 1987. PREM 16/520. Letter from Wright to Jordan. 11 September 1975. ——— 19/385. Prime Minister’s Engagements. 29 August 1979. ——— 19/498. Letter from Kenneth Stowe to Sanders. 12 August 1980. ——— 19/1068. D.A. Hill to John Coles. 8 July 1983. ——— 19/1288. Powell Minute to Thatcher. 18 October 1984. ——— 19/1289. Armstrong Minute to Thatcher. 1 November 1984. ——— 19/1408. Howe Minute to Thatcher. 16 November 1984. ——— 19/1408. Armstrong Minute to Thatcher. 22 November 1984. ——— 19/1408/2. Howe Minute to Thatcher. 16 November 1984. ——— 19/1408/2. Record of Conversation. 19 November 1984. ——— 19/1408/2. Telegram from UKE Dublin to FCO. 22 November 1984. ——— 19/1810. King Minute to Thatcher. 10 January 1986. ——— 19/3403. Minute from Butler to Powell. 19 April 1990.

Newspapers The Irish Times. 1984.

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The Public Records Office

of

Northern Ireland

CENT 3/10. Prime Minister: Northern Ireland. 11 January 1986.

The Margaret Thatcher Foundation Online Remarks on IRA lynching of Corporals Wood and Howes (‘Appalling Savagery’). 19 March 1988. Remarks visiting Belfast (Democracy and Terrorism). 29 August 1979.

CHAPTER 7

‘The Iron Lady? She Devastated the Country’: Former Scottish Steelworkers’ Narratives of Unions, Community and Thatcherism James Ferns

The Thatcher government administered a combination of neoliberalism and deindustrialisation which devastated working-class community and political organisation. Crime, poverty and ill-health increased in former occupation-dependent communities in Scotland as the social fabric unravelled with the closure of heavy industry (Farrall et  al. 2017; McCrone 2012; Finlay 2004). The impact of deindustrialisation on these communities has been overwhelmingly negative, yet it remains difficult to capture fully the emotional disruption of deindustrialisation and its aftereffects. The marginalisation of working-class experiences within dominant remembrances of the past compounds this difficulty, but oral history represents an effective means of historical inquiry into the recovery of marginalised narratives, able to navigate realms of emotion and meaning (Thompson 2017; Portelli 2012; Abrams 2016). In capturing complex and experiential

J. Ferns (*) Strathclyde University, Glasgow, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_7

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narratives, oral history proves indispensable as a means of understanding the significance of deindustrialisation for working-class people. This chapter draws on seventeen oral history interviews with former Scottish steelworkers, it will explore their post-redundancy experiences of trade unionism and occupational community compared to steelmaking and will conclude with a discussion of steelworkers’ interpretations of the underlying motivations of Thatcherism. The interviewees were employed within British Steel during the 1980s and made redundant in the early 1990s: twelve of these are former Ravenscraig employees, four are former Clydesdale employees, and one was a former Dalzell employee. The interviews were conducted between 2016 and 2017, and participants were recruited using local press, retiree networks, social media and a snowballing method. Given their previous immersion in a distinctive occupational culture, a study of these workers post-redundancy employment experiences offers a window into the impact of Thatcherism and deindustrialisation.

Unions and Management The loss of a workplace defined by a powerful trade union was the ‘biggest culture shock’ for many steelworkers (Cunningham Interview 2017). As a closed shop membership of the Iron and Steel Trades Confederation (ISTC) was mandatory for employment within steelmaking, establishing a fully unionised workforce. Steelworkers remembered the power of the ISTC within the workplace, recalling how it demanded respect from management and was quick to respond if workers’ rights were infringed. In their examination of the work cultures of Clydeside heavy industries, Johnston and McIvor have spoken of the possible ‘synergies between class and masculine values’, where ‘being a man in the Clydeside heavy industries also involved standing up for your rights against authoritarian management’ (2004, 140). Commitment to trade unionism and a readiness to defend working rights and workplace dignity featured strongly in steelworkers’ testimonies. Disrespectful or threatening language from management was received with little tolerance from union officials: McCard was our shop steward at the time and we were at a meeting—it was a dispute—and the [HR] guy threatened him … he says, “if you don’t get these men back to work Mr McCard your gonnae go out here without a job”, and big McCard says to him, “if I go out here without a job you’re going out here in a stretcher son, and I ain’t fucking kidding you on.” (Cunningham Interview 2017)

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In most instances the overt power of the union remained latent, with simply the possibility of collective action guaranteeing a certain level of conscientiousness from management. According to Harry Carlin (2017) this power encouraged respectful management: ‘the union had a lot to play, the management respected you—and the workforce knew that’. Equally for Brian Cunningham the union’s position fostered ‘mutual respect’, as its authority: Always put the management on notice … because there could be a consequence, a real significant consequence, and if you are a manager in that position and you cause a shut down or a walk out you need to make sure what you did was right … it bred a respect for the workforce … I think that was probably true in most nationalised industries … any place you had large groups of men who were unionised … I definitely missed the trade union environment … that you couldn’t be bullied, or picked on, or threatened by your employer or your boss.

Managerial participants’ shared and confirmed workers testimonies of respectful labour relations. Industrial relations manager Sam Thompson remembered the ‘good relationship’ with the union during negotiations and Strip Mill Manager Ian Harris (2017) described the normalcy in promoting ‘common ground’ and understanding. Former steelworkers experienced a profound culture shock as they moved from steelmaking’s closed shop into workplaces operating within the context of Thatcherite anti-trade union legislation. Typically ununionised, the post-redundancy employment of displaced heavy industry workers is defined by a breakdown in mutually respectful labour relations and workers’ bonds of solidarity (Witt 1990; Hart and K’Meyer 2009; Milkman 1997; Waddington, et  al. 2001). Jim Reddiex had described Ravenscraig’s managers as ‘enlightened’ because of their fairness; steelworkers who entered employment where workers lacked collective strength discovered that management lost any sense of enlightenment as soon as the necessity for conciliatory labour relations disappeared. Where unions did maintain a presence it was generally weaker, with concerns often ignored by management. Tommy Johnston, who moved into janitorial work, commented: ‘The union has absolutely no say … they are hopeless, they have no say whatsoever. If we go in with a complaint to management … they will just say “no, and what are you going to do about it?”’. The loss of a powerful trade union is a common theme among

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former heavy industry workers, and one of the most prominently missed elements of industrial employment (Milkman 1997; Waddington et  al. 2001; Dudley 1994). James Carlin was astonished to discover that Wisemans Dairy actively suppressed trade union organising by threat of outright dismissal. Brian Cunningham found himself alone as the only union member as a mechanic, which he attributed to management’s hard anti-union stance: ‘If you joined a union you were sacked, you were out the door. They were quite open about that’. Authoritarian management and exploitive conditions often prevailed in the absence of a powerful union. James Carlin described Wiseman’s management as ‘almost dictatorial’: It was completely foreign to me to go into a work environment where the manager was there, looking over you to see what you were doing: “come on do this faster”, “you need to be quicker”, you know that whole aspect of it—∗clap∗ ∗clap∗ ∗clap∗— “come on, get that done, and I’ll be back in half an hour and if you’ve no got that done I’ll be wanting to know why you’ve not got it done”.

James contrasted this with Ravenscraig managers who afforded workers a degree of ‘professionalism’, rather than oppressive supervision. Management’s abusive language and a general lack of respect was the ‘biggest culture shock’ for Brian Cunningham: That bosses can speak to you like that: “you can get yourself to fuck, get your tools and fuck off” … That would never have happened in the steel industry, that manager would have been sacked … there was a mutual respect between the workforce and the unions and the management.

Brian was well aware that this ‘mutual respect’ was not underpinned by benevolence, but rather necessity—as a means of avoiding potential disruption should the workforce be provoked; workers’ treatment by management corresponds to their respective power in relation to management. Deindustrialisation undoubtedly had a destructive effect upon trade union organisation, yet it would be inaccurate to remove agency from displaced workers, to forget their ability to shape their new workplaces. Deindustrialisation did not weaken former steelworkers’ attachment to trade union values. Former steelworkers strived to unionise their new workplaces, demonstrating how former heavy industry workers transmit

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their culture of trade unionism into their new employment. Despite lacking ‘any great knowledge of employment law’, James Carlin took on the role of shop steward, drawing on what he had seen as a steelworker and learning through experience he fought for co-workers who ‘were getting disciplinaries and sacked’. Similarly, when Harry Carlin began work in elderly care homes it was wholly non-unionised and subject to an authoritarian manager—a fact he quickly changed by unionising his colleagues: ‘I became the union man down there right away … when I went in I had to get them all in the union … [the workers] were all afraid you know … I said, “this is the way we will be doing it from now on”’. Harry directly challenged his manager’s power, attacking their belittlement of workers: ‘she had a great habit of saying she was going to sack people, I said, “you’ve not got the authority to sack anybody”, I said, “the time I’m finished with you you’re going to get sacked”’. Gilmour (2010) has also highlighted an example of culture transmission by describing how former shipbuilders brought their culture of trade unionism with them as they moved into Linwood car factory following the decline of shipbuilding. Yet values are largely irrelevant in the absence of power, and it must be admitted that deindustrialisation shattered workers’ power. James Carlin’s summary of the power balance of a non-union workplace—‘we never had any power, we never had any voice’—demonstrates the removal of all necessity for respect, reducing workplace dignity to the whim of management.

Camaraderie and Community Like other heavy industries, steelworks are often publicly remembered as strongholds of labour militancy, but steelmaking was also defined by a powerful occupation-based community identity which complemented, but went beyond the scope of, organised workers and powerful unions. Former steelworkers’ recollections of steelmaking conjure a robust sense of workplace identity, a form of belonging and community based on occupation but not restricted to the workplace in scope. Brown (1985) contends that heavy industry workers report a greater sense of occupational identity than other workers as their typically long period of service allows them time to develop occupational bonds. This is further reinforced by heavy industry’s propensity to foster occupational communities through its position as the primary source of employment within a given locality (Brown 1985). Highlighting the cultural similarities between coalfields in Poland, Turkey and the UK, Kirk et al. state that work ‘marks a region’s

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potential distinctiveness’, producing ‘culturally distinct traditions that shape everyday life’, citing the existence of miners’ welfare associations, union halls and work-based bands or sporting clubs across cultures (2002, 6–7). Similarly, Strangleman argues that heavy industry imprinted a ‘distinctive cultural pattern’ upon regions—influencing ‘culture, class, language, attitude and gender relations’—while its decline compromised this ‘sense of identity’ (2008, n.p.). Intersecting throughout former steelworkers’ narratives, ‘camaraderie’ was consistently used to describe workplace culture. Interviewees fondly remembered the comradely shop-floor culture, strong sense of community, and constant ‘banter’. The culture was embedded into steelworkers themselves, it ‘moulded character’, and was ‘something that [got] into [their] blood’ (Cunningham Interview 2017; Thompson Interview 2017). Peter Hamill particularly enjoyed steelmaking’s characteristic humour, commenting that ‘every single day you got a good laugh’. The heavy unionisation of the workplace encouraged a culture of solidarity and co-operation. Harry Carlin states: ‘I loved it, I liked the camaraderie, you know, working with the people there. I was heavily involved in the unions with the men, and I loved it, absolutely loved it’. Being ‘part of something’ was an important aspect of steelmaking, instilling pride and purpose as well as fostering a culture where ‘all looked after each other and all looked out for each other’ (McKeown Interview 2017). Steelmaking tended to be concentrated within families, informally passing from parent to child; it was not uncommon for fathers, sons, uncles and cousins to work side-by-side. This interfamily aspect of steelmaking, exemplified by Tommy Brennan (2017)—‘I worked in the Craig, my brother worked in the Craig, my two sons worked in the Craig, my brother’s three sons worked in the Craig’—encouraged even greater bonds between workers, blurring the lines between the workplace and the family. Steelmaking was felt to be part of workers’ heritage, central to their identity, which James Carlin illustrates: That’s what I wanted to be, because I came from that sort of history, that lineage within my family, we were all steelworkers, we worked in heavy industry, and I was desperate to leave school and get into the steelworks.

Displaced workers within the secondary literature, such as High’s Industrial Sunset, also described their former workplaces through ‘metaphors of home and family’, emphasising strong bonds of community

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(2003, 44). High’s examination of the closure of Sturgeon Falls paper mill especially conveys the ‘closeness of social relations’ and importance of the workplace within occupation-dependent communities (2018, 273). In Hart and K’Meyer’s I Saw It Coming, former manufacturing workers expressed similar sentiments. The comparison to a family atmosphere was evoked by Charlie Noyes: ‘it was just like being part of a big family, an extended family’ (Hart and K’Meyer 2009, 60). While Phil Nalley recalled the comradely nature of the workplace: ‘a camaraderie and loyalty … we trusted each other and we would take care of each other’s family’ (Hart and K’Meyer 2009, 39). Deindustrialisation marked an abrupt end to steelworkers’ immersion in a highly communal work environment. The tendency of closure to uproot and destroy workers’ sense of place and identity has been referenced by High, who describes how displaced US workers label themselves ‘gypsies’, as deindustrialisation had uprooted them, compelling them to move from place to place in search of transitory employment (2003, 65). Dudley states that ‘bonds of solidarity’ are common within factory environments, which encourage workers to ‘band together to express their collective opposition’ (1994, 115). Yet these bonds of solidarity were noticeably absent from steelworkers’ post-redundancy employment. James Carlin found Wisemans Dairy isolating: ‘there was no camaraderie, there was no team aspect to it, you were an individual and you stayed an individual till the day you went home’. The combination of exploitive working conditions, authoritarian management, and lack of a union created a tense, unfriendly environment for everyone: The culture was completely different, it wasn’t uncommon for you to see fights among guys down there … there were people starting on a Monday and walking out on a Wednesday, they just couldn’t handle it … Managers were getting attacked and everything in there … they spoke to you different, they had no respect for you; you were at their beck and call.

James Coyle’s time in children’s care homes lacked steelmaking’s sense of community: ‘I missed the banter, the day-to-day banter with individuals— the repertoire with the guys’ (2017). Jim McKeown found a ‘kind of falseness’ among teachers which was alien to the straightforwardness and more ‘genuine’ character of steelworkers, adding that the ‘cultural environment’ had ‘totally changed’. Teachers were less likely to confront their colleagues directly, opting instead to suppress their emotions and play ‘politics’:

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‘teachers don’t like to see themselves as being weak in any way you know, so they never admit, they never come for help … [in Ravenscraig] if there was something wrong it was out in the open, it was dealt with’. It was steelworkers’ lack of such pretention which Jim particularly missed: ‘I miss the people … that sort of rawness, that sort of rough and ready, the sort of straight to the point people’.

Social Embeddedness of Steelmaking Steelmaking was a highly socially embedded occupation with a strong occupational community which afforded steelworkers a large amount of social capital. A vibrant community social life shaped steelworkers and their families’ lives, structured through a range of formal and informal voluntary associations and recreational clubs which catered for hobbies, sports, socialising, and politics. The variety of social opportunities was extolled by Brian Cunningham: The social side of it was terrific … we used to do overnight stays, dinner dances, we used to do mid-week breaks for the golf … obviously you had your anniversaries, weddings, engagements, so the social side of it was really good.

The regularity of socialising fortified a sense of steelworks community, as Ian Harris described: ‘My wife knew my workmates, knew their families … you got invited to everything, so you were at the fishing club dance, the bowling club dance—I was in the golf club so I was at the golf club dance, the football dance, everything’. Workplace social clubs, like the Clydesdale Club or Ravenscraig’s Jerviston House, acted as focal points for occupational community. Harry Carlin recalled the popularity of the Clydesdale Club: ‘a massive club, very well attended, right up to the redundancy. It opened every night—there used to at one time have a debating society in it. They had their football teams … Aye that was a good club, everybody loved the Clydesdale Club’. The shift structure of steelmaking was a key foundation of steelworkers’ cohesive social life, which Frank Roy linked to steelworkers’ strong sense of occupational identity: It was your identity. And the reason why it was your total identity was because the lifestyle, because we worked a thing called a continental shift pattern, which was dayshift, backshift, nightshift … So you knew weeks in

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advance, months in advance, what shift you were … your social life was round your days off … you had a diary in your head where you knew your shifts.

Regular shifts and group time off supplied stability which allowed steelworkers to structure their social life in advance. Workers on the same shift pattern planned social outings together to fill regular intervals, as Tommy Johnston outlines: The camaraderie was excellent … if you were nightshift, you are away golfing during the day with all your pals. They used to have golf sections, football teams, fishing clubs, so you were either playing football in the afternoon, golfing in the afternoon, or away fishing … a big community … there was only 3,000 men left in Ravenscraig, but you still had that camaraderie because you were still working continental shifts and you still went out during the day.

May and Morrison’s interviews with displaced KEMET Electronics Corporation workers also revealed a fondness for regular shift patterns, as it allowed workers to ‘lead more predictable, patterned lives’—especially important to those with families (2003, 171). The World Health Organisation (2011, 3) defines social capital as ‘the quality of social relationships within societies or communities, including community networks, civic engagement, sense of belonging and norms of cooperation and trust’, which has been linked to positive mental health (Almedom 2005). Steelworkers had access to a great deal of social capital by virtue of the various voluntary associations, social clubs, educational programmes, and political groups associated with their workplace. The duality of a large workforce, which was both highly organised and defined by a strong sense of social embeddedness, allowed steelworkers to easily mobilise their collective influence and organise initiatives which benefited their community. Jim Reddiex described a scheme where Ravenscraig workers collectively deposited their money into a bank and used the accumulated interest to purchase yearly Christmas presents for local disadvantaged children. Brian Cunningham remembered a similar scheme where workers raised money for two ambulances for the Law Hospital, which responded by naming a ward after Ravenscraig. The strength of steelmaking unions also increased workers’ access to social capital in terms of education. In Clydesdale, Harry Carlin and his fellow trade unionists lobbied

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for and established an open learning space to address steelworkers’ lack of formal education: ‘We started a sort of open learning thing down there, it was an office, where men could go in, wanted to improve their English and their maths and things like that.’ Social capital and social embeddedness have also been associated with increased political participation (Klandermans and Stekelenburg 2010). Indeed, steelmaking cultivated a politicised workforce, with union politics encouraging participation in the wider labour movement. Brian Cunningham verbalised the richness of political activity: I’ve always been politically motivated … that was the steelworks, I grew up in that environment … trade unions are political animals … that always filtered down … there was always something on the go.

The material basis of steelworkers’ working-class culture was demolished alongside the steelworks itself. Deindustrialisation in Scotland was rapid and pervasive, according to Finlay (2004, 386) ‘there was no transitional phase’, with the ‘economic and social transformation of Scotland’ comparable in speed to ‘former soviet nations’. James Carlin had seen steelmaking as part of his heritage, a gateway into the labour movement and central to his working-class identity. Deindustrialisation ruptured this identity, provoking a sense of placelessness: I just couldn’t settle, I couldn’t settle, you know what I mean, it was always in my head about the steelworks … that will be 25 years until the plant actually closed, and I have always classed myself as a steelworker, I don’t know why.

Deindustrialisation and subsequent redundancy marked an abrupt end to steelworkers’ immersion in a highly communal work environment. Enjoying both the emphasis on teamwork and the social life of steelmaking, Jim McKeown found teaching very individualized, with little sense of community during or beyond work: ‘In Ravenscraig you knew everybody … in the school I can maybe walk into the staffroom and sit down, somebody walks past; I don’t know who it is’. Employment transition disrupted interviewees’ previously vibrant social lives, with their new employment lacking steelmaking’s interwoven social aspect. The end of the continental shift pattern made socialising difficult for Tommy Johnston: ‘it started just fading away. After a year, I stopped playing football, I stopped playing golf’. Tommy further added that annual leave in

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steelmaking, due to its collective structure, provided more opportunities for socialising than janitorial work: ‘I’ve been off work for five weeks, I’m bored out my skull; I mean if I had been off five weeks in Ravenscraig I’d be away golfing, away fishing, away playing five asides’. In Ravenscraig Brian Cunningham had regularly socialised with colleagues, with social outings common and simple to organise given workers’ regular intervals of free time. This culture was lacking in his new employment, where social events were typically limited to sparsely attended Christmas dinners. Displaced Welsh and Yorkshire miners also mourned the loss of their social life and culture, finding their post-redundancy employment lacking mining’s characteristic ‘comradeship’ (Witt 1990, 35). Perchard found similar sentiments among former Scottish miners, concluding that the demise of mining ‘left profound psychological scars in coalfield communities’, rupturing culture and identity (2013, 78). In Bowling Alone, Putnam outlines the deterioration of social capital in North American society, citing a decline in voluntary associations (2000). In a similar way, the decline of UK heavy industry prompted the virtual disappearance of highly socially integrated workplaces, which contributed to a decline in social capital among working-class people. The loss of steelmaking and the structure of the ISTC, in tandem with a reduction of free time weakened many interviewees’ connection to the labour movement, diminishing their political participation. Tommy Johnston explains: I’ve left the Labour Party … Didn’t have the time, whereas I said we were off during the week you could go to Labour Party meetings … but when you are working Monday to Friday … you couldn’t get going anywhere so it just fell away.

Former active Labour Party members stated that the party had undergone a demise, which they attributed to the destruction of heavy industry. Interviewees such as Harry Carlin believed that the Labour Party had lost touch with its working-class constituents: ‘The Labour Party changed … it was a working-class environment, and you were represented by working-­ class people. The mines went, the steelworks have went, so it’s not the same environment’. Linking deindustrialisation to the erosion of working-­ class leadership in the Labour Party, Sam Thompson stated:

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I think is going down the tubes the Labour Party, and that is because of heavy industry … we don’t have people coming through that were militants … having the ability to lead people … it’s taken away Labour traditions there is no doubt about that, there is no any leadership.

Although employment transition diminished political participation, it had no bearing on general political outlook, which remained strongly left wing. This runs counter to the experience of some deindustrialised US workers, who adopted a highly individualised outlook in response to deindustrialisation. Carlie Noyes’ recurring experience of job loss, for instance, eroded his sense of trust in collective action: ‘You don’t want to put too much trust in anybody outside of yourself … there’s nobody out there you can trust … don’t never put all your trust in a union’ (Hart and K’Meyer 2009, 138). In contrast, former steelworkers continued to express faith in trade unionism, collective action, and socialism—with deindustrialisation fortifying commitment rather than weakening it. Yet the end of steelmaking did alienate former steelworkers from one another, terminating decade’s long workplace relationships. For Dudley, it is this destruction of the ‘social structure’ which represents the most ‘devastating’ aspect of deindustrialisation (1994, 134). This was strongly articulated by former KEMET electronics workers, who felt grief over the loss of the family atmosphere and social connections which had defined their workplace (May and Morrison 2003). Jim McHale, a tool-and-die maker interviewed by High, aptly summarised the emotional disruption of deindustrialisation: ‘you’re in a little world. Then you leave that world’ (2003, 41). Reflecting the same tone, Jim McKeown described losing a part of himself, a feeling he believed was even more pronounced among the older generation of steelworkers: There was bit of me missing, because a lot of those people, even though they are living round about, I’ve never seen them again … I think a lot of the older ones, who knew they weren’t going to work again, when you meet them a couple of times they seemed—a part of their soul was missing.

Frank Shannon, who was part of this older generation agreed, stating that many lost their sense of purpose, living a life defined by loneliness: ‘I know a lot [of] people that didn’t last a year, dead … maybe drink, gambling … work was their life … it was devastating’. Transition from a workplace with a strong sense of occupational community can shatter workers sense of

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self; or as Brian Cunningham stated: ‘You take dignity away from people and what are you left with? You’re left with a shell’. The impact of the closure of a major workplace reverberates throughout the entire local community. Interviewed on behalf of her late steelworker husband Jim, Dorothy Macready (2016) spoke of how the closure of the steelworks fundamentally altered the day-to-day structure of language within former steeltown, Motherwell: It knocked the heart out of Motherwell, when the Craig closed. The first conversation you had when Ravenscraig was working was: “what shift is Jim?” … and you would say, “oh he’s night shift, he’s day shift”. When it closed it was: “Has your Jim got a job yet?” Conversations changed.

Deindustrialisation has left major social, political, economic and cultural scars across working-class communities. Identity disintegration became a fact of life for many former steelworkers in Lanarkshire’s deindustrialised communities: ‘Some guys it devastated. Some guys would never recovered from it, some guys retired from it, I know one guy who committed suicide’ (Cummingham Interview 2017). Just as radioactive material loses its toxicity very slowly over time, Linkon (2018) has labelled these long term scars the half-life of deindustrialisation. Deindustrialisation ‘is not an event of the past’, but is rather an ‘active and significant part of the present’, as the half-life of deindustrialisation ‘generates psychological and social forms of disease’, made manifest in the ‘high rates of various illnesses as well as alcoholism, drug abuse, and suicide’ that plague deindustrialised communities as they ‘struggle with questions about their identities and their place in a global economy that has devalued workers and their labor’ (Linkon 2018, 1). Ravenscraig’s Industrial Chaplin, Rev. John Potter (2017), shared this interpretation in his description of the impact of the closure: It wasn’t a thing that happened, it is happening. The aftermath of the demise of heavy industry in a place like Lanarkshire has a long term effect on individuals and the community … a community that is still paying the price.

For Rev. Potter, ‘it was not just the individual that was redundant, it was communities’; for them the ‘loss of identity was a significant blow’, with communities like Lanarkshire ‘struggling to find a new purpose and identity’ amidst the ruins of heavy industry. The experience of former steelworkers corresponds to Bright’s application of Gordon’s concept of ‘social

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haunting’ to deindustrialisation and its aftereffects; with a social haunting defined as a ‘social violence done in the past’, which though ‘concealed’ is ‘very much alive and present’ (Gordon 2008, xvi.) According to Bright, the social disruption of deindustrialisation has resulted in a form of intergenerational trauma in coalfield communities, with the legacy of Thatcherism and the 1984–1985 miners’ strike haunting community memory and discourse (Bright 2018).

Thatcherism and Steelworkers’ Narratives of Deindustrialisation Whilst their consequences are often acknowledged as devastating, deindustrialisation, neoliberalism, or Thatcherism itself, are frequently presented as natural disasters, as inevitable forces of nature, rather than a deliberate political/economic outcome or practice. In her documentary on the community impact of the collapse of Chicago steelmaking, Walley speaks of ‘a force we cannot do anything about, like a hurricane that destroyed everything in its path’ (Dir. Boebel 2017). The depoliticisation of deindustrialisation and its depiction as an inevitable, non-partisan but wholly necessary economic process serves not only to justify factory closures themselves, but also to position workers and community members resisting deindustrialisation and its aftereffects as noble but ultimately misled luddites on the wrong side of history. This characterisation appears in Clarke’s research on workers’ resistance to the closure of Moulinex in France, where factory closures were represented in the media as ‘unstoppable forces of nature’ while workers’ opposition was portrayed through the lens of ‘suffering and victimhood’ in the face of unavoidable economic events (2011, 449, 452). High and Lewis have similarly explored how industrial demolition and media reporting create a sense of inevitable finality, functioning as ‘secular rituals’ which denote ‘the transition to a post-industrial era’ (2007, 10, 38). Within the context of Thatcherism, Dickson and Judge have spoken of the substantial effort made to ‘depoliticise the issue of closure and to acclimatise labour, specifically, and the public, more generally, to the ‘inevitability’ of closure’ (1987, vii–viii). In an effort to ‘legitimise its attack upon the fundamental rights of organised labour’, Thatcherism and factory closure were presented as the remedy for unproductive industry and an overly militant labour movement—the medicine was bitter but there truly was ‘no alternative’ (ibid. 1987,

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25–26). This representation of deindustrialisation as unavoidable normalised neoliberal political practices, reinforcing what Bourdieu has termed the ‘established order’ in ‘the naturalization of its own arbitrariness’ (1977, 188). Or as Fisher argues in reference to his concept of Capitalist Realism—according to which it is impossible to imagine a coherent alternative to capitalism—it became ‘impossible even to imagine a coherent alternative’ to the official narratives of neoliberalism and closure (2009, 2). Former industrial workers narratives of deindustrialisation are often marginalised within official accounts. Where workers testimonies are consulted it is often to express a sense of loss, rarely to offer an explanation as to why deindustrialisation took place. High praised K’Meyer and Hart’s I Saw it Coming: Worker Narratives of Plant Closings and Job Loss for contesting this marginalisation, for asking workers the ‘why question’: why had closure taken place, who or what was to blame (High in K’Meyer and Hart 2009). As well as K’Meyer and Hart, High and other scholars have also utilised oral history to prioritise working-class perspectives and reveal workers complex and often highly political narratives of deindustrialisation. Poor management, government hostility and capital flight feature heavily in the accounts of these workers; as does, to a lesser extent, what Bluestone and Harrison have termed ‘anti-union animus’, with workers internalising blame for the closure of their plants, citing labour militancy (Hart and K’Meyer 2009; May and Morrison 2003; Bensman and Lynch 1988; High and Lewis 2007; Rogovin and Frisch 1993; Bluestone and Harrison 1982, 80). Former Scottish steelworkers articulate a highly politicised account of Thatcherism which corresponds closely to what academics have labelled the ‘political attack thesis’. Harvey’s description of neoliberalism as ‘a political project to re-establish the conditions for capital accumulation and to restore the power of economic elites’ (2005, 19) is of prime importance here. Rapid deindustrialisation, erosion of council housing, government abandonment of full employment and the assault on trade union rights and the welfare state are fundamental aspects of the political attack on the British working class (Todd 2015). Among former heavy industry workers the Thatcher years are remembered as a dark age for the working class, with images of dole queues, frustrated resistance, redundancy, and hopelessness etched into popular memory; a period of sado-monetarism according to Harvie (2002, 213). Collins and McCartney have described the impact of Thatcherism as a ‘sustained attack against the organized

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working class’ in which ‘deindustrialization figured prominently’, noting that ‘deindustrialization elsewhere in Europe during the same period was not as politically driven’, its ‘consequences more mitigated’ (2011, 504–5). Through redundancy industrial workers lost their collective status as the long-time vanguard of the labour movement; deindustrialisation clipped the wings of the trade unions, with the resulting unemployment and precarity tolerated by government as a strategy to further undermine trade union power (Todd 2015; Gaffikin and Morrissey 1992). Thatcherite politicians themselves were not reticent to invoke metaphors of war and language of political attack when they were confined to confidential papers. Former Conservative MP and Secretary of State for Trade and Industry Nicholas Ridley unambiguously outlined his strategy for winning a war against trade unionism in The Ridley Plan (under a ‘confidential annex’ titled ‘Countering the Political Threat’): We might try provoke a battle in a non-vulnerable industry, where we can win. This is what happened when we won against the postal workers in 1971. We could win in industries like Railways, B.L.M.C, the Civil Service and Steel. A victory on ground of our choosing would discourage an attack on more vulnerable ground (Conservative Research Department 1977, 24)

Dividing the unions, ‘cut [ting] off the supply of money to strikers’, and provoking a battle with an industry that the government would be able to defeat (‘the most likely area is coal’) would, according to Ridley, ‘enable us to hold the fort until the long term strategy of fragmentation can begin to work’ (Conservative Research Department 1977, 25). If Ridley was describing preparations for a governmental war on the working class, then former steelworkers’ narratives tell the story from the side that lost this war: Devastated. Devastated Britain. Devastated the working classes in Britain … [Thatcher] was more interested in breaking Trade Unionism. She wanted to break the power of working people. (Cunningham Interview 2017) Curse the workers it was wasn’t it … They had no time for the working class, they were not interested. Just crush you, put you down. (Kane Interview 2017) The Iron Lady? She devastated the country. (Shannon Interview 2017)

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Words like ‘devastation’ and ‘destroyed’ dominate workers’ narratives of this era, creating a common tongue of despair which marks a definitive end to a way of life. For these workers, deindustrialisation was a deliberate strategy to disempower the organised working class: The power of the trade union movement has been severely diluted since the 1980s … that was obviously their sort of masterplan, to deindustrialise the nation and do away with the power of the trade union movement; so in my eyes [deindustrialisation] was a purely political decision. (James Carlin Interview 2017)

A maelstrom of emotion, which does not translate to text, sits in the voice of former steelworkers as they narrate their collective sense of loss. Political attack was not simply waged upon steelmaking, but on all unionised strongholds as well as the wider working class itself: [Thatcher] wanted to destroy the unions, she destroyed the steel union, she then destroyed the miners’ union … she destroyed the periphery groups … a lot of places that were unionised closed down—no, no, no, no she was, I don’t want to swear at her but she—she was a terrible woman … she was nothing but a bully. (Reddiex Interview 2017) The shipyards were getting attacked, steelworks were getting attacked, what was left of the coal industry was being attacked … it was an attack on our community, our working-class community. (James Carlin Interview 2017)

As with others, James McKeown struggled to empathise as he reflected on Thatcher’s death: When Thatcher died it was on Facebook and a lot of people were dancing in George Square [Glasgow] and different things and a lot of people were going “that’s terrible”. I couldn’t—there is no pleasure in seeing someone die—but I couldn’t feel any sympathy … she was a horrible person and she tried to destroy society. I couldn’t feel anything for her. (McKeown Interview 2017)

Few former steelworkers had the opportunity to confront Thatcher in person, despite the impact she and her ideology had upon their lives. Yet shortly after his election as MP, former steelworker Frank Roy (2017) was presented with this opportunity:

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Margaret Thatcher was the reason I got into politics … when I got elected, I was walking down the corridor, I was only in there a week, and who was coming toward me, but Margaret Thatcher, I could just feel this, twenty years of—anger—you know … when it came to it I just turned away … I just didn’t want to speak to her … it was this whole evil piece of, you know, dogma was coming towards me but all I could see was an old lady smiling at me.

For Roy and other former steelworkers, confronting Thatcher would have achieved nothing—she had already won her war and established her legacy. The sheer scale and speed of deindustrialisation was commented on by former steelworkers. Brian Cunningham acknowledged that ‘you can’t run business indefinitely’ but that ‘the scale [Thatcher] done it on and the timeframe she done it on was absolutely devastating’. While Jim McKeown expressed that ‘maybe the future wasn’t going to be in steelmaking or coalmining’, he felt that the government ‘could have done it in a more humane way, they could have done it in a more caring way’. As has been elaborated on by Phillips (2013), deindustrialisation is not a phenomenon confined to the Thatcher years; industrial closure was a fact of life throughout the post-war period. The distinguishing feature of this earlier period was that deindustrialisation was shaped by a ‘moral economy’ framework which ‘guaranteed economic security’ through the consultation of unions and the creation of ‘comparably paid, alternative employment’ (Phillips, 101). Operating under neoliberal auspices the Thatcher government was distinguished in its rejection of the moral economy. Instead, deindustrialisation was rapid and ‘deliberately willed’ (Phillips, 112), it sought break trade union power, was enforced without consent and no serious effect was made to create comparable employment for the thousands of dislocated workers. For the Scottish industrial working class this meant freefall into an abyss of privatisation, redundancy and low pay. There is something to be said specifically about the impact of Thatcherism and deindustrialisation on Scottish national identity. Collins and McCartney discuss ‘feelings of disempowerment’ across the British working class in the wake of Thatcherism, but state that in the case of Scotland these feelings ‘were compounded by the perception, not just of individual, community, or regional disempowerment, but of a national disempowerment’ (2011, 518). The Thatcher years gave birth to a powerful national discourse in Scotland which revolved around the idea of a Scottish ‘democratic deficit’ where, despite the fact that Scotland, as a

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nation, had consistently rejected Thatcherism, it was still subject to its full effect. State-run industries were so vital a part of Scotland’s social and economic fabric that the Thatcherite ‘attack on the state seemed as much an attack on Scotland itself’ (McCrone 2001, 27). Former steelworkers linked the idea of a democratic deficit to Scotland’s position as a stronghold of the labour movement, which, lacking Conservative MPs, made an obvious target: Shutting the Ravenscraig was political. It’s political because, at the time it was Heseltine and Margaret Thatcher, at that time they only had about two MPs up here … They had nothing to lose’. (Johnston Interview 2017) Maggie Thatcher was getting nothing out of Scotland, personal opinion, she was getting no votes in Scotland—so she had nothing to lose by shutting the steelworks. (Hamill Interview 2017) They didn’t really need those votes because their core votes was the more affluent places down south’. (McKeown Interview 2017)

Scotland’s dependence on nationalised industries and the strength of its unions meant it suffered greatly from this attack. The mythology of the 1970s often depicts a decade of unreasonably greedy workers and destructive unions, with Thatcher presented as the country’s harsh but ultimately necessary saviour. The testimonies of former steelworkers and others who experienced Thatcherism first-hand offer a different interpretation. For them, Thatcher oversaw a political assault on the organised working class, of which accelerated deindustrialisation was a major component. Trade union power was purposefully smashed, workers’ social lives ruptured and working-class community cohesion considerably weakened. To a large extent decades of neoliberalism have delegitimised working-class history and identity, almost erasing working-class collective memory and action, especially within former occupation dependent communities and regions. Simplistic nostalgia for industrial employment is ultimately futile, but numerous aspects of industrial work culture themselves are worthy of remembrance. Decently paid employment provided a sense of occupational pride and identity, which was encompassed by a strong sense of community and place, while powerful trade unions established a culture of solidarity and dignity among steelworkers. This contributed to the expression of a confident working-class culture which, juxtaposed with the legacy of Thatcherism’s victory, stands as a concreate alternative to neoliberal precarity and atomisation.

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References Abrams, L. 2016. Oral History Theory. New York: Routledge. Almedom, A.M. 2005. Social Capital and Mental Health: An Interdisciplinary Review of Primary Evidence. Social Science and Medicine 61: 943–964. Bensman, D., and R.  Lynch. 1988. Rusted Dreams: Hard Times in a Steel Community. Oakland: University of California Press. Bluestone, B., and B. Harrison. 1982. The Deindustrialization of America: Plant Closings, Community Abandonment, and the Dismantling of Basic Industry. New York: Basic Books. Bourdieu, P. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bright, N.G. 2018. ‘A Chance to Talk Like This’: Gender, Education and a Social Haunting in the UK Coalfields. In Education and Working-Class Youth: Reshaping the Politics of Inclusion, ed. R.  Simmons and J.  Smyth, 105–129. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Brown, R.K. 1985. Attitudes to Work, Occupational Identity and Industrial Change. In New Approaches to Economic Life: Unemployment and the social division of labour, ed. B. Roberts, R. Finnegan, and D. Gallie, 461–476. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Clarke, J. 2011. Closing Moulinex: Thoughts on the Visibility and Invisibility of Industrial Labour in Contemporary France. Modern & Contemporary France 19 (4): 443–458. Collins, C., and G. McCartney. 2011. The Impact of Neoliberal ‘Political Attack’ on Health: The Case of the ‘Scottish Effect. International Journal of Health Services 41 (3): 501–523. Conservative Research Department. 1977. The Ridley Plan. Dickson, T., and D.  Judge. 1987. The British State, Governments and Manufacturing Decline. In The Politics of Industrial Closure, ed. T.  Dickson and D. Judge, 1–35. London: Macmillan. Dudley, K.M. 1994. The End of the Line: Lost Jobs, New Lives in Postindustrial America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Exit Zero: An Industrial Family Story. 2017. Directed by Chris Boebel (Produced by Christine Walley and Chris Boebel). Farrall, S., W. Jennings, E. Gray, and C. Hay. 2017. Thatcherism, Crime and the Legacy of the Social and Economic Storms of the 1980s. Howard Journal of Crime and Justice 56 (2): 220–243. Finlay, R. 2004. Modern Scotland: 1914–2000. London: Profile Books. Fisher, M. 2009. Capitalist Realism. London: Zero Books. Gaffikin, F., and M. Morrissey. 1992. The New Unemployed. London: Zed Books. Gilmour, A.J. 2010. ‘Examining the Hard-Boiled Bunch’: Work Culture and Industrial Relations at the Linwood Car Plant (PhD Thesis).

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Gordon, A. 2008. Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the Sociological Imagination. London: University of Minnesota Press. Hart, J.L., and T.E. K'Meyer. 2009. I Saw It Coming: Worker Narratives of Plant Closings and Job Loss. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Harvey, D. 2005. A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Harvie, C. 2002. Scotland: A Short History. Oxford: Oxford University Press. High, S. 2003. Industrial Sunset: The Making of North America’s Rust Belt, 1969–1984. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. High, S. 2018. One Job Town: Work, Belonging, and Betrayal in Northern Ontario. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. High, S., and D. Lewis. 2007. Corporate Wasteland: The Landscape and Memory of Deindustrialization. New York: Cornell University Press. Johnston, R., and A.  McIvor. 2004. Dangerous Work, Hard Men and Broken Bodies: Masculinity in the Clydeside Heavy Industries, c. 1930–1970s. Labour History Review 69 (2): 135–152. Kirk, J., et  al. 2002. Approaching Regional and Identity Change in Europe. In Changing Work and Community Identities in European Region, ed. J.  Kirk, S. Contrepois, and S. Jefferys, 1–23. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Klandermans, B., and J.  Stekelenburg. 2010. The Social Psychology of Protest. Sociopedia 61 (5–6): 1–13. Linkon, S. 2018. The Half-Life of Deindustrialization: Working-Class Writing about Economic Restructuring. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. May, S., and L.  Morrison. 2003. Making Sense of Restructuring: Narratives of Accommodation among Downsized Workers. In Beyond the Ruins: The Meaning of Deindustrialization, ed. J.  Cowie and J.  Heathcott, 259–284. New York: Cornell. McCrone, D. 2001. Understanding Scotland: The Sociology of a Nation. Oxon: Routledge. McCrone, C. 2012. A New Scotland? Society and Culture. In The Oxford Handbook of Modern Scottish History, ed. T.M.  Devine and J.  Wormald, 671–687. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Milkman, R. 1997. Farewell to the Factory Auto Workers in the Late Twentieth Century. Berkeley: University of California Press. Perchard, A. 2013. ‘Broken Men’ and ‘Thatcher’s Children’: Memory and Legacy in Scotland’s Coalfields. International Labor and Working Class History 84: 78–98. Phillips, J. 2013. Deindustrialization and the Moral Economy of the Scottish Coalfields, 1947 to 1991. International Labor and Working-Class History 84: 99–115. Portelli, A. 2012. They Say in Harlan County: An Oral History. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Putnam, R. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon and Schuster. Rogovin, M., and M.H.  Frisch. 1993. Portraits in Steel. New  York: Cornell University Press. Strangleman, T. 2008. The Remembrance of Lost Work: Nostalgia, Labour and the Visual. In Ming Jue: Photographs of Longbridge and Nanjing, ed. S. Whipps. London: The New Art Gallery Walsall. n.p. Thompson, P. 2017. The Voice of The Past. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Todd, S. 2015. The People: The Rise and Fall of the Working Class, 1910-2010. London: John Murray. Waddington, D., et  al. 2001. Out of the Ashes: The Social Impact of Industrial Contraction and Regeneration on Britain’s Mining Communities. London: The Stationary Office. Witt, S. 1990. When the Pit Closes—The Employment Experiences of Redundant Miners. Barnsley: Coalfield Communities Campaign. World Health Organisation. 2011. Impact of Economic Crises on Mental Health. Copenhagen: World Health Organization.

Oral History Interviews Interview with Andrew Kane by James Ferns, 25/01/2017. Interview with Brian Cunningham by James Ferns, 19/01/2017. Interview with Dorothy Macready by James Ferns, 20/04/2016. Interview with Frank Roy by James Ferns, 01/02/2017. Interview with Frank Shannon by James Ferns, 23/01/2017. Interview with Harry Carlin by James Ferns, 18/01/2017. Interview with Ian Harris by James Ferns, 09/01/2017. Interview with James Carlin by James Ferns, 24/01/2017. Interview with James Coyle by James Ferns, 15/02/2017. Interview with Jim McKeown by James Ferns, 13/02/2017. Interview with Jim Reddiex by James Ferns, 10/01/2017. Interview with Peter Hamill by James Ferns, 28/01/2017. Interview with Rev. John Potter by James Ferns, 28/01/2017. Interview with Sam Thompson by James Ferns, 17/01/2017. Interview with Tommy Brennan by James Ferns, 16/01/2017. Interview with Tommy Johnston by James Ferns, 26/01/2017.

CHAPTER 8

Thatcherism and Wales: Impacts and Legacies Sam Blaxland

In 2017 and 2019, two separate Welsh Barometer public opinion polls made the headlines in Wales with a stark and surprising set of findings. They both suggested that in a general election the Conservative Party would have the highest level of support in Wales (‘Shock poll puts Tories ahead in Wales for historic win’, ITV News Website, 24 April 2017; “Boris Bounce’ as poll puts Tories ahead in Wales for general election as support for Labour falls’, ITV News Website, 29 July 2019). The 2017 poll even predicted that the Party would win the most Welsh seats at the forthcoming election. After a faltering Tory campaign, this did not happen. In fact, the Conservatives lost three of their Welsh Westminster seats, taking their total to eight out of 40. At the 2019 general election, however, Wales was a significant part of the story of Boris Johnson’s landslide victory, where the Party won 14 seats, including constituencies in the north east of Wales, like Wrexham, that had never previously elected Tory MPs. This cemented the Conservative’s historic position as the second political party of Wales; behind Labour, but ahead in both the numbers of votes and the share of the vote—for a Westminster election, at least—of Plaid Cyrmu and the Liberal Democrats. On only a few occasions, most notably the crushing 1997 general election defeat, has the Conservative Party not been Wales’ S. Blaxland (*) Swansea University, Swansea, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_8

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second strongest political force. Before 2019, the Party’s high-watermark was in the Thatcher era. At the 1983 general election, the Party won the same number of seats as in 2019—fourteen—one short of the ‘Welsh rugby team of Tory MPs’ Party officials had joked about but did not expect to achieve (O’Shaughnessy interview, 10 November 2014). In 1983, not only did the Party hold its relatively safe constituencies like Monmouth, Pembroke and Conwy, but it also won in places like urban Newport West, semi-industrial Bridgend, and Welsh-speaking Anglesey. The contemporary Conservative Party is still influenced by Thatcherism and it is possible to draw threads between the Party’s strong showing in mid-1980s Wales, and its relative strength in the twenty-first century. Seats like Bridgend, and Anglesey (now called Ynys Môn), for example, were won in 2019 by the Conservatives for the first time since the 1980s. This chapter will argue that Thatcherism re-shaped modern Wales and shaped the Conservative Party’s reputation and legacy there. It will discuss how the Party and Thatcher’s Welsh Office in the 1980s had a strong record on recognising and emphasising the distinct features of Wales as a nation, such as the Welsh language. Despite popular stereotypes of Thatcherism rolling back the frontiers of the state, the Welsh Office of the 1980s had a surprising amount of room to intervene in public life and it did so via things like major road building programmes. However, this chapter will also address the other side of the coin. Mrs. Thatcher, after all, remains one of the most hated figures in parts of the nation, largely because of her government’s attitude to the coal industry and the undoubtedly bruising miners’ strike of 1984–1985. It is certainly true that in many parts of the industrial or post-industrial heartlands of Wales, she and the Party became deeply unpopular in the mid-1980s and have remained so ever since. In the general election that followed the miners’ strike, the party lost six of its fourteen Welsh seats. However, in the peculiar way that the first-past-the-post electoral system sometimes works, it actually received more votes than it had in the election before the strike, suggesting that policies towards trade unions and heavy industry were far from unpopular in certain parts of Wales. In 1987, the Party’s vote concentrated in the places it had always been successful, but it lost its more marginal seats. For some time, that pattern remained relatively fixed, including at general elections like 2017, where the Conservatives (despite good polling) failed to win back seats they briefly held in the early 1980s. The policies and divisions that Thatcherism created in Wales therefore had tangible consequences both for people living there but also for the Party’s long-­ term and patchy reputation.

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The Welsh Office Under Thatcher Mrs. Thatcher, whilst a strong advocate of ‘the Union’, was most comfortable with her own English identity. She had no strong affinity with Scotland or Wales (Finlay 2012, 168). The latter had many ties and bonds with England in the post-war period and its inhabitants’ relatively stable ‘Britishness’ meant the Prime Minister’s attitude was not a damaging problem for the Party in many parts of Wales. However, Wales and Welsh people did have many distinct features that Mrs. Thatcher appeared uncomfortable with—or, perhaps, was simply uninterested in. During one visit to Wales, when she received a less than friendly welcome from protestors, she voiced the opinion that Wales and Scotland were holding England back. ‘You contribute nothing’, she told a Welsh Office minister accompanying her (Johnes 2013). This was despite the fact that in the capital city she was visiting, three of its four parliamentary seats were held by Conservatives; something virtually unheard of for a British city in the 1980s. This attitude might have been one of the reasons why Mrs. Thatcher paid relatively little attention to the politics of Wales or the Welsh Office. The lack of references to Wales in Charles Moore’s huge biographies of the Prime Minister are not due to Moore’s deficiencies as a researcher; they are a reflection of her lack of interest in the affairs of the nation (Moore 2013, 2015, 2019). Even though she had a reputation for being controlling and domineering over her cabinet ministers’ briefs, Mrs. Thatcher gave both Secretaries of State for Wales in her eleven and a half years as leader a ‘free hand’ to construct policy in a way they saw fit (Crickhowell interview 2013).1 A pre-devolution Welsh Office certainly had the power to design its own approach to a whole range of domestic policies. From the late 1970s, a new funding arrangement in the form of the Barnett Formula meant that the Welsh Office had opportunities to deviate on policy matters (Deacon 2002, 29). These areas of responsibility had included, since its establishment in 1964, roads, housing, tourism, and local government. Health was added to its remit in 1969, as was school education in 1970, with agriculture and higher education following between 1974 and 1979 (Johnes 2012a, 294). By the mid-­1980s, the Secretary of State oversaw economic and industrial issues,  Nicholas Edwards was made Lord Crickhowell in 1987.

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relations with Europe, as well as agriculture, financial and rate support grants matters. The Under Secretary was responsible for education, training, small businesses, tourism, transport and highways, the Welsh language, the Development Board for Rural Wales and National Parks. A third minister had oversight of health and social services, housing, water, local government, land use and planning, urban affairs, development grants and the enterprise zone scheme (‘Minister’s jobs share out’, newspaper unknown, 2 October 1985). Consequently, one Secretary of State for Wales later commented that the role was akin to being a ‘mini-Prime Minister’ (Crickhowell interview, 2013). His successor wrote that when it came to designing and implementing policy in the Welsh Office, he was allowed to do things ‘my way’ (Walker 1991, 202–203). Despite some obvious self-aggrandisement on the part of these ministers, this was broadly true. The Secretary of State was a ‘king’ within the Welsh Office, with full authority over its functions. As one writer noted, ‘his philosophy and personality … had an important bearing on policy development’ (Gooberman 2017, 143). But, whilst the Welsh Office was autonomous in many respects, the powers it had were limited, meaning that the wriggle room to do things differently in Wales was relatively limited (Gooberman 2017, 144). As two separate authors have noted, being in control of the Welsh Office was often a case of style over substance, where Welsh policy in this period was still ‘subject to tight constraints imposed by the British constitutional framework’, and the Welsh Office had no control over fiscal or monetary issues such as interest rates or taxation (Gooberman, 2014, 115; Griffiths 1996, 160). Therefore, whilst Mrs. Thatcher took little interest in Welsh affairs, she probably knew that no one in the Welsh Office had the ability to fundamentally undermine her broad political philosophy. Ministers in that department had enough room for manoeuvre, however, to do some things differently. When it came to this, personnel clearly mattered. The Party had long worried that no one in the House of Commons who was ‘closely associated’ with the affairs of the Wales was of ‘cabinet calibre’. This, it was suggested, ‘hamper[ed] the party’s … efforts’ there (CPA, CCO, 500/50/1, ‘Nationalism and Regionalism’ speech appendix, 26 July 1966). This changed significantly with the arrival of Nicholas Edwards and Wyn Roberts, who took on the Wales brief when Mrs. Thatcher became Conservative Party Leader in 1975. They became Secretary of State and the Under Secretary respectively after the Party’s

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victory in the 1979 general election. Both were MPs for Welsh seats (Pembroke and Conwy respectively) and they had significant ties with Wales, especially Roberts, who had been born on Anglesey and was a Welsh speaker (Rees 2005, 83, 257). This mattered on a presentational basis, but they also had the political skill and the ability to design and implement policy. The Welsh Office under Thatcher consequently helped spur on some of the most significant changes in Wales in its modern history. This is not to suggest that Conservatives had not paid any attention to the particular needs of Wales before Edwards and Roberts took the reins at the Welsh Office. In fact, the Party had a reasonably good record on acknowledging the specific needs of Wales from the period after the Second World War. For example, in the face of the Labour Party leadership’s apathy on the subject, it created the first ever governmental role of a specific Minister for Welsh Affairs in 1951 (Morgan 1982, 379). In doing so, it lit the touch paper on a long and gradual process of administrative devolution in ‘the Principality’, which was what Wales was sometimes called at the time (Blaxland 2017, chapter 5). Labour established the Welsh Office in 1964 and, by the 1980s, the devolutionary process had developed significantly. In 1980, the Tories set up the Parliamentary Select Committee for Welsh Affairs (Walters 1985, 215). By 1983 the Party had become relatively sophisticated at grappling with specific Welsh policies and issues. Its Research Department had developed a familiar routine of producing enormous files and documents that briefed MPs on Conservative policy in Wales, noting how it related to broader domestic and international affairs (CPA, CRD, B/32/3—various files). However, the Party knew that there were ‘comparatively few subjects’ in British political life that were ‘exclusively Welsh’. Much policy was simply something that applied to Britain, with a Welsh example (CPA, CRD 4/15/14/1, Nicholas Edwards, Welsh Policy Group Report 1975; Griffiths 1996, 114, 159–160). One issue that certainly was specific to Wales was the Welsh language. Policy directed towards this was given unprecedented political and financial support from the Welsh Office under Edwards and Roberts. After all, conserving something so old was seen by the Party as ‘the quintessence of Conservative philosophy … to seek to preserve variety and to encourage individuality while respecting tradition and man’s need for rootedness. These values find full expression in the struggle to save the Welsh language’ (CRD 4/15/4/3, Chris Butler,

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Cymraeg: Iaith ein Plant (1980); Butler Interview 2015). A real increase in funding for Welsh language provisions therefore became part of government reforms in the 1980s (Crickhowell 2006, 70). For example, in contrast to the £350,000 in aid and subsidies that the Labour government gave the Welsh language between 1974 and 1979, the Conservatives gave £2.6 million between 1984 and 1985 (Johnes 2012a, 316). By 1987, after a government consultation, an ‘all-Wales offensive’ was coming into focus to encourage ‘the coming generation of schoolchildren to speak Welsh’. Welsh would become a core subject in Welsh-speaking schools and a foundation subject in the majority of Wales’ English-medium schools at a time when only half of secondary school pupils learnt it (Johnes 2012a, 316). By 1988, Welsh had a statutory place on the National Curriculum, and this was strengthened further by the 1993 Welsh Language Act (Johnes 2012a, 328; 2012b, 186). The Conservative Research Department (n.d.) let most of this pass with minimal scrutiny because it was a rare example of an issue that caused ‘no problem between national policies and Welsh policies’ (CPA, CRD 4/15/4/2, Policy Document for Wales 1975). Such interventionist actions meant that Thatcher’s Welsh Office did more ‘than any previous administration to buttress the fortunes, status and legitimacy of the Welsh language’ (Johnes 2012a, 328; Edwards et  al. 2011, 535; Davies 2011, 20). This was all particularly significant because nationalist politics had long been defined by its defence of the language with parties like Plaid Cymru often claiming the Tories were deficient in this area (Ward 2005, 72). Yet, a Conservative government, and particularly a ‘Welsh speaking North Walian’ in the form of Wyn Roberts, was proactively defending the status of Welsh and the way it was used (Johnes 2012b, 186). Other very significant surface-level changes were also made in this area. Things like road signs and public documents became bilingual, meaning that it would be very difficult for a visitor to, or a resident of, Wales not to know they were in a different nation with something of a distinct culture. Therefore, the Conservatives not only helped conserve or maintain a sense of Welsh identity, they helped create it. From the late 1980s until the present day, each generation of school children has learnt some basic Welsh, including those in areas that have historically had a very small number of Welsh language speakers living there. Their learning and understanding were often superficial, and the number of fully bilingual people in Wales has not soared, but this is not the point. As with road signs, the symbolism was important. Many children growing up in Wales might not be able to

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speak Welsh fluently, but their sense of being Welsh, and of being part of a distinctive culture, has been bolstered significantly (Johnes 2012a, 328). Related to these changes, the signature policy of the Conservative government in this period was the establishment of a Welsh language television channel in 1982, although in reality this was handled badly by the Welsh Office. The Party’s 1979 manifesto had promised a fourth television channel for Welsh speakers, as part of a programme to ‘fight’ for the language (Crickhowell 1999, 21, 63). However, once in office, the government retreated from this manifesto commitment. As a result, Welsh nationalist hero Gwynfor Evans, who had been the first ever Plaid Cymru MP, threatened to starve himself to death unless the government kept its original promise. As one MP wrote at the time, ‘the possibility of Gwynfor Evans fasting to death is very real, and we should take whatever defensive action we can to avoid the charge that we killed the man’ (CPA, CRD 4/15/4/3, Letter Tom Hooson to Nicholas Edwards, 23 June 1980). The government consequently established the S4C television channel and, in doing so, raised the status of Welsh language broadcasting enormously, but the process in which it did so was admittedly clumsy. Such events contributed to the reaction that ministers like Edwards and Roberts received at events like the National Eisteddfod—the large annual poetry and music festival held in a different part of Wales each year— where the atmosphere was often intense. In 1985, Roberts needed a police escort as he walked around the event, with around 50 demonstrators from the Welsh Language Society following him, holding aloft banners and even throwing themselves on the ground in front of him as he walked around (‘Minister faces language protests from society’, Daily Post, 7 August 1985). A year later, Roberts had to issue a statement denying that his ministerial car had driven at Welsh Language Society protestors. In his words, they ‘threw themselves on the bonnet’ (NLW, GB 0210 WYNROBRT, XIII, Statement by Parliamentary Under Secretary of State for Wales, Mr. Wyn Roberts MP, 22 April 1986). One historian has noted how a major criticism of the Conservative Party in both Scotland and Wales was their chronic inability to engage with the national question, or to take account of ‘distinctive national characteristics’ (Finlay 2012 170). It is certainly true that this was the criticism from many at the time, as evidenced by regular protests, but the notion that the Party in Wales did not engage with the national question is wrong. In fact, as we have seen, they did so with more energy than any government before them and this has to be a defining, if often forgotten, legacy of Thatcher’s government in Wales.

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The Architects of Devolution? It was not simply in language policy or measures to buttress the definability of the Welsh nation that the Conservative Party was proactive. This period saw a proliferation of quasi-autonomous public bodies that had a specific role in organising Welsh affairs. The Development Corporation for Wales, for example, could claim a good deal of credit for the fact that there were over 200 overseas companies operating in Wales in the early 1980s employing about 55,000 people. The Development Board for Rural Wales was ‘building small factories, providing social facilities and in helping new businesses to start in villages that resent depopulation’; and the Welsh Tourist Board helped sustain what was a vital industry (Letter: ‘Real Wales—Nicholas Edwards’, The Spectator, 28 March 1981). Consequently, administrative devolution reached such proportions that it became possible in the Thatcher years to talk of the emergence of a Welsh state. Therefore, another of the defining legacies of the impact of the Thatcher government in Wales should be, as one historian argued, an ‘enlarged Welsh institutional framework’ (Jones 1992, 354). When the electorate in Wales very narrowly voted for an Assembly in the 1997 referendum, it was fair to suggest that this might not have happened had some of the groundwork that made this prospect palatable not been done in the 1980s. This has inevitably led some to talk of Thatcher as the architects of devolution in Wales. Even though it is tempting to read history in such a fashion, it would be incorrect to portray Thatcher, or her ministers, in this way. She personally had little interest in the broader topic, and it is too tenuous to draw a thread between Thatcherism’s encouragement of individual autonomy and a belief in devolved or smaller-scale government (Finlay 2012, 169). It should be remembered that she disliked local councils (Johnes 2013). We should also be wary of making a direct link between the attitudes of ministers like Wyn Roberts and Nicholas Edwards and the eventual establishment of an Assembly in Cardiff. Both were against devolution in the 1979 referendum on the subject and Roberts, despite his very ‘Welsh’ credentials, wrote in 1987 that in spite of the fact that only one in eight electors in Wales voted for devolution in 1979, ‘all our political opponents ae still toying with the idea, believe it or not. It is a political howler, because the crucial problem in Wales is economic, not constitutional’ (NLW, GB 0210 WYNROBRT, XIII, ‘Extracts from speech by

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Wyn Roberts’, 9 January 1987). On the whole, the party had long campaigned against devolved territorial governments (Convery 2016, 1). If the Conservatives in the 1980s had really helped create the conditions under which devolution was deemed acceptable, then the Party that contested the first Welsh Assembly election would not have been so lukewarm about the whole project, or about its own identity as a specific Welsh sub-state branch of a state-wide party (Convery 2016, 2). When the Assembly was founded, the Conservative Party was faced with having to ‘carry out an abrupt change in attitude’ if it was to participate in the new devolved institution (Convery 2016, 5). It took some time to re-orientate. Initially, it argued that the Party’s duty was to ‘make sure that devolution does not become an instrument that undermines our British identity’ (NLW, GB 0210, 3/1, Forward to the Fair Play for All manifesto n.d.). The first Leader of the Conservative group in the Assembly was a Thatcherite politician called Rod Richards (who was actually a first-­ language Welsh speaker) who determinedly wanted the Party to ‘wrap itself in the Union Jack’ (Guto Bebb interview 2015). Even when the Conservatives had accepted the idea of devolution in the 2000s and become much more supportive of Welsh aspirations and accommodating of devolution under the new leadership of Nick Bourne (Convery 2016, 75, 84), Lord (Wyn) Roberts, as he was by then, was commissioned to write a report—though it was never published—about how to make devolution work better. Only very recently has the full version of this report been deposited in an archive for historians to look through. Its language is strikingly dismissive of the new institution, noting how it ‘lacks maturity and needs to develop’ and that it had a ‘persistently poor reputation in Welsh eyes’ (NLW, GB 0210, 3/3 Roberts Report). In response to it, Bourne wrote to Roberts saying that ‘I am certainly very unhappy with how the [report] reads at the moment … given the way that we have shaped the Party in Wales over the last decade to embrace devolution and to look at circumstances pragmatically. … I must, once more, repeat my warning of the political dynamics that I believe exist in Wales and the danger of painting ourselves into a corner in the review’ (NLW, GB 0210, 3/3, Bourne to Roberts, n.d.). This proved that the main Conservative figure from the Thatcher era, who did a great deal to buttress the notion of Wales as a nation and offered political support from a Tory government, was clearly not an enthusiast for devolution as encapsulated by the Welsh Assembly. In terms of the way

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the Party tried to orientate itself to devolution under Nick Bourne, by engaging in a ‘clearly defined intellectual project of renewal’ (Convery 2016, 76), Roberts also warned that it should not become too like its more ‘Welsh’ rivals, and should instead create an identifiable and different image for itself (NLW, GB 0210, 3/3 Roberts Report). Thatcherism or the Welsh Office ministers from the 1980s did not therefore provided a natural template for the kind of party the Conservatives became in Wales, even if they set the conditions in which devolved politics was possible. Claiming that the Thatcher government was the sympathetic pre-cursor to the Welsh Assembly, therefore, would be too much of a stretch. But, from the creation of a Minister for Welsh Affairs, the Conservatives had actively engaged in the process of administrative devolution. Far from being rolled back in the 1980s, the process was sped up, meaning that the idea of a distinct assembly for Wales in 1997 was not so alien a concept to be rejected by a slim majority of the 50 per cent of the population who turned out to vote on the issue. Thatcher’s ministers, are not the forefathers of modern Welsh governance, but they made it acceptable.

Domestic Politics and De-industrialisation Much about politics in Wales in the Thatcher era was not about specific Welsh issues, of course. The sale of council houses, for example, was a nationwide policy that was popular in Wales. Far from the take-up being ‘sluggish’, as one historian suggested, more council houses were bought in Wales than in England, per head of the population, as a result of the 1980 ‘right to buy’ legislation (Finlay 2012, 173; Benbough-Jackson 2001/2002, 64). By the beginning of 1983, 48,072 council houses had been sold to Welsh tenants. By the end of 1991, the government had enabled nearly 84,000 council houses in Wales to be sold to their occupiers (Johnes 2013). The Conservatives were able to argue that the virtues of individualism and self-improvement that they espoused, and which were encapsulated in the transfer of capital to ordinary people, were compatible with the Welsh character and therefore Tory principles and Welsh qualities were more interwoven than many might have thought (Benbough-Jackson 2001/2002, 64). Although individualism was often associated with the politics of the 1980s, Tory personnel in Wales often tried to present their policy as more interventionist than might have been expected from a free market

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Thatcherite government (Deacon 2002, 31; ‘Election ‘79’, Western Mail, 18 April 1979). Even though Nicholas Edwards was ‘publicly zealous in defence of Thatcherism’ he was ‘privately open-minded … [and fought] his corner hard in government’, limiting Treasury cuts to Wales (‘Cabinet wear and tear too much for Edwards’, Independent, 16 December 1986). The Party certainly spent a higher proportion of public money on roads in Wales than in other parts of Britain, for example (Deacon 2002, 31). By 1983 the Tories claimed to have invested £65 million on roads since returning to power (‘Tory: Right Road for the Future’, Western Telegraph, 8 June 1983). Indeed, many people benefitted from the 140 new miles of motorway and trunk roads that were built between 1979 and 1990, as well as the 22 bypasses that freed up enormous amounts of congestion in many Welsh towns. Even one of Wyn Roberts’ opponents paid tribute to him as a man who ‘built more roads than the Romans’ (‘David Cameron Leads Tributes to Lord Roberts of Conwy’, 83’, BBC News Website, 14 December 2013). Similarly, many who had opposed privatisation ended up admitting that many services seemed to improve once ownership was taken out of the public hands, although this happened when John Major was in office (Johnes 2013). But for many people, Thatcher’s government is still remembered for its economic legacy, especially in relation to industrial decline and strife. When the Conservatives came to power, heavy industry was already in terminal decline and many of the iconic coal mines had been closed by previous governments. However, the beginning of the 1980s was a particularly difficult period. The steel industry faced a ‘sense of despondency’ and at the beginning of 1980, steel workers began a thirteen-week strike over wages. After they returned to work, the ‘slimming down’ of the industry led to workforces at the large Port Talbot plant being virtually cut in half (Penny 2015). By 1981, only 3.8 per cent of those employed in Wales worked in the mining and quarrying industries (Johnes 2013). These figures were a result of the winding down of industry but they were exacerbated by the depth of a recession in Britain which meant that the employed labour force fell by some 1.8 million people between 1979 and 1983, with manufacturing losing 23 per cent of its workforce over the same period (Gooberman 2017, 114). By 1990, there were just six coal pits left in south Wales and less than 3000 miners, compared to 1979 when there had been 27,000 (Johnes 2013). The most intense moment of this period was the 1984–1985 miners’ strike. It took its toll on the people affected, with the majority of the

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National Union of Mineworkers staying out for a year, often having to endure harsh conditions as a result of no income and little state support (Curtis 2013, 198). Compared to the national average of 74 per cent of miners on strike in November 1984, 99.6 per cent of South Wales miners were not crossing picket lines (Curtis 2013, 229). The eventual defeat of the NUM by the government had a long-term political legacy. Passions ran so high that one South Wales Labour MP labelled the Secretary of State, Nicholas Edwards, the ‘coalfield rapist of Wales’ (Gooberman 2017, 122). Even though the economic argument for winding down industry could be made, many opponents of Thatcherism argued that the pit-­ closure programme took little account of the ‘psychological impact of such economic restructuring’ (Finlay 2012, 173). The speed and the manner in which pits were closed led writers at the time to argue that these areas had suddenly been turned into ‘uneconomic communities’ that had been ‘sacrificed’ (Samuel 1986, 37). Neil Kinnock, who was the Labour leader at the time, later argued, when talking about attitudes to Mrs. Thatcher in his own South Wales constituency of Islwyn, that ‘[she was] a woman who, without exaggeration … was profoundly hated amongst many people and in large parts of the country’ (‘Conversations—Lord Kinnock’, BBC Parliament Channel, 24 July 2016). What made this particularly dramatic was the power of coal mining’s symbolism in parts of Wales, and especially in the southern coalfield area often known as ‘the Valleys’. For some ‘the mines’, with their iconic pit-­ head winding gear and coal waste spoil heaps that loomed large in the imagery of Wales, were often associated with being Welsh in the same sense that shipbuilding was associated with Scotland identity (Finlay 2012, 170). Around the World, media outlets wrote that Wales was known for few things, but ‘closing coal mines’ was one (‘The Wedding Wales has been waiting for’, Sydney Morning Herald, 19 December 1997). The Conservative Party’s dire reputation as a result of the 1930s Depression, which hit the Valleys hardest, was supplanted to a large extent by an equally hostile reputation as a result of events in the 1980s. Again, the concentration of heavy industries in places like South Wales meant that economic changes hit this area disproportionately hard (Convery 2016, 5). The 1984–1985 strike therefore solidified the anti-Conservative resolve in Wales for many of those who felt it already. The Party had once hoped that de-industrialisation would mean voters in places like the South Wales Valleys would become more friendly to it as those areas became less associated with the politics of labour and trade unions, and once the

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economy and jobs were diversified (CRD 3/37/1, 3, Survey: the Scope for Conservative Advance in Wales, 13 December 1968). But this did not happen. If anything, a specific Welsh class-based resentment to Thatcherism ‘grew as a result of this dramatic socio-economic change’ (Finlay 2012, 166). The Labour vote ‘consolidated and became more geographically specific’ in areas where there had been ‘old’ heavy industry (Finlay 2012, 174). One historian has argued that after 1987, it appeared as if the Conservative Party and Thatcherism had been decisively rejected in Scotland and Wales (Finlay 2012, 168). Perhaps it appeared this way. In Wales, first-past-the-post meant that the Tories lost six of their fourteen seats at the 1987 general election but the reality is not that straight forward. In fact, the Conservatives secured more votes in that election than they had in the previous one before the miners’ strike began, and at the following election (in 1992) the Party again won more votes than it had in 1983 (Audickas et al. 2016, 18–19). What was happening in Wales was that those votes were more concentrated in the Party’s traditional areas of support. This again has echoes for the contemporary period, where recent Welsh politics reflects the kinds of divides that became evident in the late 1980s. Analysis of data compiled by the Conservative group in 2011 showed that, when it came to Welsh Assembly elections, the vote in relatively reliable Conservative constituencies was ‘holding up quite well’ (NLW, GB 0210 2/4 box 8–2011 Populus Wales Benchmark poll, analysis of poll n.d.). However, a separate piece of analysis noted, with some frustration, how many voters ‘continue to vote according to tribal or cultural allegiances. Labour deepen their stranglehold over south Wales and the Valleys’ (NLW, GB 0210, 4/1Welsh Conservative SWOT analysis, 24.5.2011). It is easy to draw the threads together between these periods. The Party often did little to repair its reputations in these seats and continued a common practice since the Thatcher era of treating them as testing grounds for promising, and often very English, prospective parliamentary candidates. What exaggerated the dubious nature of this practice was the regular commitment by the Party to stop doing it. Nevertheless, future recognisable names like Tim Yeo, David Tredinnick, James Arbuthnot, Peter Bone, and Desmond Swayne (and, in 1997, for the then unwinnable North Wales seat of Clwyd South, Boris Johnson) became MPs for English constituencies, after ‘cutting their teeth’ in the South Wales Valleys (Rees 2005, 16, 28, 152, 277, 293, 327). This struck a

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contrast with the way the party treated some of its more winnable Welsh seats, where prospective parliamentary candidates like the Solicitor, Keith Best, made the genuinely impressive gesture of moving to Anglesey—‘the mother of Wales’—from Brighton two years before the 1979 election to learn Welsh (‘Anglesey’, Western Mail, 24 April 1979; Edwards 2011, 261). He won the seat twice and attributed at least some of his success in doing so to the fact that he had sympathetically tried to understand the place he was getting elected to (Keith Best interview, 2015). This is a pattern still very recognisable today, where the Conservatives offer up a range of candidates depending on the particular seats in question. Their Waleswide strategy is still flawed.

Conclusion The legacy of Thatcherism in Wales was summed up neatly by the historian Martin Johnes, who argued that the Party in the 1980s gave with one hand, whilst taking away with the other (2012a, 316). It bolstered a sense of nationhood in a way not undertaken by any other post-war government up to that point. Even though many of these measures were surface level, like bilingual road signs, they were significant. Such moves subtly reenforced that Wales was its own nation with distinct features. This was particularly the case in the form of its own language, which all children learnt—and continue to learn—in state schools. However, the government also dealt a particularly heavy blow to another very different symbol of the Welsh nation in the form of its policy towards heavy industry. The legacy of this is still relevant today. Not only were certain communities made poorer and robbed of their fundamental identities by this policy, but the consequent reaction many people had to Thatcher, and the Conservative Party by extension, meant that these areas have continued to be no-go areas for the Tories ever since. Those parts of the nation that were more sympathetic to Conservative policy, however, saw no such decline in support for the Party in the short term. Although there was a dramatic dip in Tory support after the 1997 general election, the Party later recovered its strength and many of its former seats in the process. Wales, therefore, remains a good way of highlighting some of the ways in which Thatcherism divided people and opinion across Britain. It acts as a case study of how post-Thatcher Conservatism has an appeal in places that some might not expect it to, and yet it still fails to attract and maintain the kind of support

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it needs from the people that would help it to form some kind of government in the devolved National Assembly in Cardiff.

References ‘Anglesey’, Western Mail, 24 April 1979. ‘Boris Bounce’ as Poll Puts Tories Ahead in Wales for General Election as Support for Labour Falls’, ITV News Website, 29 July 2019. https://www.itv.com/ news/wales/2019-07-29/boris-bounce-as-poll-puts-tories-ahead-in-wales-forwestminster-election/ ‘Cabinet Wear and Tear Too Much for Edwards’, Independent, 16 December 1986. ‘Conversations—Lord Kinnock’, BBC Parliament Channel, 24 July 2016. ‘David Cameron Leads Tributes to Lord Roberts of Conwy’, 83’, BBC News Website, 14 December 2013 ‘Minister Faces Language Protests from Society’, Daily Post, 7 August 1985. ‘Minister’s Jobs Share Out’, Newspaper Unknown, 2 October 1985. ‘Shock Poll Puts Tories Ahead in Wales for Historic Win’, ITV News Website, 24 April 2017. https://www.itv.com/news/wales/2017-04-24/shock-pollsuggests-tories-ahead-in-wales/ ‘The Wedding Wales Has Been Waiting For’, Sydney Morning Herald, 19 December 1997. ‘Tory: Right Road for the Future’, Western Telegraph, 8 June 1983 Audickas, Lukas, Oliver Hawkins and Richard Cracknell. 2016. House of Commons Briefing Paper: UK Election Statistics, 1918–2016, 7 July. Benbough-Jackson, Michael. 2001/2002. Diagnosing the Blue Dragon Blues. Planet: The Welsh Internationalist 150. Blaxland, Sam. 2017. The Conservative Party in Wales, 1945–1997. Unpublished PhD Thesis, Swansea University. Convery, Alan. 2016. The Territorial Conservative Party: Devolution and Party Change in Scotland and Wales. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Crickhowell, Nicholas. 1999. Westminster, Wales and Water. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Crickhowell, Lord. 2006. The Conservative Party and Wales. The National Library of Wales Journal 34 (1). Curtis, Ben. 2013. The South Wales Miners, 1964–1985. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Davies, Tomos Dafydd. 2011. A Tale of Two Tories?: The British and Canadian Conservative Parties and the National Question. Unpublished PhD Thesis, Aberystwyth University. Deacon, Russell. 2002. The Governance of Wales: The Welsh Office and the Policy Process 1964–99. Cardiff: Welsh Academic Press.

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Edwards, Andrew. 2011. Labour’s Crisis: Plaid Cymru, the Conservatives, and the Decline of the Labour Party in North-West Wales, 1960–74. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Edwards, Andrew, Duncan Tanner, and Patrick Carlin. 2011. The Conservative Governments and the Development of Welsh Language Policy in the 1980s and 1990s. The Historical Journal 54 (2). Election ‘79’, Western Mail, 18 April 1979. Finlay, Richard. 2012. Thatcherism, Unionism and Nationalism: A Comparative Study of Scotland and Wales. In Making Thatcher’s Britain, ed. Ben Jackson and Robert Saunders. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gooberman, Leon. 2014. Recession and Recovery: The Welsh Office and Job Creation in the 1980s. Llafur 11 (3). ———. 2017. From Depression to Devolution: Economy and Government in Wales, 1934–2006. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Griffiths, Dylan. 1996. Thatcherism and Territorial Politics: A Welsh Case Study. Aldershot: Avebury. Johnes, Martin. 2012a. Wales Since 1939. Manchester: Manchester University Press. ———. 2012b. The Heroes of Recent Welsh Political History. In Heroes and Villains in Welsh History, ed. H.V. Bowen. Llandysul: Gomer. ———. 2013. Margaret Thatcher: An Unlikely Architect of Welsh Devolution. BBC News Website, 8 April. Jones, Mervyn. 1992. Beyond Identity? The Reconstruction of the Welsh. Journal of British Studies 31 (4): 330–357. Letter: ‘Real Wales—Nicholas Edwards’. The Spectator, 28 March 1981. Moore, Charles. 2013. Margaret Thatcher: The Authorized Biography. Volume One: Not For Turning. Allen Lane. ———. 2015. Margaret Thatcher: The Authorized Biography. Volume Two: Everything She Wants. Allen Lane. ———. 2019. Margaret Thatcher: The Authorized Biography. Volume Three: Herself Alone. Allen Lane. Morgan, Kenneth O. 1982. Re-birth of a Nation: Wales 1880–1980. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Penny, Bleddyn. 2015. The 1980 Steel Strike: Thirty-Five Years On. https:// steelvoices.wordpress.com/2015/01/02/the-1980-steel-strikethirty-five-years-on. Rees, Ivor Thomas. 2005. Welsh Hustings: 1885–2004. Llandybie: Dinefwr Press. Samuel, Raphael. 1986. Introduction. In The Enemy Within: Pit Villages and the Miners’ Strike of 1984–1985, ed. Raphael Samuel, Barbara Bloomfield, and Guy Boanas. London: Routledge and K. Paul. Walker, Peter. 1991. Staying Power. London: Bloomsbury.

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Walters, Donald. 1985. The Reality of Conservatism. In The National Question Again: Welsh Political Identity in the 1980s, ed. John Osmond. Llandysul: Gomer Press. Ward, Paul. 2005. Unionism in the United Kingdom. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

Archival Sources National Library of Wales, Welsh Political Archive GB 0210 2/4 box 8–2011 Populus Wales Benchmark poll, analysis of poll n.d. GB 0210, 3/1, Forward to the Fair Play for All manifesto. n.d. GB 0210, 3/3, Bourne to Roberts. n.d. GB 0210, 4/1Welsh Conservative SWOT analysis, 24.5.2011. GB 0210 WYNROBRT, XIII, ‘Extracts from speech by Wyn Roberts’, 9 January 1987. GB 0210 WYNROBRT, XIII, Statement by Parliamentary Under Secretary of State for Wales, Mr Wyn Roberts MP, 22 April 1986.

Bodleian Library, Conservative Party Archive Conservative Central Office (CCO) 500/50/1, ‘Nationalism and Regionalism’ speech appendix, 26 July 1966. Conservative Research Department (CRD) B/32/3—Reports n.d. CRD 3/37/1, 3, Survey: the Scope for Conservative Advance in Wales, 13 December 1968. CRD 4/15/14/1, Nicholas Edwards, Welsh Policy Group Report, 1975. CRD 4/15/4/2, Policy Document for Wales—observations from CRD, [undated, c. 1975]. CRD 4/15/4/3, Chris Butler, Cymraeg: Iaith ein Plant (1980). CRD 4/15/4/3, Letter Tom Hooson to Nicholas Edwards, 23 June 1980.

Oral History Interviews Interview with Chris Butler by Sam Blaxland, 11/05/2015. Interview with Guto Bebb by Sam Blaxland, 23/06/2015. Interview with Keith Best by Sam Blaxland, 11/05/2015. Interview with Lord Crickhowell by Sam Blaxland, 1/07/2013. Interview with Nicholas O’Shaughnessy by Sam Blaxland, 10/11/2014.

PART III

Attitudes

CHAPTER 9

The Political Socialisation of Thatcher’s Children: Identifying the Long Reach of Thatcherite Social and Economic Values and Perceptions of Crime Emily Gray, Maria Grasso, and Stephen Farrall

Margaret Thatcher’s period as Prime Minister (from May 1979 to November 1990) ushered in an era of radical social and economic change in the UK. Her administrations sought to ‘roll back’ the institutions and policies of the post-war welfare state, reducing its influence and control over large sections of British social and economic life. ‘Free markets’, restrained government spending and tax cuts transformed the economic arrangements. De-industrialization, which can be traced back to the 1960s, accelerated after 1979, which restructured the British economy. In addition, large sections of social housing were sold off, local governments’

E. Gray (*) · S. Farrall Department of Criminology and Social Sciences, University of Derby, Derby, UK e-mail: [email protected] M. Grasso Department of Politics and International Relations, University of Sheffield, Sheffield, UK © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_9

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control of schooling and other public services was challenged, and trade union powers were significantly contracted (Walker and Walker 1997). The social security system was greatly reduced (Walker 1993) as the discourse concerning those reliant on welfare benefits cast them as the ‘undeserving’ poor (Andrews and Jacobs 1990).1 During the same time, officially recorded crime rates and self-reported rates of victimization increased at a substantial rate (Jennings et al. 2012; Morgan 2014). While this pattern may have been replicated in other parts of the world, numerous studies have shown that, as levels of unemployment and inequality increased in the UK during the 1980s, so too did rates of property crime (Pyle and Deadman 1994; Jennings et al. 2012; Morgan 2014). Indeed, such was extent of the social and economic upheaval in the 1980s that as this process of state retrenchment advanced, it generated its own contradictions and conflicts that later required containment and redirection. Crime was one of those policy domains that latterly required considerable attention. For many observers, Thatcher’s mix of authoritarian populism captured the nation’s anxious mood following the economic crisis of the mid-to-­ late 1970s, the upswing in industrial militancy and the radicalism of the ‘permissive society’ of the 1960s (Hay 1996). Such was her influence on the electorate that Ivor Crewe posed the question of whether the British electorate had ‘become Thatcherite’ in the late 1980s. Subsequent studies analysed ‘Thatcher’s Children’ and the extent to which this generation was more right wing relative to its predecessors, but found inconclusive results at that stage (Crewe 1988). In this new contribution, which allows for a greater passage of time, we aim to test if a Thatcherite generation can be detected and evaluated. We analyse two different data sets to study the extent to which Conservative rule, marked as it was by a spirit of right-authoritarianism between 1979 and 1997, influenced the values and attitudes of a new political generation. Specifically, we look at Thatcherite values across three dimensions (including attitudes towards (a) redistribution and inequality, (b) benefits and unemployment, (c) punishment and authority), as well as examining (d) worry about crime and (e) perceptions of disorder. In so doing we test the longevity of this process by examining whether the generation that 1  The 1979 Conservative manifesto included phrases such as: ‘restoring the will to work’, ‘restore incentives so that hard work pays’, ‘concentrating welfare services…on those in real need’ and ‘act more vigorously against fraud and abuse’ (The Conservative Party 1979).

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came of age later—under New Labour (‘Blair’s Babies’) reinforced the rightward shift in social values and attitudes towards crime or if they took a different path. Was there a ‘trickle-down’ effect of Thatcherism—did these neoliberal sentiments become ‘normalised’ or did they eventually lose traction? Our approach allows us to examine how attitudes operate over an extended historical period and consider what are the net age, period, and cohort effects of Thatcherism on public attitudes and perceptions of crime.

Temporality: Age, Period and Cohorts To test these long-term attitudinal shifts, we employ an age, period and cohort (APC) framework. APC effects are especially pertinent to the study of long-term social change (Mannheim 1928; O’Brien 2015; Ryder 1965). Individual ageing, historical contexts and generational membership are simultaneously related to the passage of time but have separate effects. To be precise, APC methods identify the following time dimensions. 1. age effects condense those developmental changes that take place over the life course (individual aging) 2. period effects occur due to cultural and economic changes that are unique to precise historical periods and induce similar changes in individuals of all ages 3. cohort effects are the substance of social change and represent the effects of formative experiences (Ryder 1965). Cohort effects integrate the impact of early life conditions and exposure to these historical and social factors can affect an individual throughout the life course (Mannheim 1928). A key question therefore is how much change measured in a group is due to the aging process of the individual; how much is due to the historical period in which the data was collected and how much of it was about the generation in which the participant grew-up. By disentangling these three dimensions of experience, we can identify trends and illuminate our analysis of behaviour over time. Although this model was first articulated by Mannheim (1928), successive APC modelling has consolidated the idea that generations socialised in different periods can diverge markedly in their values and behaviours (Tilley 2002; Grasso 2014; Neundorf and

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Niemi 2014; Tilley and Evans 2014; Grasso et  al. 2017, 2018; Gray et al. 2018). Given the radical nature of Thatcherite social and economic policies, and the subsequent peak in crime that accompanied this neoliberal turn (Jennings et al. 2012; Morgan 2014), it is conceivable that people who grew up in this period may display particular—and distinct—social attitudes. We ask, did growing up during Margaret Thatcher’s political ascendancy—a period in which crime rates soared and a ‘law and order’ agenda intensified (Garland 2001; Hay 1996; Loader 2008)—differentiate this generation’s (1) social values and (2) their perception of crime from other generations? Did a harsh political emphasis on antisocial behaviour and penal populism in the late twentieth century (Burney 2005) lead those who grew up under New Labour to view concerns about crime and disorder differently from previous generations? Do relationships among the variables of interest remain static as broader political and economic conditions change? To what extent do age patterns and time trends previously found in the research actually reflect birth cohort differences once the full age, period and cohort models are utilised? This study aims to address some of these questions by using time-series data from the British Social Attitudes Survey (BSA) and the British Crime Survey (BCS) spanning 30 years in England and Wales (Jennings et al. 2015). To test for the existence of generational or cohort effects, we integrate APC modelling using the method presented by Grasso (2014). The result is an empirical model that accounts for nuanced time effects (Pierson 2004). Next, we consider the relevant literatures on political generations before reflecting on the methodological issues and challenges of generational modelling—including the matter of ‘identification’ in APC models.

Understanding Political Generations The APC framework presented here is based on the theory of ‘political generations’ (Tilley 2002). Political generations signify the importance of political periods and experiences that occur during the impressionable ‘formative years’ of an individual’s youth and differentiate cohorts from each other (Mannheim 1928). The concept is borne out of Mannheim’s theory of generations, which urges researchers to observe groups of people who share an age location in history. Importantly, when we use the term ‘political generation’ we are not simply referring to the political category of those in power at the time, but to the wider dimensions of that

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political period, including those which shape its social and economic policies and its civil characteristics. Discussing the concept of generations, Mannheim claimed that “youth experiencing the same concrete historical problems may be said to be part of the same actual generation” (1928: 232). These ‘historical problems’ are understood to exert a specific influence on the respective population throughout the life-course (Mannheim 1928; Ryder 1965). The subsequent generational effects have been expressed by Markus as the “enduring inter-cohort distinctions that are attributable to the common ‘imprinting’ of cohort members…. generational effects are often presumed to be the result of cohort members having shared similar socialising experiences, especially during late adolescence and early adulthood” (1983: 718). Recent APC approaches also draw heavily on Ryder’s (1965) seminal article on the significance of the ‘cohort’ as a mechanism of social change. Ryder stressed that cohort changes and replacements were central to the transformation of society, describing a cohort as “an aggregate of individuals” who had “a distinctive composition and character reflecting the circumstances of its unique origination and history” (1965: 845). A number of studies have supported this idea and confirmed that political contexts can produce generations with distinct value-sets and patterns of behaviour (Tilley 2002; Bartels and Jackman 2014; Grasso 2014; Neundorf and Niemi 2014; Smets and Neundorf 2014; Tilley and Evans 2014). The method employed here also allows for members of a given political generation to be divided by social and individual cleavages such as gender and education. Nevertheless, generational theorists believe a cohort will share certain values because their formative years were spent in the same temporal/spatial locations. Mannheim (1928) likened generations to social classes arising from distinct positions in the economic sphere. Cohort and generational theories thus imply non-linear shifts in public opinion. This framework assumes that a singular political generation might express attitudes and beliefs that are different from the generations coming of age before or after them. Accordingly, the prominent shift toward New Right politics in the USA, Britain, Australia and other countries (Stiglitz 2002; Farrall and Hay 2014) which developed during the Reagan (1981–1988) and Thatcher and Major Governments (1979–1997) may influence an individual’s social and economic values and their perception of crime.

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Enter Thatcherism, Enter Crime As early as 1979, Stuart Hall’s essay ‘The Great Moving Right Show’ analysed the politics of ‘Thatcherism’, describing it as more than simply “the corresponding political bedfellow of a period of capitalist recession” (1979: 14), but the result of a longer ideological shift away from the parameters of the post-war social democratic “consensus”. Thatcherism encompassed many themes of the right—“law and order, the need for social discipline and authority in the face of a conspiracy by the enemies of the state, the onset of social anarchy, the “enemy within”, the dilution of British stock by alien black elements” (Hall 1979: 16). The prominence of a ‘law and order’ discourse indicated the government’s desire to break from the past (Gilroy and Simm 1985) and was applied beyond the confines of criminal justice. Certainly, Thatcher’s reliance on the politics of confrontation was most commonly associated with the Miners’ Strike in 1981, and the reaction to the inner-city riots in London, Liverpool, Birmingham and Leeds in the early 1980s. The Conservatives were in office continuously for 18 years between 1979 and 1997 (under Margaret Thatcher until 1990, and then under John Major)—the longest unbroken period of rule by one party in the UK since 1830. The combination of these dynamics certainly indicate that young people coming of age in this political context may have distinct experiences and attitudes than those who came before and possibly after them. Early research on the impact of ‘Thatcherism’ on British public attitudes looked at whether the electorate had become more focused on self-­ reliance, but found decreasing enthusiasm for this idea (Crewe 1989). However, Russell et al.’s study (1992) examined Thatcherism via generational effects; they discovered that while ageing did show a tendency to increase Conservative identification, the formative experiences of electoral generations resulted in persistent cohort differences. The researchers concluded that socialisation during Thatcher’s term in office meant that first-­ time electors in the 1979 and 1987 elections were more Conservative than would have been expected given their young age. By examining socialisation effects, this study demonstrated a more nuanced picture which suggested some parts of the electorate had been more influenced than others (Russell et al. 1992). Then, in the late 1990s, aggregate studies of public opinion begun to show a more compelling Thatcherite shift; Curtice and Jowell (1997) found evidence that between 1985 and 1996 fewer people agreed that government should provide healthcare, pensions, control

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prices, help industry grow, help poor families send their children to university, provide shelter for the poor, reduce inequality, provide jobs or help the unemployed. Evidence from the British Social Attitudes Survey also showed that the proportion of the electorate agreeing that ‘governments ought to redistribute income’ had fallen over time, from 45 percent in 1987 to 36 percent in 2009, while the proportion saying ‘government ought to spend more on benefits’ fell from 55 percent in 1987 to 27 percent in 2009 (Curtice 2010). When John Major took over the Conservative Party leadership in 1990, he did not meaningfully challenge the direction that Thatcher had taken the country in since 1979. Moreover, under Tony Blair the emergence of ‘New Labour’ in 1994 signalled that while internally divided, Labour had also moved closer to the Thatcher agenda. Certainly, at the 1997 general election, all three main parties were converging on a recognisably Thatcher-influenced ‘middle ground’, so that the primacy of the market became the accepted wisdom (Heffernan 2000). Notably, during the long period of Conservative rule, crime went from being an issue of marginal concern in the 1970s, to being a central feature of the political agenda in Britain in the late 1990s. In less than twenty years, public and policy attention to this topic increased dramatically. Tracking the rise in crime, worry about crime became a major concern for the general public; the British Crime Survey found that worry about burglary and robbery peaked in 1994 with highs of 66.5 per cent (two thirds) of the sample reporting they were ‘fairly’ or ‘very worried’ about burglary, and 51.7 per cent (over half) of respondents reporting they were ‘fairly’ or ‘very worried’ about robbery. Consequently, in 1997, crime stood at the heart of the 1997 New Labour manifesto, which promised to be ‘tough on crime, tough on the causes of crime’ (The Labour Party 1997) with seven specified areas of concern.2 Among these points, they promised to tackle ‘neighbourhood disorder’, ‘convict more criminals’, employ ‘zero tolerance’ and reintroduce the victim into the criminal justice system. At that time, Tony Blair considered it necessary to ‘reclaim’ debates around crime and disorder, by underplaying the links between social and economic factors and crime and highlighting personal responsibility and punishment (c.f. Driver and Martell 2002). As Shadow Home Secretary, Blair’s influence in this area had already been established in 1992 in the

2  These were youth crime; conviction and sentencing; disorder; drugs; victims; prevention and gun control.

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aftermath of the murder of two-year-old James Bulger.3 At this juncture, Blair lamented a moral decline and a loss of community in a manner his Labour colleagues had not previously attempted. He said: ‘The news bulletins of the last week have been like hammer blows struck against the sleeping conscience of the country, urging us to wake up and look unflinchingly at what we see’ (Blair quoted in Blair 2010: 57). This move by Blair, to occupy a strong stance on crime contributed to the then more liberal Home Secretary, Kenneth Clarke, being replaced by Michael Howard who promoted a keen punishment and imprisonment agenda. We will now turn to the matter of conducting a generational analysis and, based on the discussion above, we will focus on investigating right-­ wing authoritarian values including (a) redistribution and inequality, (b) benefits and unemployment, (c) punishment and authority), as well as examining (d) worry about crime and (e) perceptions of disorder.

Methodology In order to conduct an age,period and cohort analysis, we employ data from the British Social Attitudes (BSA) Survey 1986–2012 and the British Crime Survey dataset spanning 1982–2010, both compiled in the course of a major ESRC project (Jennings et al. 2015). These are repeated cross-­ sectional surveys and in each sweep respondents were asked the same attitudinal questions. The dataset was created specifically for the purposes of this type of analysis. It provides rich individual-level data on social attitudes and perceptions of crime and disorder, as well as all the necessary control variables over a sufficiently long time span to separate age, period and cohort effects. In an APC model one seeks to identify generation effect, while also controlling for age, period effects. The ‘identification problem’ complicates the process, since the three effects are in a linear relationship with each other; as soon as we know two values we know the third: Year of Birth = Year − Age. In order to ‘identify’ the model and obtain the net effects it is necessary to apply restrictions within the model. This methodological challenge has led to a rich discussion in order to resolve the ‘identification problem’. In this chapter we follow the method presented in 3  In 1993 two ten-year-old boys, Robert Thompson and Jon Venables, abducted and murdered two-year-old James Bulger. It became a historic offence and a crisis moment in British criminal justice debates.

9  THE POLITICAL SOCIALISATION OF THATCHER’S CHILDREN… 

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Grasso (2014)—and tested further in Grasso et al. (2017, 2018) and Gray et al. (2018)—and apply generalized additive models (GAMs) to plot the identified, smoothed cohort effect and then test for intergenerational differences with age, period and cohort models, alongside post-estimation Wald tests. Given our interest in generational effects, year of birth is the main independent variable. This ranges from 1910 to 1990. The key period of socialisation is expected to occur during the mid-teens to the mid-to late 20s. For the purposes of this study we have assigned individuals to a political generation based on the period in which they spent the majority of their formative years (age 15–25) and have conceived political generations based on key shifts in political direction from 1930 to 2010 (see Table 9.1). This means we define ‘Thatcher’s Children’ as those born between 1959 and 1976 and coming of age in the protracted period of Conservative rule between 1979 and 1996. Likewise, we define the New Labour generation as those born during 1977 and 1990 whose formative years occurred during the administration led by Tony Blair and later Gordon Brown between 1997 and 2010. The political generations (Table 9.1) form one of a range independent variables tested. The two datasets employed allows us to include a range of individual and socio-demographic markers. Notably, BCS data does not provide a consistent geographic marker (to protect the anonymity of participants) however, we have employed an indicator for ‘inner-city’ that is based on a population weight derived from ward-level information.4 Table 9.1  Political generations

Formative period Years of birth

Pre-consensus generation

Early consensus Wilson/ generation Callaghan’s childrena

Thatcher’s childrenb

Blair’s babiesc

1930–1944 (14 years) 1910–1924

1945–1964 (18 years) 1925–1944

1979–1996 (18 years) 1959–1976

1997–2010 (13 years) 1977–1990

1965–1978 (13 years) 1945–1958

This period includes the Conservative Heath Government of 1970–1974

a

b

This period also includes Major’s period in office between 1990 and 1997

This period includes Blair and Brown in government

c

4  Wards are the key building blocks of UK administrative geography. Across England and Wales wards have a mean population size of 6600 (Office of National Statistics, 2013).

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The dependent variables on fear of crime5 and concern about neighbourhood disorder6 from the BCS follow standard wording and appear in national and local government and police surveys. Meanwhile we use nine variables from the British Social Attitudes Survey to examine different indicators of right-authoritarian values. The variables tap into both left-­ right economic and libertarian-authoritarian social values7 and in each case the survey item has been recoded so that a value of 1 indicates agreement with the Thatcherite position and a value of 0 indicates disagreement.

Results Social Values The coefficients for political generations in the age, period and cohort models presented in Table 9.2 in conjunction with the results from the Wald tests presented in Table 9.3 show that across eight of nine indicators, Thatcher’s Children are more right wing and authoritarian than the 5   Respondents are asked: ‘how worried are you about being [burgled/robbed]?’ Respondents can select one answer from a set of responses: very worried, fairly worried, a bit worried, or not at all worried. For the purposes of the analysis herein we combine “very” and “fairly worried” together as ‘worried’, and “not very” and “not at all worried” as unworried to be a dichotomous variables. 6  The question is worded as follows: “How common a problem in this area are...?” Vandalism or deliberate damage to property? (1982–2010); Groups of teenagers hanging around? (1982–2010) Noisy neighbours (1984–2010). The response categories were collapsed into a dichotomous variable that combined (1) very big problem & (2) fairly big problem, as a ‘problem’ and (3) not a very big problem & (4) not a problem as ‘not a problem’. 7  (A) What do you think about the income gap between the rich and the poor in the UK today? 1 ‘About right’ or ‘Too small’; 0 ‘Too large’. (B) Government should redistribute from the better off to the less well off. 1 Disagree/Strongly Disagree; 0 Neither, agree/ Strongly Agree. (C) Government should spend more money on the poor even if it leads to higher taxes. 1 Disagree/Strongly Disagree; 0 Neither, Agree/Strongly Agree. (D) Opinions differ about the level of benefits for the unemployed. Which of these best reflects your opinion? 1 Benefits are too high and discourage people from finding jobs; 0 Other response categories (E) Unemployed could find a job if they wanted to. 1 Agree/Strongly Agree; 0 Neither, Disagree/Strongly Disagree. (F) People should learn to stand on their own feet. 1 Agree/Strongly Agree; 0 Neither, Disagree/Strongly Disagree. (G) The death penalty is appropriate for some crimes. 1 Agree/Strongly Agree; 0 Neither, Disagree/Strongly Disagree. (H) People who break the law should be given stiffer sentences. 1 Agree/Strongly Agree; 0 Neither, Disagree/Strongly Disagree. (I) Schools should teach children to obey authority. 1 Agree/Strongly Agree; 0 Neither, Disagree/Strongly Disagree.

Wilson/ Callaghan’s children (ref) Pre-consensus generation Early consensus generation Thatcher’s children Blair’s babies Age category 16–34 (ref) Age category 35–59 Age category 60+

Disagree/ strongly disagree Government should redistribute

Income gap in society is too small or about right

0.47∗∗∗ −0.19∗∗∗ −0.30∗∗∗

0.14∗∗∗

0.09∗∗

0.32∗∗∗

−0.05

−0.17∗∗

0.14∗∗

0.27∗∗∗

0.72∗∗∗

0.08

0.03

0.35∗∗∗

0.04

0.13∗

0.03

Disagree/ strongly disagree Government should spend more to help the poor

3

0.30∗∗∗

Odds ratios

2

1

0.20∗∗∗

−0.02

0.64∗∗∗

0.15∗∗∗

0.24∗∗∗

0.52∗∗∗

Benefits too high and discourage job search

4

−0.07

−0.21∗∗∗

0.34∗∗∗

0.19∗∗∗

0.17∗∗∗

0.24∗∗∗

Unemployed could find a job if they wanted

5

Table 9.2  Age, period and cohort models: right-authoritarian values

0.25∗∗∗

−0.06

0.50∗∗∗

0.11∗∗

0.44∗∗∗

0.87∗∗∗

People should learn to stand on their own two feet

6

−0.1

−0.07∗

0.17∗∗

0.06

0.09∗

0.1

Death penalty is appropriate for certain crimes

7

−0.04

−0.10∗

0.21∗∗

0.19∗∗∗

0.27∗∗∗

0.55∗∗∗

Stiffer sentences for breaking the law

8

(continued)

0.18∗

0.09∗

0.41∗∗∗

0.13∗∗∗

0.56∗∗∗

1.20∗∗∗

Children should be taught to obey authority

9

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Year of survey Gender (male) Education 19 years+ Married/ cohabiting (ref) Previously married Single (never married) Employed fulltime (ref) Employed part-time Unemployed/ waiting for work

Disagree/ strongly disagree Government should redistribute

Income gap in society is too small or about right

0.04∗∗∗ 0.01 −0.12∗∗∗

−0.08∗ −0.08∗

−0.03 −0.48∗∗∗

0.02∗∗∗ −0.13∗∗∗ −0.28∗∗∗

−0.03

−0.04

−0.03

−0.16∗∗

0.13∗∗

0.05

−0.05

0.18∗

Disagree/ strongly disagree Government should spend more to help the poor

3

0 0.15∗∗∗ −0.15∗∗

Odds ratios

2

1

Table 9.2 (continued)

−1.04∗∗∗

−0.10∗∗

−0.31∗∗∗

−0.07∗∗

0.07∗∗∗ −0.21∗∗∗ −0.40∗∗∗

Benefits too high and discourage job search

4

−0.93∗∗∗

−0.18∗∗∗

−0.15∗∗∗

−0.04

0.07∗∗∗ −0.16∗∗∗ −0.49∗∗∗

Unemployed could find a job if they wanted

5

−0.92∗∗∗

−0.17∗∗∗

−0.18∗∗∗

−0.09∗∗

0.07∗∗∗ −0.03 −0.48∗∗∗

People should learn to stand on their own two feet

6

−0.26∗∗∗

−0.16∗∗∗

−0.42∗∗∗

−0.18∗∗∗

−0.02∗∗∗ 0.33∗∗∗ −0.89∗∗∗

Death penalty is appropriate for certain crimes

7

−0.47∗∗∗

−0.18∗∗∗

−0.46∗∗∗

−0.25∗∗∗

0.04∗∗∗ −0.16∗∗∗ −0.81∗∗∗

Stiffer sentences for breaking the law

8

−0.29∗∗∗

−0.12∗∗

−0.35∗∗∗

−0.20∗∗∗

0.01∗∗∗ 0.14∗∗∗ −0.50∗∗∗

Children should be taught to obey authority

9

170  E. GRAY ET AL.

−0.17 0.05 −0.10∗

−0.21∗∗∗

0.30∗∗∗ 0.71∗∗∗ 0.11∗∗∗

0.30∗∗∗ −0.19∗∗∗

0.14∗∗ 0.03 −0.09 −0.26∗∗∗ −0.30∗∗∗ 1.12∗∗∗

−46.50∗∗∗ 48,399 −28119.2 0.089

−0.34 0.09 0.22∗∗∗

−0.08

0.12∗∗ 0.68∗∗∗ 0.16∗∗∗

−0.02 −0.28∗∗∗

−0.20∗∗ −0.29∗∗∗ −0.38∗∗∗ −0.20∗ 0 0.93∗∗∗

−9.02 33,848 −14775.56 0.054

∗p < 0.05, ∗∗p < 0.01, ∗∗∗p < 0.001

In education Retired Looking after home Other employment situation Income— bottom (ref) Income—mid Income—high Attended private school Owns house Union member Social class Class I (ref) Class II Class IIIM Class III NM Class IV Class V Conservative party identification Statistics Constant N Log lik. Pseudo R2 −89.69∗∗∗ 39,029 −21080.37 0.069

−0.05 −0.01 −0.02 −0.06 −0.14 0.84∗∗∗

0.26∗∗∗ −0.09∗∗

0.26∗∗∗ 0.32∗∗∗ −0.05

−0.62∗∗∗

−0.41∗∗ −0.19∗∗∗ −0.34∗∗∗

−131.83∗∗∗ 48,817 −30145.42 0.095

0.14∗∗ 0.23∗∗∗ 0.26∗∗∗ 0.20∗∗∗ 0.17∗∗ 0.86∗∗∗

0.25∗∗∗ −0.19∗∗∗

0.22∗∗∗ 0.28∗∗∗ −0.11∗∗∗

−0.77∗∗∗

−0.45∗∗∗ −0.21∗∗∗ −0.40∗∗∗

−149.17∗∗∗ 39,052 −24963.98 0.072

0.15∗∗ 0.30∗∗∗ 0.51∗∗∗ 0.45∗∗∗ 0.49∗∗∗ 0.63∗∗∗

−0.02 −0.29∗∗∗

0.16∗∗∗ 0.36∗∗∗ −0.11∗∗

−0.67∗∗∗

−0.47∗∗∗ −0.41∗∗∗ −0.53∗∗∗

−148.89∗∗∗ 39,036 −23846.78 0.093

0.16∗∗ 0.35∗∗∗ 0.52∗∗∗ 0.48∗∗∗ 0.56∗∗∗ 0.80∗∗∗

0.15∗∗∗ −0.18∗∗∗

0.14∗∗∗ 0.16∗∗∗ −0.20∗∗∗

−0.79∗∗∗

−0.36∗∗ −0.26∗∗∗ −0.42∗∗∗

48.78∗∗∗ 46,613 −28395.55 0.083

0.11∗ 0.42∗∗∗ 0.76∗∗∗ 0.61∗∗∗ 0.72∗∗∗ 0.60∗∗∗

−71.78∗∗∗ 46,651 −21595.1 0.085

0.22∗∗∗ 0.62∗∗∗ 0.82∗∗∗ 0.81∗∗∗ 0.75∗∗∗ 0.71∗∗∗

0.01 −0.06∗

−0.17∗∗∗ −0.38∗∗∗ −0.38∗∗∗

−0.18∗∗∗ −0.35∗∗∗ −0.30∗∗∗ −0.11∗∗∗ −0.10∗∗∗

−0.13∗

−0.74∗∗∗ −0.12∗ −0.19∗∗∗

−0.03

−0.63∗∗∗ −0.17∗∗∗ −0.11∗∗

−24.82∗∗∗ 46,596 −18872.24 0.068

−0.04 0.31∗∗∗ 0.41∗∗∗ 0.32∗∗∗ 0.32∗∗∗ 0.78∗∗∗

0.17∗∗∗ −0.21∗∗∗

−0.18∗∗∗ −0.33∗∗∗ −0.07

−0.03

−0.62∗∗∗ −0.05 −0.14∗∗ 9  THE POLITICAL SOCIALISATION OF THATCHER’S CHILDREN… 

171

Disagree/ Strongly D. Government should redistribute Ns

Ns

Ns ∗∗∗ Ns ∗

Income gap in society is too small or about right

∗∗

Ns

Ns

∗∗∗

∗∗

∗∗∗

Ns

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗ ∗∗∗

Ns

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

Ns

∗∗∗

Benefits too high and discourage job search

(4)

Ns

Disagree/ Strongly D. Government should spend more to help poor

(3)

∗

Ns

∗∗

Ns

Ns

Ns

Unemployed could find a job if they wanted

(5)

Ns

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

People should learn to stand on their own two feet

(6)

Ns

Ns

∗∗

Ns

Ns

Ns

Death penalty is appropriate for certain crimes

(7)

Ns

∗

Ns

Ns

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

Stiffer sentences for breaking the law

(8)

Ns

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

Children should be taught to obey authority

(9)

∗

p < 0.05, ∗∗p < 0.01, ∗∗∗p < 0.001

A significant result implies cohort differences between each given pair in the rows for each of the dependent variables in the columns. See coefficients in Table 1.2 for direction of effects

Pre-consensus generation = Early consensus generation Pre-consensus generation = Thatcher’s children Early consensus generation = Thatcher’s children Thatcher’s children = Blair’s babies Pre-consensus generation = Blair’s babies Early consensus generation = Blair’s babies

(2)

(1)

Table 9.3  Wald tests for intergenerational differences from the age, period and Cohort models

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generation who came before them (Wilson/Callaghan). ‘Blair’s Babies’ are also more right wing and authoritarian than this political generation, confirming that Thatcherite values were replicated and consolidated under New Labour. Specifically, Thatcher’s Children and Blair’s Babies are even more right wing economically than the generation that came of age before the post-war consensus. Blair’s Babies in particular are almost as negative about benefits and the welfare system as the generation that came of age before it was created (pre-consensus). They also are about as authoritarian as the oldest generations, showing that the trend toward modernisation and greater social liberalism was at least slowed down in Britain under the Thatcher governments. As noted earlier in the chapter, in order to provide robustness tests for the results from the age, period and cohort models, next we examine the visual results from the generalized additive models (GAMs). In particular, we examine the plots of the smoothed cohort effect from the full model (not shown) with all the same controls included in the regression models. These plots are as presented in Figs. 9.1, 9.2, 9.3, 9.4, 9.5, 9.6, 9.7, 9.8, and 9.9. The trends are consistent. Across all nine indicators, there is an upward swing in right-authoritarian values from around the start of the political generation (i.e. those born in 1959) at least up into the end of it (i.e. those born in 1976), and in several cases lasting well beyond. This suggests Thatcherite values were growing in strength among the cohort who became ‘came of age’ during the Thatcherite era. With the exception of two out of nine figures, one can see an upswing over the years of birth of Thatcher’s Children, thus reversing a trend towards greater support for redistribution and social egalitarianism observed for previous political generations (i.e. the cohorts born before 1959). This emphasises the existence of a ‘Thatcher effect’. It is especially noticeable that the curve bends upwards and commences the increasing trend precisely at the end of the 1950s (i.e. the years of birth of the oldest of Thatcher’s Children). Examining Blair’s Babies, we find that in some cases the upward trend continues, for example on the income gap between rich and poor (Fig. 9.1), that benefits are too high (Fig. 9.4) and that the death penalty is appropriate for some crimes (Fig. 9.7). However, in other cases, it looks like the trend might level off or even reverse, particularly in relation to ‘whether people who break the law should be given stiffer sentences’ (Fig. 9.9), although the confidence intervals are too wide to be sure of this trend at present. Indeed, more years of data are required to assess what

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Figs. 9.1–9.9  Smoothed cohort effects from Generalized Additive Models (GAMs)

trajectory these social values will take long-term. Notwithstanding, regarding attitudes on redistribution (Figs. 9.1–9.3) the curve ends at a higher point than its level over the years of birth of the Pre- and Early Consensus Generations providing evidence that Blair’s Babies are a distinctly rightwing cohort in their economic values. With respect to authoritarian values, Thatcher’s Children exhibit a clear slowing down and reversal of the tendency towards greater social liberalism. Overall, Thatcher’s Children and Blair’s Babies are more right wing than any of the three older generations. Thatcher’s period in office reversed the generational trend in liberalising social values and we find evidence

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that Blair’s Babies are, indeed, also more right wing and authoritarian than Wilson/Callaghan’s Children. They are also more economically right-­ wing than both the Pre- and Early Consensus Generations, but not more socially authoritarian than either. Overall then, Blair’s Babies, stand out as the most economically right-wing generation. We will turn next to exploring the topic of perceptions of crime, namely, worry about crime and perceptions of neighbourhood disorder. Crime and Disorder The results presented in Table 9.4 confirm findings previously established in the fear of crime literature (Hale 1996). In addition, the results also reveal a complex political-generational story. The year of interview was significant for worry about burglary and mugging/robbery, although the odds ratios were modest. However, some of the strongest significant coefficients in the model related to the political generation respondents were assigned to. The pre-consensus generation reported the least amount of worry about burglary and mugging/robbery compared to all other political generations. This in itself is note-worthy, since this generation was the eldest when surveyed, suggesting that the fear of crime-age nexus is only part of the story. Compared to the reference category the Wilson/ Callaghan and Thatcher/Major generations expressed the highest level of worry about domestic burglary—which is salient, given the fact the Thatcher generation ‘came of age’ during the dramatic rise in property crime during the 1980s and the attendant focus on ‘law and order’ by politicians. The Wilson/Callaghan generation expressed the highest levels of worry about mugging/robbery. Interestingly, this political generation spent their formative years during a time in which there was considerable public attention to, and anxiety about a ‘crime wave’ of ‘mugging’. More specifically this narrative was wrapped up with racial tensions and the considered threat young black men posed on the streets (Hall et al. 1978). Turning to the impact of age, period and cohort on perceptions of neighbourhood disorder, Table  9.5 presents the results. The youngest age-group (age 16–34) reported significantly higher levels of concern about local disorder than all of their older counterparts. Year of interview was significant for perception of teenagers and vandalism, although the coefficients on these variables were small. As demonstrated with the fear of crime above however, membership of a political generation was the strongest predictor in these multivariate models. The New Labour generation

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Table 9.4  Age period and cohort models: fear of crime and concern about neighbourhood disorder Worry Worry about about burglary mugging/ robbery

Common local problem: ‘noisy neighbours’

Common local problem: ‘teenagers hanging around’

Common local problem: ‘vandalism and deliberate damage’

1.431∗∗∗ 1.252∗∗∗

1.463∗∗∗

1.461∗∗∗

1.421∗∗∗

1.598∗∗∗ 1.304∗∗∗

1.770∗∗∗

1.811∗∗∗

1.645∗∗∗

1.583∗∗∗ 1.141∗∗∗

1.955∗∗∗

2.012∗∗∗

1.693∗∗∗

1.482∗∗∗ 1.265∗∗∗

2.223∗∗∗

2.296∗∗∗

1.985∗∗∗

0.993 0.938∗ 0.963∗∗∗ 0.810∗∗∗

0.999 1.035 0.976∗∗∗ 0.466∗∗∗

0.956∗ 0.787∗∗∗ 0.998 0.874∗∗∗

0.971∗ 0.834∗∗∗ 0.988∗∗∗ 0.926∗∗∗

1.055∗∗∗ 0.957∗∗∗ 1.018∗∗∗ 0.972∗∗∗

1.455∗∗∗ 1.540∗∗∗ 1.894∗∗∗ 2.631∗∗∗ 1.317∗∗∗ 1.619∗∗∗

1.05 1.237∗∗∗ 1.185∗∗∗

0.988 1.318∗∗∗ 1.096∗∗∗

0.937∗ 1.065∗ 0.963

0.802∗∗∗ 0.936∗∗∗ 0.771∗∗∗ 0.829∗∗∗ 0.786∗∗∗ 0.879∗∗∗

0.977 0.725∗∗∗ 0.988

0.921∗∗∗ 0.863∗∗∗ 0.953∗∗∗

1.001 0.799∗∗∗ 0.942∗∗∗

0.971∗ 1.017 1.106∗∗∗ 1.192∗∗∗ 0.979 1.015

0.908∗∗∗ 1.162∗∗∗ 0.906∗∗∗

0.954∗∗∗ 1.072∗∗∗ 0.870∗∗∗

1.068∗∗∗ 1.150∗∗∗ 0.999

Odds ratios Pre-consensus generation (ref) Post-consensus generation Wilson/Callaghan generation Thatcher/major generation New labour generation Age category 16–34 (ref) Age category 34–59 Age category 60+ Year of survey Sex (male = 1, female = 0) White (ref) Black Asian Mixed, other Married/cohabiting (ref) Single Widow Divorced/separated Employed fulltime (ref) Employed part-time Unemployed Education, retired, home-maker, other. Higher level education (ref)

(continued)

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Table 9.4 (continued) Worry Worry about about burglary mugging/ robbery

Common local problem: ‘noisy neighbours’

Common local problem: ‘teenagers hanging around’

Common local problem: ‘vandalism and deliberate damage’

1.232∗∗∗ 1.353∗∗∗ 1.346∗∗∗ 1.504∗∗∗

1.055∗ 1.057∗∗∗

1.214∗∗∗ 1.235∗∗∗

1.181∗∗∗ 1.240∗∗∗

1.486∗∗∗ 1.798∗∗∗

1.121∗∗∗

1.277∗∗∗

1.240∗∗∗

0.884∗∗∗ 0.897∗∗∗

0.877∗∗∗

0.870∗∗∗

0.910∗∗∗

0.773∗∗∗ 0.735∗∗∗ 1.184∗∗∗ 1.119∗∗∗

0.599∗∗∗ 1.159∗∗∗

0.648∗∗∗ 1.262∗∗∗

0.672∗∗∗ 1.362∗∗∗

1.005∗∗∗ 1.007∗∗∗

0.993∗∗∗

1

1.016∗∗∗

0.745∗∗∗ 0.650∗∗∗

0.662∗∗∗

0.697∗∗∗

0.580∗∗∗

0.970∗∗ 1.154∗∗∗ 0.815∗∗∗ 1.057∗

1.655∗∗∗ 1.028

1.239∗∗∗ 1.045

1.167∗∗∗ 1.019

70,529 341,665 453,202 0.075

1.506 422,680 256,885 0.074

22.912 422,249 480,903 0.087

−38.686 422,033 453,099 0.102

Odds ratios A/AS levels/B-tech O-levels/CSE/ GCSE Other/none Income—bottom 25% (ref) Income—mid 25–75% Income—top 25% Total victimisation in previous year Total recorded crime rate per 1000 population at year of interview Inner-city (1 = inner-city resident, 2 = non inner-city) Mortgage/owners (ref) Rent Other/none Statistics Constant n Log likelihood Pseudo R2

41,961 340,575 417,451 0.117

p < 0.05, ∗∗p < 0.01, ∗∗∗p < 0.001

∗

reported the highest levels of concern about these three forms of antisocial behaviour, followed by the Thatcher/Major generation. Those who grew­up in the era of New-Labour reported that ‘teenagers hanging around’ the local area ‘noisy neighbours’ and ‘vandalism’ posed a ‘fairly’ or ‘very big’

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problem in the neighbourhood, compared to the reference category. This suggests the public discourse around antisocial behaviour that emerged towards the end of Major’s time in office and which became fully developed during the New Labour administrations (Burney 2005) had biggest impact on the youngest political generation in this exercise. Not only did this generation consider visible groups of teenagers—of whom they were not much older—as ‘problematic’, they were also more likely to associate noisy neighbours and vandalism as a problem. In short, the political generation who came of age during an era where criminal justice was intensely focused on ‘antisocial behaviour’ later exhibited the lowest tolerance for low-level public order offences. The results for the Wald tests are presented in Table 9.5 and confirm the overwhelming influence of political generations when considering worry about crime and perceptions of antisocial behaviour. To validate the results from the age, period and cohort models, we again applied generalised additive models (GAMs). Across all five indicators, the patterns are unambiguous; there is an upward swing in worry about burglary, worry about mugging/robbery and perceptions of antisocial behaviour once the Wilson/Callaghan generation is born after the 1940s. These patterns suggest that anxiety about crime and antisocial behaviour grew considerably and notably peaked for some generations around particular historical moments. Worry about burglary (Fig. 9.10) noticeably peaks for those who spent their formative years living under the Wilson/Callaghan and Thatcher/Major administrations. Worry about mugging/robbery (Fig.  9.11) fluctuates somewhat but is most apparent, again, for those born after 1940 (the Wilson/Callaghan generation). Meanwhile, perceptions of antisocial behaviour (Figs.  9.12, 9.13 and 9.14) showed considerable synergy across the three measures; they all demonstrate an increase in concern amongst people born in the 1960s (i.e. the Thatcher/Major generation) before peaking for those who were born around the early 1980s (New Labour Generation). In all examples, the curves do not return to the levels of the pre- and early consensus generations. As such we have a clear and upwards tendency towards greater worry about crime and antisocial behaviour over time, which provides considerable support for the theoretical literature discussed above.

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Table 9.5  Wald tests for intergenerational differences from the age, period and cohort models

Post-war consensus generation & Wilson/ Callaghan generation Post-war consensus generation & Thatcher/major generation Post-war consensus generation & New labour generation Wilson/ Callaghan generation & Thatcher/major generation Wilson/ Callaghan generation & New labour generation Thatcher/major generation & New labour generation

Worry about burglary

Worry about mugging/ robbery

How common a problem…. are noisy neighbours?

How common a problem... are teenagers hanging around?

How common a problem... is vandalism?

∗∗∗

∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

n.s

n.s

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

n.s

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗

∗∗

n.s

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

∗∗∗

A significant result implies cohort differences between each given pair in the rows for each of the dependent variables in the columns. See coefficients in Table 1.4 for direction of effects p < 0.05, ∗∗p < 0.01, ∗∗∗p < 0.001

∗

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E. GRAY ET AL.

Figs. 9.10–9.14 Smoothed Models (GAMs)

cohort

effects

from

Generalized

Additive

Discussion In this chapter, we have outlined the meaningful influence of political cohorts and applied them to people who ‘came of age’ during the 1980s and 1990s. Although there are difficulties in empirical investigations that involve age, period and cohort variables—as discussed—generational

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analysis has substantial potential, particularly for those committed to inter-­ disciplinary evaluations. Specifically, we found evidence that the generation coming of age during Thatcher and Major’s administrations were a markedly conservative generation, worthy of the title of ‘Thatcher’s Children’. Exploring nine indicators of Thatcherite social values across three dimensions (redistribution and inequality, benefits and unemployment, punishment and authority) we found that the earlier trend towards support for redistribution and more social liberalism was reversed. The GAMs relating to these nine questions demonstrated an upward trend occurred at the same point in time across all measures. Thus, there is little doubt that this point in history marked a turning point that lead to a shift in the value patterns of the British public. Moreover, some of these patterns were sustained into the next political generation who ‘came of age’ under New Labour (Blair’s Babies). Indeed, our results went further and suggested that Blair’s Babies were even more right-authoritarian than generations who came before them. Our results imply that Thatcher’s determination to emphasise self-reliance and free-market principles was remarkably successful, both in terms of changing the values of the new generation coming of age at that time, but also in terms of influencing society to such an extent that even New Labour accepted these new rules as standard. We also found that one’s political generation was a strong predictor of worry about crime and identification of neighborhood disorder as a local problem. Notably, the Wilson/Callaghan and Thatcher/Major generations expressed the greatest level of worry about domestic burglary. This is a striking finding, given that these generations ‘came of age’ as crime rose dramatically (particularly so in terms of burglary during the 1980s, Morgan 2014) and political attention towards ‘law and order’ increased in the UK and US (Garland 2001). The Wilson/Callaghan generation expressed the highest levels of worry about ‘mugging’ and robbery—an offence which was the feature of intense debates throughout the years of their socialisation (Hall et al. 1978). Meanwhile, the New Labour generation reported the highest level of concern about ‘teenagers hanging around’ and ‘noisy neighbors’; both of which were popular motifs of the time—‘anti-social behavior’ (Burney 2005). Our analysis confirms the notion that an individual’s socialisation in a given politico-historical context is an important and formative experience in regards to their understanding of crime and disorder, as well as influencing the pattern of their wider social values. Building temporally sensitive

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theoretical frameworks has been stressed by Pierson (2004), who has argued that when politics is understood as a “moving picture” (2004: 2) rather than a static scene, it has the ability to enrich our understanding of social dynamics, and improve the theories and methods that we use to explain them. In essence, these slow-moving processes generate historical legacies that can ‘lodge’ countries into certain trajectories and exert inertia on current politics even after a long time lag (Thelen 2004). Indeed, Pierson argues ‘many of the implications of political decisions … only play out in the long term’ (2004: 41). Importantly, this chapter demonstrates that significant events—such as the protracted rule of one party, in this case Thatcherism—can be an important ‘formative experience’ for subsequent generations. This ‘trickle-­ down’ process of social change can explain why Thatcherite attitudes are more prevalent in ‘Blair’s Babies’ (or ‘Thatcher’s Grand-Children’). The results of this study have shown that Thatcherite values are more deeply ingrained among this cohort than for the generation coming of age during her time in office. This is a clear sign that Thatcher changed the course of British politics and social attitudes. Her values permeate British society today as subsequent governments have not successfully challenged (or attempted to challenge) her ideology.

References Andrews, Kay, and John Jacobs. 1990. Punishing the Poor: Poverty under Thatcher. London: Macmillan. Bartels, Larry, and Simon Jackman. 2014. A Generational Model of Political Learning. Electoral Studies 33: 7–18. Blair, Tony. 2010. A Journey. London: Random House. Burney, Elizabeth. 2005. Making People Behave: Anti-Social Behaviour, Politics and Policy. Devon: Willan. Crewe, Ivor. 1988. Has the Electorate Become Thatcherite. In Thatcherism, ed. Robert Skidelsky. London: Chatto and Windus. ———. 1989. Values: The Crusade that Failed. In The Thatcher Effect, ed. Dennis Kavanagh and Antony Seldon, 239–250. Oxford: The Clarendon Press. Curtice, John. 2010. Thermostat or Weathervane: Public Reactions to Spending and Redistribution under New Labour. In British Social Attitudes: The 26th Report, ed. Alison Park, John Curtice, Katrina Thomson, and Miranda Phillips. London: Sage. Curtice, John, and Roger Jowell. 1997. Trust in the Political System. In British Social Attitudes: the 14th Report. The End of Conservative Values? ed. Jowell Roger, John Curtice, Alison Park, and Lindsay Brook. Aldershot: Ashgate.

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Driver, Stephen, and Luke Martell. 2002. Blair’s Britain. Cambridge: Polity Press. Farrall, Stephen, and Colin Hay. 2014. Locating Thatcherism in the Here and Now. In Thatcher’s Legacy: The Legacy of Thatcherism: Assessing and Exploring Thatcherite Social and Economic Policies, ed. Stephen Farrall and Colin Hay. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Garland, David. 2001. The Culture of Control. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gilroy, Paul, and Joe Simm. 1985. Law, Order and the State of the Left. Capital & Class 9 (1): 15–55. Grasso, Maria. 2014. Age-Period-Cohort Analysis in a Comparative Context: Political Generations and Political Participation Repertoires. Electoral Studies 33: 63–76. Grasso, Maria, Stephen Farrall, Emily Gray, Colin Hay, and Will Jennings. 2017. Thatcher’s Children, Blair’s Babies, Political Socialisation and Trickle-Down Value-Change: An Age, Period and Cohort Analysis. British Journal of Political Science. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0007123416000375. ———. 2018. Socialisation and Generational Political Trajectories: An Age, Period and Cohort Analysis of Political Participation in Britain. Journal of Elections, Public Opinion, and Parties 29 (2): 199–221. Gray, Emily, Maria Grasso, Stephen Farrall, Will Jennings, and Colin Hay. 2018. Political Socialization, Worry about Crime and Antisocial Behaviour: An Analysis of Age, Period and Cohort Effects. The British Journal of Criminology 59 (2): 435–460. Hale, Chris. 1996. Fear of Crime: A Review of the Literature. International Review of Victimology 4: 79–150. Hall, Stuart. 1979. The Great Moving Right Show. Marxism Today, January. Hall, Stuart, Chas Critcher, Tony Jefferson, John Clarke, and Brian Roberts. 1978. Policing the Crisis: Mugging, the State and Law. London: Macmillan. Hay, Colin. 1996. Re-stating Social and Political Change. Milton Keynes: Open University Press. Heffernan, Richard. 2000. New Labour and Thatcherism. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Jennings, Will, Stephen Farrall, and Shaun Bevan. 2012. The Economy, Crime and Time: An Analysis of Recorded Property Crime in England & Wales 1961–2006. International Journal of Law, Crime and Justice 40 (3): 192–210. Jennings, Will, Emily Gray, Colin Hay, and Stephen Farrall. 2015. Collating Longitudinal Data on Crime, Victimization and Social Attitudes in England and Wales: A New Resource for Exploring Long-Term Trends in Crime. British Journal of Criminology 55 (5): 1005–1015. Loader, Ian. 2008. The Anti-politics of Crime. Theoretical Criminology 12 (3): 399–410. Mannheim, Karl. 1928. The Problem of Generations. In Essays on the Sociology of Knowledge, Karl Mannheim, edited and translated by Paul Kecskemeti. London: Routledge.

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Markus, Gregory B. 1983. Dynamic Modeling of Cohort Change: The Case of Political Partisanship. American Journal of Political Science 27 (4): 717–739. Morgan, Nick. 2014. The Heroin Epidemic of the 1980s and 1990s and Its Effect on Crime Trends—Then and Now. Research Report 79. London: Home Office. Neundorf, Anja, and Richard Niemi. 2014. Beyond Political Socialization: New Approaches to Age, Period, Cohort Analysis. Electoral Studies 33: 1–6. O’Brien, Robert. 2015. Age-Period-Cohort Models. Approaches and Analyses with Aggregate Data. Florida: CRC Press. Office for National Statistics. (2013). Ward-level Mid-year Population Estimates (Experimental): Mid 2011 (Census Based). London: ONS. Pierson, Paul. 2004. Politics in Time. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Pyle, David, and Derek Deadman. 1994. Crime and the Business Cycle in Post-­ War Britain. British Journal of Criminology 34 (3): 339–357. Russell, Andrew, Ron Johnston, and Charles Pattie. 1992. Thatcher’s Children: Exploring the Links between Age and Political Attitudes. Political Studies 40 (4): 742–756. Ryder, Norman B. 1965. The Cohort as a Concept in the Study of Social Change. American Sociological Review 30: 843–861. Smets, Kaat, and Anja Neundorf. 2014. The Hierarchies of Age-Period-Cohort Research: Political Context and the Development of Generational Turnout Patterns. Electoral Studies 33: 41–51. Stiglitz, Joseph E. 2002. Globalization and Its Discontents. New  York: W. W. Norton. Tilley, James. 2002. ‘Political Generations and Partisanship in the UK’, 1964–1997. Journal of the Royal Statistical Society, Series A (Statistics in Society) 165.1: 121-135. Tilley, James, and Geoff Evans. 2014. Ageing and Generational Effects on Vote Choice. Electoral Studies 33: 19–27. The Conservative Party. (1979). Conservative General Election Manifesto 1979. London: The Conservative Party. The Labour Party. (1997). Manifesto of the Labour Party for the General Election: New Labour Because Britain Deserves Better. London: The Labour Party. Thelen, Kathleen. 2004. How Institutions Evolve: The Political Economy of Skills in Germany, Britain, the United States and Japan. New  York: Cambridge University Press. Walker, Carole. 1993. Managing Poverty: The Limits of Social Assistance. London: Routledge. Walker, Alan, and Carole Walker. 1997. Britain Divided. London: Child Poverty Action Group.

CHAPTER 10

Margaret Thatcher and the Rhetorical Road to Brexit Andrew S. Roe-Crines

Following the United Kingdom’s departure from the European Union in January 2020, it is worth reconsidering whether Margaret Thatcher’s growing resistance to further integration with the European Economic Community (later the European Union) helped inspire a rhetorical narrative towards Brexit. This relationship has been suggested by Daddow, Gifford and Wellings who argue the Bruges speech especially has been ‘widely depicted to have instigated Britain’s drift towards Brexit’ (Daddow et al. 2019, 1). This chapter, therefore, examines the rhetorical narrative Daddow, Gifford & Wellings imply helped inspire moves towards Brexit, alongside Thatcher’s rhetorical interventions concerning the EEC/EU following her leadership. Other political actors across the political spectrum have played key roles in justifying Brexit, yet for Thatcher it was the importance of core conservative1 principles such as national sovereignty, its relationship with 1  Within the PCP itself the speech ‘transformed’ the debate surrounding Britain’s relationship with the European Community, ‘galvanised’ those who shared sceptical ideas about

A. S. Roe-Crines (*) University of Liverpool, Liverpool, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_10

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Westminster, preserving a specific conception of British identity, and a liberal attitude towards economic strategy which inspired her to adopt increasingly Eurosceptic attitudes in the latter years of her Premiership and after. Indeed, in conversation with Sir John Redwood, he reflected to me that: After office she moved further in the Eurosceptic direction, listening to people like Sir William Cash and myself warning her of the dangers of more power passing. The lady who had famously campaigned to stay in the EEC in 1975 in a jumper with the flags of the members on it became an important elder stateswoman in the Eurosceptic movement to stop Maastricht and Lisbon. She wanted to keep the UK out of the growing movement to full scale economic, monetary and political union and realised in her later years we needed to leave as it was far distant from the Common Market she had enthusiastically supported. (Redwood, January 2019)

To demonstrate Thatcher’s shift in rhetorical emphasis, this chapter positions her arguments within the broader traditions of conservative scepticism towards the UK’s membership of the European project(s). To do this, the chapter will first present a broad overview of the historical development of Conservative Euroscepticism, whilst positioning Thatcher and Thatcherism within it. To do so it will emphasise key points advanced by Hayton and Gamble that ‘Thatcherism was an attempt to restore the conditions of Conservative hegemony’ by emphasising ‘market liberalism as a dominant public philosophy’ (Hayton 2012, 9; Gamble 1994, 4). Then, drawing loosely from rhetorical methodological concepts,2 this chapter briefly considers the importance of Thatcher’s Bruges speech as a defining moment in the legitimisation of Euroscepticism within the Conservative Party, and from which many of the arguments used in Thatcher’s subsequent interventions flowed during the premierships of John Major, Tony Blair, and Gordon Brown. Over the course of her time in the House of Lords, we see a strengthening of her Eurosceptic continued integration, and legitimised their expression as part of a mainstream political dialogue (Turner 2000, 124). 2  The analytical approach of this chapter will be methodologically informed by the Aristotelian modes of persuasion (ethos, pathos, logos). Respectively, these refer to the character/credibility (ethos) of a speaker; to their use of emotional arguments (pathos); and to their use of statistical and/or empirical evidence (logos). This analytical approach has proven methodologically robust in the scholarship of Atkins et  al. (2014), Crines (2013, 2014), Hayton and Crines (2015), Finlayson (2012), and Toye (2013), amongst others.

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arguments, which galvanised those who shared similar attitudes towards European integration, thereby posing an intellectual and political challenge to those resisting calls for a referendum on UK membership of the European Union (hereafter the EU). Ultimately, those calls became irresistible (and politically impossible to ignore), thereby contributing towards a growing sense of Euroscepticism amongst Conservative Parliamentarians and the vote for the UK to leave the EU in 2016.

Thatcher and the Historical Development of Conservative Euroscepticism Moon (1985) identified three distinct elements of ‘anti-Europeanism’ that developed within the Conservatives Party since the 1950s (Moon 1985, 20). These are ‘anti-Europeans’ in the 1950s; ‘anti-Common Marketeers’ over the course of the 1960s and into the 1970s; and fully ‘Eurosceptics’ in the 1980s and, subsequently, throughout the 1990s and into the twenty-first century. More recently, Heppell et al. (2017) advanced a fourth category, that of ‘Eurorejectionists’ following the passing of the Lisbon Treaty without a referendum and the rise of the single issue Eurorejectionist UKIP in British politics (see also Heppell’s contribution to this volume). This category reflected the complete rejection of the European project because of the substantial challenge posed to the key tenets of British political sovereignty. It is also worth noting that running alongside these elements was the emergence of a shift in the character of the three European project(s)3 and the growing size of the European Community (Union).4 The early yet simple ambitions of greater economic cooperation had given way to integration in a range of other areas such as political, social, and more recently in areas of defence. The long tradition of growing anti-Europeanism before Thatcher’s leadership provides something of a political and historical tradition. For  Common Market; European Economic Community; European Union.  In 1957, Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands signed the Treaty of Rome. In 1973, Denmark, Ireland, the United Kingdom and Greenland joined (Greenland later left in 1985 following a dispute over fishing rights; and the UK left in 2019 following a vote in 2016 over concerns regarding uncontrolled immigration and excessive integration beyond economic spheres). Further expansions occurred when Greece joined in 1981, Portugal and Spain in 1986, Austria, Finland, and Sweden in 1995, Cyprus, the Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Malta, Poland, Slovakia, and Slovenia in 2004, Bulgaria and Romania 2007 and Croatia 2013. 3 4

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example, Anthony Eden noted in 1952 that ‘we know in our bones we cannot’ commit to Europe because ‘Britain’s story and her interests lie far beyond the continent of Europe’ (Eden 1960, 36). This reflects a more global-facing character due to the Empire within the British character that would be constrained by overly linking its economy to a relatively small number of European countries with diverse economic needs. In 1951 the Conservative Party had committed in their manifesto to maintaining strong ties with Britain’s imperial holdings and the growing Commonwealth of Nations. Indeed, it argued that the Conservatives will protect ‘the safety, progress and cohesion of the British Empire and Commonwealth of Nations’ given ‘in our home market the Empire producer will have place second only to the home producer’ (Craig 1975, 168–9). In terms of British foreign and economic policy, the Conservatives were clear in their commitment to Britain beyond Europe. However, the subsequent attempt of the Macmillan administration to seek entry into the Common Market was felt by the majority of the electorate to be a ‘betrayal’ of this manifesto commitment (Social Survey—Gallop Poll, 1966). Despite the importance of global trade and a close relationship with the Commonwealth, the greatest concern of the anti-European tendency concerned sovereignty. Those who supported economic integration with the emerging Common Market argued that ‘supranatural European authority was consistent with British political traditions’ (Fontana and Parsons 2015, 90). This was because they believed it extended sovereignty beyond the limits of Parliamentary authority by providing a voice in Europe. Yet, the nature of the sovereignty of Westminster rejects ‘federal or shared power’ outside their territorial boundaries of sovereign power, thereby the preservation of sovereignty stands out ‘as the deepest rule of British politics’ (ibid.) which cannot be extended. Should an attempt to do so be made, then the surrendering of sovereignty to an external body loses sovereign power ‘of which they would have no control’ (Garry 1995). Moon (1985) argues for anti-Europeans, this represents a fundamental flaw in the process of pooling sovereignty given it loses sovereign power. The economic rewards are, for those who defend sovereignty, inadequate. Most importantly, the loss of sovereignty also limits the authority of Westminster within its own domestic territory. This is because the power to make decisions over how it is governed would rest with an external body, rather than with Parliamentary representatives selected by the voters to govern. The longer-term impact of this would be the perceived dilution of British nationhood and the risk posed to national British identities

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(English, Scottish, Welsh, Northern Irish, as well as regional identities). Given these issues, the strands of Euroscepticism reject the process of integration because of the substantive risks they pose not just to domestic policy and the authority of Westminster, but also by the transfer of sovereign power and the ability to maintain autonomous rule. In terms of the Parliamentary Conservative Party (PCP) itself, such anti-Common Market sentiments were historically in the minority (Crowson 2007, 124). This remained the case when Thatcher became the Conservative Party leader in 1975 and during the first referendum on the UK’s continued membership (whereby she campaigned to remain a member). Within the PCP, the Anti-Common Market League was a minor faction with only 11% of PCP members (Crowson 2007, 165) and in 1972, only 12% of the PCP rebelled against the passage of the European Communities Act (Crowson 2007, 124). In contrast to this, approximately 200 members of the PCP were associated with the ‘Conservative Group for Europe’, thereby representing a far stronger pro-Common Market voice at a time when Thatcher’s profile was in the ascendency (ibid.). However, this pro-European tendency of the Conservative Party leadership would become more reflective of Eurosceptic backbench opinion over the course of Thatcher’s leadership. She, however, did not become a Eurorejectionist whilst Prime Minister. Despite this a shift in tone can be identified by the language used to describe Britain’s relationship with the Common Market within the Conservative Party manifesto between 1964 and 1983 and the period thereafter. Over the course of Heath and Thatcher’s early leadership, the manifesto was broadly positive towards the Common Market, whilst after 1983 it became more sceptical about continued participation within an increasingly integrationist group (Stevens 2012). A key moment during the development of Thatcher’s Euroscepticism (and her eventual delivery of her highly critical speech at Bruges) was the negotiation and passage of the Single European Act (SEA). Superficially, Thatcher’s support for the passage of the SEA appeared to demonstrate support for an integrationist process. Some argued this demonstrated a ‘schizophrenic attitude towards Europe’ (Gowland 2016, 102) that sought further autonomy and integration simultaneously. In this instance Crowson (2007, 51) mischaracterises her as a ‘willing participant’ in supporting continued integration. However, this needs to be contextualised by the different priorities of the (then) President of the European

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Commission, Jacques Delors, and Thatcher. For Thatcher, the SEA represented an opportunity to push Europe towards a more economically liberal approach that would benefit the UK economy. This was her primary ambition. She saw this as a ‘convergence of economic policy across Europe with that of the British Conservative Party’ which would transform Europe into a free market ‘global hegemonic project’ (Gifford 2008, 89–94). However it was only after the passage of the SEA through Parliament when the extent of Delors’ preference for further integration became clear. The elements of economic liberalisation within the Act were seen by Delors and other European federalists to be a ‘means to an end’ who used these to ensure ‘the British guard was lowered’ (Gifford 2008, 89). Indeed, Delors ensured that because Thatcher ‘believed her free market agenda had been victorious’ she had ‘underestimated the expansionist elements’ of the Act (ibid.). For Delors, the Act represented an opportunity to shift emphasis away from liberal economic prosperity and towards the social integrationist dimension of the European project (Geddes 2005, 123). When speaking to me in January 2019, Sir John Redwood reflected on this, saying I first broached the problem of accruing power in the EEC when as Margaret Thatcher’s Chief Policy Advisor the drafts of the Single European Act came before the government. I recommended strongly that we did not sign away the veto over a wide range of issues. I pointed out how the development of a common market was being used as cover for a large legislative programme to strengthen Europe’s powers. Margaret was persuaded by the Foreign Office nonetheless to sign it. It was some time later that she came to understand how the power grab by the EEC was not? necessarily part of promoting a freer trading bloc. The push for monetary union alerted her to the imperial aims of the EU and led to the Bruges speech.

For Thatcher, ‘the greater my frustration and the deeper my anger became’ (Thatcher 1993a, 743) when the true extent of the integrationist agenda became clear. Whilst Thatcher had secured victories for the expansion of free market economics across Europe, the implementation of the free market principles was largely ignored by individual European countries. This further inflamed Thatcher’s attitude towards the European project. It was within this context that Thatcher’s anger was translated into the development of her speech to the College of Europe in Bruges. It was the

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speech which transformed the nature of Euroscepticism within the Conservative Party and began the long push for the UK to withdraw entirely from the European project, as suggested by Daddow et al. (2019). The shift represented a transformation in the language used by Eurosceptic conservatives (within the Conservative Party and beyond) towards Europhiles. Delors was seen to have successfully transformed the character of Europe away from the ideals that made it appealing to economically liberal-minded Conservatives. Indeed, the transformation produced a community that had more in common with those who advocated social democratic interventionist policies and the micromanagement of individual economies. Consequently, those Conservatives who remained supportive of the project were seen to be ‘complicit’ with the ideological agenda pushed by Delors (Geddes 2005, 125; Gifford 2008, 96). Such a shift became a key splinter within Conservative thinking on Europe, which Thatcher sought to highlight during her Bruges speech. Indeed, it would be a speech that demonstrated her full ‘awakening to the European threat’ (Crowson 2007, 53) and the subsequent shift towards mainstreaming Euroscepticism within the Parliamentary Conservative Party (Crines et al. 2016, 100–4).

Transforming Euroscepticism As suggested, Thatcher’s speech at the College of Europe was a defining moment in the development of Euroscepticism within British political discourse. An indication of the significance of her speech can be garnered by the reaction from Cabinet colleagues. For example, Thatcher’s Chancellor of the Exchequer, Nigel Lawson, reflected in his memoirs that she had ‘said a number of things that needed to be said… in a perfectly reasonable manner’ (Lawson 1992, 907). He reflected that Thatcher’s argument was ‘truer to her own feelings’ given she had become ‘intensely hostile’ to the integrationist directions of travel pursued by Delors and the European federalists. In contrast to Lawson, Thatcher’s Foreign Secretary, Geoffrey Howe, argued that the speech ‘veered between caricature and misunderstanding’ of the European project (Howe 1994, 539), having previously considered her to be pro-European given her support for membership of the Common Market in 1975 and advocacy of the Single European Act. In terms of the broader party, Edward Heath attacked Thatcher for ‘her increasingly emotional public behaviour’ (Heath 1998, 707) whilst defending the European project given ‘the aim was, and remains, ever

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closer political union [and] there is nothing sinister in the means for bringing this about being particularly economic’ (ibid.). The future challenger for her leadership of the Conservatives, Michael Heseltine, argued that ‘the Bruges speech was designed to draw a line in the sand, or to erect a kind of political Maginot Line to prevent any further advance of what she saw as socialist European centralism. The speech attracted enthusiastic support from her likeminded colleagues and admirers. It sent a chill of despair down the spines of many others’ (Heseltine 2000, 348). Heseltine’s characterisation of the impact of the speech highlights elements of the splinter that emerged following its domestic reception. It is important to ask, therefore, why the speech had such an impact upon the Party and the subsequent legacy of the speech in the development and legitimisation of Euroscepticism over the course of the subsequent decades. Insights into the development of the speech have recently been made available within the archives held by the Margaret Thatcher Foundation and at Churchill College, University of Cambridge. These archives shine light onto the drafting, amending, and redrafting of the speech. The correspondence and other documents available in the archives enable readers to see how the speech was influenced by various political actors within the Cabinet Office, the Foreign Office, and within the European Commission. As such this section presents an answer to the above question using the materials available at the aforementioned archives. Having been invited to speak by the Rector of the College of Europe in April 1988, Geoffrey Howe was initially hesitant. He argued that ‘I do not think we should sell the idea too hard’ (Wall 1988) but that if the speech was to occur then the Prime Minister should ‘outline the reforms we have secured within the Community’ whilst ‘bringing Britain’s economic success to the attention of a wider European audience’ (Parker 1988). Despite this caution (and after due deliberation) Charles Powell (Thatcher’s Private Secretary for Foreign Affairs) confirmed that the speech would go ahead. Whilst Howe and the Foreign Office sought to ensure the speech focused on celebrating British economic success, other influential figures around Thatcher such as Hugh Thomas (Chair of the Centre for Policy Studies) instead argued for a speech that sought to reconceptualise Europe outside of the confines of the European Community. To do this, he argued that ‘ever since the Middle Ages we have known that Europe should be united (or re-united)’ as a broad aspiration, however ‘the trouble has been that the previous efforts at “collaboration” would always have resulted in

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the dominance of a single power’ (Thomas 1988). As such Thomas sought for the speech to attack the concept of an increasingly federalised Europe, whilst emphasising that integration was the product of an idealised group who finished ‘their original thinking thirty or more years ago’ (ibid.). Thatcher’s Political Secretary, John Whittingdale, also believed the speech should attack the concept of federalism by arguing that the UK would not ‘benefit if the world as a whole were to move ultimately towards a world of united continents’ (Whittingdale 1988). However, these positions were contested by the Foreign Office, who instead highlighted the ‘virtue of the Treaty of Rome’ given ‘it allows of expansion of liberty against might of member states’ whilst arguing that ‘moving from one market to unified market of 12 countries [is] no simple matter’ (Harrison 1988). This represented a core splinter within Whitehall on the purpose of the speech and how the speech could/should be utilised. These debates framed the development of the speech over the two months preceding its delivery, but it was an intervention by Delors that further inflamed Thatcher’s hostility towards a federal European project. Whilst addressing the European Parliament in July 1988, Delors suggested that ‘within ten years … 80 per cent of economic legislation, and perhaps social and taxation legislation, would be made by the European Community’ (Delors 1988) and that ‘full cooperation between the European Parliament and the national Parliaments in stepping up the organisation of conferences and other meetings to give thought to the institutional framework of the future’ (ibid.). A core element of Delors’ message was to decide ‘which matters can best be dealt with at Community, national, and regional levels respectively’ (ibid.). This speech was designed to restate his beliefs that the future of the European project was one of an integrationist, federal project with Brussels as the central player. This was ‘an anathema’ to Thatcher (Moore 2015, 392), who subsequently gave an interview to BBC Radio 2 arguing that European leaders needed to focus on making ‘Europe less theoretical and more practical’ whilst attacking those ‘who spend far too much time talking about these airy-fairy ideas’, that Delors was simply ‘wrong’ and that ‘he went over the top and I do not think he should have said it’ (Thatcher 1988). Thatcher would later attack Delors for delivering a similar speech to the Trade Union Congress, which she described as ‘intolerable political interference’ (Wall 2008, 78) in British politics. Ultimately, Thatcher would be influenced more by her ideological allies, thereby pushing the Foreign Office to the side-lines in the drafting process of the speech.

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Rhetorically, this was an epideictic speech which drew upon her performative skills as an emotive (pathos-led) orator (Crines et al. 2016, 159–60). This rhetorical approach can be defined as a ‘tendency towards apportioning blame or praise’ through ‘construction of binary opposites’ in which ‘her view was right and her opponents wrong’ (ibid.). From these rhetorical positions, Thatcher delivered her speech from a position of strength. This was partly granted by her position as Prime Minister, but also an impressive record of ideological domestic victories in a range of fields. For example, the re-shaping of the British economy (particularly industrial relations); foreign policy (victory in the Falklands conflict); and her record of electoral victories in 1979, 1983, and 1987 (Butler and Kavanagh 1992). The core of her message to the College was that ‘things are going our way: the democratic model of a free enterprise society has proved itself superior; freedom is on the offensive, a peaceful offensive the world over, for the first time in my life-time’ (Thatcher 1988). For Thatcher, it was a model that Europe should seek to adopt. To solicit a degree of support for her message she initially used humour to remind her audience that ‘if you believe some of the things said and written about my views on Europe, it must seem rather like inviting Genghis Khan to speak on the virtues of peaceful coexistence’ (ibid.). This simultaneously strengthened her rhetorical ethos as a strong figure (the linkage to Genghis Khan being key) who must be listened to given her character. A further element of her message was that the ‘British are as much heirs to the legacy of European culture as any other nation’ (ibid.). This aimed to conceptually divorce Europe from the European Community thereby enabling her to argue the integrationists mischaracterise the political project with a mono-European identity. Indeed, she highlighted this by arguing that ‘Europe is not the creation of the Treaty of Rome. Nor is the European idea the property of any group or institution’ and that ‘the European Community is one manifestation of that European identity, but it is not the only one’ (ibid.). She also warned that Europe ‘never will prosper as a narrow-minded, inward-looking club’ and the Community should not be constructed as an ‘institutional device to be constantly modified according to the dictates of some abstract intellectual concept’ (ibid.). Thatcher also attacked the federalist concept by arguing that countries being ‘closely together does not require power to be centralised in Brussels or decisions to be taken by an appointed bureaucracy’ (ibid.). Finally, she also reminded her audience that the best way forward was ‘willing and

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active co-operation between independent sovereign states’ given it would be ‘the best way to build a successful European Community’ (ibid.). Her message attacked the European concept as outlined twice by Delors over the course of the summer. Her contrasting vision was for ‘Europe [to] be a family of nations, understanding each other better, appreciating each other more, doing more together but relishing our national identity no less than our common European endeavour’ (ibid.). This was because ‘Europe will be stronger precisely because it has France as France, Spain as Spain, and Britain as Britain, each with its own customs, traditions and identity’ and ‘it would be folly to try to fit them into some sort of identikit European personality’ (ibid.). In contrast to Delors’ vision, she sought to present an alternative vision for the European Community that rejected federalism and emphasised economic liberalism and national sovereignty. Indeed, she believed that European cooperation would best be achieved by reframing the debates around liberty, liberal economics, and personal responsibility. To do this she argued that ‘if Europe is to flourish and create the jobs of the future, enterprise is the key … The basic framework is there: the Treaty of Rome itself was intended as a Charter for Economic Liberty. But that it is not how it has always been read, still less applied. The lesson of the economic history of Europe in the 70s and 80s is that central planning and detailed control do not work and that personal endeavour and initiative do’ (ibid.). This message reflected the economic changes that were taking place in the UK which had reshaped assumptions about the British economy. She also reminded her audience that a ‘state-controlled economy is a recipe for low growth’ and that the role of government was to ‘widen choice’, ‘reduce government intervention’, and pursue trade policies ‘the European consumer wants’ given ‘they will widen his choice and lower his costs’ (ibid.). Consequently, Thatcher’s alternative vision for the Community was to focus on such ‘basic practical steps’ (ibid.) and ‘to deregulate and to remove the constraints on trade’ (ibid.). Her most famously quoted line—‘we have not successfully rolled back the frontiers of the state in Britain, only to see them re-imposed at a European level, with a European super-state exercising a new dominance from Brussels’—represented a central core to her economic arguments. Indeed, she also argued that ‘it is ironic that just when those countries such as the Soviet Union, which have tried to run everything from the centre, are learning that success depends on dispersing power and decisions away from the centre, there are some in the Community who seem to want to move in the opposite direction’ (ibid.).

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The impact of the speech laid the foundations for the Eurosceptic arguments she and others would later use whilst no longer Prime Minister. These arguments matured within the various Eurosceptic groups within British politics between 1988 and 2019. A core element of the domestic impact of the speech was also in how it would be reported by the British print media. The Daily Mail led with ‘Maggie makes Europe mad’ (The Daily Mail 1988, 1), that ‘Britannia in Bruges’ had thrown the ‘Common Market into turmoil’ and that ‘she would never allow Britain to be submerged into a United States of Europe’ (ibid.). The Guardian described Thatcher as ‘De Gaulle re-incarnate’ through a ‘resonant performance that pulled out all the stops’ against ‘those who want ultimately to see a United States of Europe’ (Palmer 1988, 1). The Times reflected this point by arguing that ‘so long as Mrs Thatcher lived and breathed in Downing Street there would be no United State of Europe’ (The Times 1988, 1). The Telegraph reported that she would oppose federalism by defending British parliamentary sovereignty. Simon Heffer characterised the audience as ‘ambassadors, academics, market officials and senior military men’ who ‘listened in total silence and their applause was merely respectful’ (Heffer 1988, 1). Yet it was The Sun which captured the mood and consolidated the narrative attitude of the press reaction with ‘We Stay British’ (The Sun 1988). Given The Sun enjoyed a substantial readership, it would be instrumental in constructing a bolder narrative of Euroscepticism. Such was the impact of the speech that Daddow described it as the moment when a shift in attitude had taken place between ‘permissive consensus’ and towards ‘dissent’ (Daddow 2012, 1221). Within the PCP itself the speech ‘transformed’ the debate surrounding Britain’s relationship with the European Community, ‘galvanised’ those who shared sceptical ideas about continued integration, and legitimised their expression as part of a mainstream political dialogue (Turner 2000, 124). The speech acted as the starting point of an overt splinter of opinion that would texture the divisions within the Conservative Party under John Major’s leadership. Thatcher’s emphasis on sovereignty and the challenge posed to the concept of Europe being advanced by federalists would become fundamental elements of Euroscepticism that transcended economic argument. A consequence for the PCP would be the accelerated decline of pro-European opinion. In addition Eurosceptic opinion would become solidified and legitimised with the emergence of think tanks such as the Bruges Group. Within this context, Thatcher’s speech deepened

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longstanding divisions within the Conservative Party over Britain and Europe, thus creating a receptive audience for her arguments after she stood down as Prime Minister.

Thatcher’s Post-Premiership Eurosceptic Rhetoric Outside of the House of Commons, Thatcher was afforded opportunities to use her position as a former Prime Minister to push forward arguments over UK membership of the European Union on a range of other platforms. She was no longer constrained by the protocols, duties, or concerns of the office of Prime Minister. Nor was she as concerned with the need to maintain unity within the Conservative Party, given she was no longer leader. Therefore she was able to make arguments in a more forceful manner which hitherto may have been unadvisable for electoral and/or concerns over party unity. Given her profile she remained a very significant voice within the Conservative Party and continued to enjoy the support of MPs who felt her departure was a consequence of the growing discontent in the Party towards Europe. The manner of her departure had left a bitter taste in the mouths of her supporters. Events such as the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM) crisis appeared to validate her view that economic integration was likely to be more disruptive than more sympathetic pro-EU voices had suggested. As a broader observation, she continued to inspire Eurosceptic sentiment in the House of Commons and beyond from her position within the House of Lords, particularly in the face of the pro-EU Conservative leadership led by John Major and his difficulties over the passage of the Maastricht Treaty, the creation of the No Turning Back Group, and the formation of the Referendum Party. These gave a sense of validation to those who believed the European project was overreaching its original objectives, and also the broader issues Major faced over party management. These culminated in the 1995 leadership challenge5 and the subsequent consequences of leading a divided party until the 1997 general 5  The 1995 Conservative Leadership election was initiated when John Major resigned as party leader following rumours of a potential leadership challenge. He stood on a ticket of ‘put up or shut up’ on his leadership style and attitude towards European integration. John Redwood emerged as a main challenger, who Major beat after securing the support of 66% of the Parliamentary party. Major remained formally unchallenged for the leadership for the remainder of his Premiership.

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election. The divisions remained problematic for each of the subsequent party leaders. As a member of the Lords, Thatcher used the authority of her position and of being a former Prime Minister to deliver a number of speeches, interviews, and articles that expressed her growing discontent towards European integration. In such speeches, she continued her Eurosceptic themes that she emphasised in her Bruges speech. For example, in 1992 she delivered a speech where she opposed further integration with Europe by arguing ‘we will have more harmonious relationships between the states of Europe if they continue to have room to make their own decisions and to follow their own interests’ (Thatcher 1992a). At a time when the Cold War had recently ended and Germany had re-united, here Thatcher is arguing that greater autonomy is vital to ensure that the post-­ Soviet world avoids the trap of too much integration with large international bodies. Indeed, that space is vital if relations between individual states are to be politically harmonious, thereby curtailing the risk of resentment that closer union may bring. Thatcher was also by no means squeamish about conflating the problem with other ideologies that have led to military conflict. For example, she later argued in Korea that ‘large numbers of less desirable ‘isms’ have come and gone—fascism and communism among them: they will not be missed. And if Socialism and European Federalism joined them soon I would be even more pleased’ (Thatcher 1992b). Here Thatcher is using pathos-led (emotive) arguments to conflate the European project with dangerous utopian ideologies that have led to the deaths of millions. This demonstrates Thatcher’s belief the risk of large-scale integration of nations and the impact on democratic accountability was highly undesirable in the maintenance of global stability. The further institutions are from those who are being governed, the less likely it is to remain democratic. Thus for Thatcher comparing European Federalism with fascism and communism was a warning that so-called ‘ever closer union’ was a risky trajectory that produces an undesirable democratic deficit. Rhetorically, Thatcher also drew upon logos (empirical evidence) to demonstrate the economic benefits of a looser connection with Europe. Indeed, during a speech entitled ‘The Principles of Thatcherism’, she argued ‘whereas Britain lagged behind other European Community countries in the 1960s and 1970s, in the 1980s our economy grew faster than all of them’ and that ‘three and a quarter million jobs were created between March 1983 and March 1991—a bigger increase than in any other

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European Community country. And living standards grew to record levels: not just for the rich or even the not-so-rich but for those on average earnings and indeed on half average earnings’ (Thatcher 1992b). She continued by making the argument that ‘in spite of having to face down a year-long coal strike in 1984 the total number of strikes fell sharply’ (ibid.). These logos-based arguments aim to highlight the successes of economic liberalisation in contrast to growing European collectivisation and strive to texture her ideological principles with an evidence-based foundation to legitimise its conclusion—i.e., that the EU was holding back economic prosperity. This is designed to not just critique collectivist economic ideals, but to argue despite highly visible displays of protest the longer-term trajectory of the British economy was a story of improvement. Indeed, she went to argue ‘a further reason for our failure to keep control of inflation was that we shadowed the Deutschemark, pursuing exchange rate stability at the expense of monetary discipline’ (ibid.). Here Thatcher is striving to convince her audience that economic problems following the 1987 crash was the result of European policy making, rather than the decisions of Treasury, and that economic improvements were possible when sterling was disconnected from the shadowing of European currencies. Given the debates Major was having with his Cabinet and the PCP at the time the speech was delivered, her intervention was designed to provide succour to those pursuing Eurosceptic positions against the then Prime Minister. During her Bruges speech, Thatcher made clear her positions over national identity and civic pride. This was a theme she returned to after her time as Prime Minister. This was because, for Thatcher, national pride was very close to her heart. Indeed, she described this as ‘the pride we all feel in our own nations’ (ibid.). As noted during her Bruges speech, European nations each have a deep sense of pride in their identity which, for Thatcher, was threatened by the EU and closer integration. When outlining her ideological position, she argued ‘an attempt to create a European super-­ state out of the present nation states of the European Community would fuel nationalism and risk conflict’ (ibid.). This was a warning that one of the core principles of the European project risked creating the very backlashes that it aimed to prevent. Rhetorically, this was a pathos-driven argument that was designed to instil a sense of urgency in her message. Indeed, she continued by arguing that ‘true internationalism consists of co-­ operation between nations: the false internationalism, of which we see too many signs today [in Europe], attempts to multiply international bureaucracies while paralysing international action’ (ibid.). This was an attempt

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to reframe the ideas of international co-operation around the importance of enduring sovereign states. Within this context, for Thatcher the EU was becoming excessively bureaucratic, undemocratic, and a risk to European peaceful cooperation. This was because she believed (and inspired others to believe) that the project had gone well beyond the original remit of economic cooperation (certainly following the passing of the Single European Act, and then the Maastricht Treaty) and more towards political and cultural harmonisation between several incompatible states that lacked a shared history.6 In terms of the internal ideological debates, under the Major leadership there had been a sense that ‘Thatcherism’ as a brand had become electorally problematic. The abandonment of the Poll Tax, closer (but not close) industrial relations with trade unions, and a more collective style of government gave the impression of a break from Thatcher’s style of leadership. Kenneth Clarke described the shift in leadership style as ‘Thatcherism with a human face’ (Blake 2011). It also appeared to signal a return to more of a One Nation7 style of Conservatism and that Thatcherism as a governing style (if not as an economic approach) was consigned to history. In terms of Europe, this change of approach would be expressed by fostering closer relations with EU in the post-Maastricht period, and that whilst eschewing social policy,8 that closer connection would allow the UK to influence the continued development of the EU. However, for Thatcher, this was an intellectually disingenuous strategy. During her Keith Joseph Memorial Lecture entitled ‘Liberty and Limited Government’ in 1996, she argued that ‘as far as I can tell by their views on European federalism, such people’s creed would be better described as ‘No Nation Conservatism’ (Thatcher 1996). ‘No Nation Conservatism’ is the absence of sovereignty needed to be an independent state. She also argued that any government ‘embracing European federalism—through the European social chapter and, above all, the European single currency—could deal a terminal blow to the traditions of British parliamentary democracy’ (ibid.). These arguments represent the core of what Thatcher believed the UK should be. Indeed, the European project 6  The subsequent passing of the Treaty of Amsterdam (1997); Treaty of Nice (2001); and Treaty of Lisbon (2007) continued the integrationist processes. 7  One Nation Conservatism, broadly defined, aims to highlight the economic and social problems of a heavily divided society between rich and poor, and poses solutions that demonstrate responsibilities between social classes. 8  John Major’s government opted out of the Social Chapter of the Maastricht Treaty.

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signified a slow yet clear tendency towards the embrace of more government by design, whilst ‘the limitation of government is still the great issue of British politics because of the European Union’ (ibid.). This was a point she sought to strongly emphasise, arguing ‘the main challenge to limited government comes not from within these shores at all, but rather beyond them—from the European Union’ (ibid.). For Thatcher, the EU was no longer about trade, rather it was itself a form of ‘nation-building’ which would have its own legal system, defence, and currency. She attacked these moves by arguing that ‘the European Court … is increasingly undermining our judicial system and the sovereignty of our Parliament’, that ‘proposals are being made for common European defence’, and that ‘most important, of course, is the proposed single European currency which, as John Redwood has argued, would be a major step on the way to a single European nation’ (ibid.). For Thatcher, what was once a ‘common market’ had now adopted the appearance of a new federalised nation that the UK had not agreed to be part of. It is also interesting to note that in her argument, she sent an implicit message to Major in 1996 that ‘the Prime Minister will have the support of all of us who wish to see these dangerous and damaging proposals resisted, and the present trends reversed, as he argues Britain’s case at the (then) forthcoming intergovernmental council. And we look forward to a successful outcome’ (ibid.). This acted as an instruction to oppose any of these moves, which represents a strong use of her rhetorical ethos. Thatcher’s interventions over the Major period were about sovereignty and power. This reflected the core messages of her Bruges speech. As a central point, she maintained that ‘vital as the issue of self-government is, it is limited government that concerns me today. For the European Union not only wishes to take away our powers; it wishes to increase its own.’ For Thatcher, the continuing growth of the EU’s powerbase comes at the expense of member-states who continue to integrate. She continued by arguing that ‘a common European citizenship and greatly expanded the remit of the European Commission, shows the outlines of the bureaucratic superstate which is envisaged, and Maastricht [was] the beginning, not the end of that process’ (ibid.). This use of pathos is an attempt to warn her audience of a broader trajectory of integration. The warning concerns what the EU was at the time of delivery, and what it intended on becoming into the twenty-first century. Again, this is because of the lack of visible accountability and the imposition of a single European identity through legislation and the transfer of sovereign power from

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member-states to itself. For Thatcher, this represented ‘the emergence of a whole new international political class’ that comprised of politicians who had, she argued, ‘failed in their own countries, and so have tried their luck overseas’ (ibid.). Thatcher criticised the Labour Party on this basis, arguing that ‘it is no surprise to me—as someone who always recognised the socialist destination of this Euro-federalist dream—that now the Labour Party welcomes it all so warmly’ (ibid.). For her, the EU was becoming a destination for socialists who have failed electorally at home. Indeed, ‘what they can’t achieve in an independent, free enterprise Britain, they can hope to secure in a Euro-federalist Britain, whose people’s instincts are ignored and whose parliamentary institutions are over-ridden’ (ibid.). This conflation of the EU with the aims of the Labour Party sought to galvanise Conservative opposition to both and to illustrate the ideological differences between conservatism and a seemingly socialist EU. She summarised these as ‘self-government, limited government, our laws, our Parliament, our freedom’ (ibid.). For Thatcher, these represented the core pillars of conservatism and that the EU was fundamentally incompatible with them. She continued by arguing that ‘if we Conservatives explain that [these pillars] are now in peril, they will not be lightly surrendered’ (ibid.). For Thatcher, this was very much a question of national survival as well as economic and political questions. This conflation was a position she continued pursuing into the 1997 general election.9 Although the Major government appeared to be taking the Party out of office following a turbulent Parliamentary term, Thatcher used her time campaigning for the Conservatives around the UK. Whilst speaking in Christchurch and Altershot in April 1997, she used a combination of logos and pathos to argue ‘I am for Britain. And I think we are giving too much to Europe. Our fish. 80 per cent of the fish bearing waters are ours, we only get 30 per cent of the fish. They export more goods to us than we do to them. We give them £10 billion year’ (Thatcher 1997). This argument aims to highlight the disparity in the relationship between the UK and the EU. She also sought to warn that Labour would push this relationship even further towards Europe. She argued that ‘within seven weeks of the election decisions will be taken in Europe at the Conference at Amsterdam between the heads of all governments which 9  During the 1997 general election, the Conservatives secured 30% of the vote; Labour secured 43%; and the Liberal Democrats secured 17%. Turnout was 71%.

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will decide our destiny. And it is important that everyone knows that and the Prime Minister has given a lead to say we are for a Europe of nation states’ (ibid.). This was a warning to whoever emerged as Prime Minister following the election that they would need to decide how the relationship between the UK and EU evolved into the twenty-first century. For Thatcher, the line given by Major would be the more effective given Tony Blair’s staunchly pro-EU position, which she believed would risk the future of the UK and its independence. Indeed, she continued by arguing that ‘a nation state to me means that you keep or recover your own Parliamentary sovereignty, you keep or recover your own legal sovereignty and you keep charge of your own financial affairs and currency’ (ibid.). Here Thatcher is suggesting that membership of the EU will not remain static, and that moves towards further integration will likely be undertaken by Brussels and that the UK should eschew such moves. Thatcher appeared at this point to have embraced a more Eurorejectionist perspective that would endorse a re-evaluation of the UK’s relationship with the EU, thereby necessitating a UK-wide referendum. Indeed, on Maastricht she argued that ‘I think that when one looks at the extent of the powers which are being handed over, it would be disgraceful if we denied them that opportunity’ to vote (Thatcher 1993b). She continued by arguing that ‘of course we can get a referendum up and running’ because ‘it is much better to accept that the referendum is an appropriate instrument the more powers go away, [and that] the more we have in fact to ask the people’ (ibid.). By 2007, this position had strengthened as seen by her calls for a referendum before the passing of the Lisbon Treaty by Gordon Brown. Here, Thatcher ‘wholeheartedly support[ed] The Sun’s campaign for a referendum on the new EU treaty’ because ‘the British people are being told that the changes in the Treaty are not important, that they are technical’ and that ‘we have either blocked or gained opt-­ outs in all the worst cases’ (Thatcher 2007). However, ‘we’ve heard it all before only to see more and more powers grabbed by Brussels’ (ibid.). She cautioned Brown not to ‘believe the assurances from Brussels’ because ‘they gave similar ones to me’ and that he should ‘be bold and let the British people have the final say’ (ibid.). Ultimately, the Treaty was passed without a referendum. The perception that the ‘Treaty is a blueprint for a European Constitution in all but name, a Constitution which has already been rejected’ remained a significant factor in the image of the EU painted by Eurorejectionists over the following years (ibid.), particularly in the preceding the Brexit referendum.

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Conclusions This chapter has demonstrated the validity of Daddow et al. (2019) assentation of a relationship between Thatcher’s Bruges speech and the growth of Euroscepticism. This was also confirmed by Sir John Redwood’s contention that Margaret Thatcher’s change of attitude towards the European project(s) in the latter years of her premiership was key given she was an important voice in inspiring a political trajectory and discourse that culminated in Brexit. This was because the forceful delivery of her speech to the College of Europe legitimised Euroscepticism as a mainstream position within Conservative Party politics and, through the response of the media, amongst political commentators and observers. Whilst she was no longer Prime Minister, her strengthening Euroscepticism and sympathies for an electoral test (by way of a national referendum) remained part of the UKs political discourse. Indeed, it was a position growing in rhetorical strength. As the EU continued to integrate, UK political leaders attempted to cool the perception of loss of sovereignty by securing opt-outs. Yet, the broader trajectory towards further integration alarmed Thatcher, particularly during the passage of the Lisbon Treaty. By this point, her Eurorejectionism was validated by the constitutional ambitions of the Treaty, and also the federal mentality of leading figures within Brussels. Consequently, when it was signed without an electoral test, those who Thatcher had inspired pushed further for a referendum on continued UK membership. The result of that referendum (a majority of the electorate voting for Brexit) was, as Redwood observed, the result of Thatcher focusing on the loss of sovereignty and national identity during her Bruges speech and again through her subsequent interventions. Thatcher was but a single voice in the road towards Brexit, yet she was an important one that inspired a new generation who conflate Eurorejectionism with the core principles of Thatcherism today—i.e., economic liberalism, defence of sovereignty, a global outlook whilst retaining a respect for the key tenets of British national identity.

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CHAPTER 11

Thatcher’s Legacy and Social Security Ruth Davidson

The abolition of want was a founding principle of the Beveridge Report. This would be achieved through a comprehensive and unified social insurance scheme which would ensure ‘giving in return for contributions benefits up to subsistence level, as of right and without means test’ (Beveridge 1942, para 10, 7). Despite being introduced to popular acclaim social insurance has not been able to retain the same positive sentiments that the public accord to other areas of the welfare state. Moreover, looking back from 2019 the system instigated by Beveridge has changed markedly. Michael Hill has argued that government support for the welfare state has always been ‘equivocal and complex’ and it is too easy to point to the Thatcher era as the sole facilitator of these changes (Hill 1993, 122). There had also been growing public concern at the generosity of state benefits. As Ben Jackson suggests, the late 1960s and 1970s heralded an ‘overture for the arrival of a new philosophy of social welfare … neo-liberalism’ (Jackson 2019, 148). Ideological challenges predating 1979, such as that from the Institute for Economic Affairs (IEA), were undergirded by long-standing grassroots Conservative opposition to an expansive welfare settlement. Indeed, the Heath administration saw a practical

R. Davidson (*) King’s College London, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_11

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expression of this with an increased emphasis on the means-test and conditionality which began to stretch the idea of benefits as a ‘right’. However, the Thatcher governments did see a more strident attitude to the role of the state which shaped the way debates around social security were framed. This chapter will consider how the Thatcher governments influenced developments in social security policy in the years after 1979, noting that change was underway before 1979. The Thatcher administrations were more cautious regarding the reform of social security than might be expected, often preferring a policy of attrition of benefits. However, the ‘moralising’ note that Margaret Thatcher injected into policy debates chimed with the incipient ideological challenge. The history of social security after Thatcher is one of a contraction of the safety net. The Thatcher governments normalised a public discourse of stigmatisation that set a pattern for the years following her administration. The New Labour governments, whilst much more responsive in tackling some issues, did not, or were not able to, counter these narratives. This chapter will conclude that the legacy of Thatcher is seen not only in a much more residualised social security regime but also a harsher public environment for those in need.

Beveridge: In Principle and Practice, 1948–1979 The basis of the British social security system was founded on the 1942 report Social Insurance and Allied Services written by Sir William Beveridge. There were three core elements: comprehensiveness, adequacy and universalism. Beveridge wanted his scheme to be comprehensive and that everyone should be covered for everything from the cradle to the grave. The idea of a national minimum level was an essential component that would prevent the return to the levels of poverty seen in the pre-war decades. The administration of this minimum at a national level would set a ‘safety net’ through which none would fall. The Beveridge scheme was, unlike many continental systems, based on a contributory insurance system. This social insurance fund would cover unemployment, sickness and pensions and one central scheme would replace the mix of insurance provisions in existence at the time. Beveridge recognised that that there would be groups of people unable to contribute because of illness, disability or caring duties. These would have to be helped by a mean-tested system, social assistance, albeit that he hoped these would be a small part of the overall number. Beveridge was also explicit that his insurance scheme

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could not be maintained without a national health service, a state commitment to encourage full employment and a universal family allowance (Timmins 2001, 17–25). On 5 July 1948 the scheme was launched, and, despite some criticism and some differences with to his original report, it was ‘Thanks mainly to Labour … universal and comprehensive, meaning a level of national unity on social policy that had never been tried before— or, indeed, since’ (Renwick 2017, 264). The Beveridge scheme, and the way it was implemented, had some underlying issues but, as Nicholas Timmins notes, between 1951 and 1964 social security, other than pensions, was one of the least controversial parts of the welfare system: ‘there was a real sense that the problem of “want” had been cracked’ (Timmins 2001, 192). Nonetheless, pressures were mounting. In the area of welfare this became especially marked after the ‘Rediscovery of Poverty’ in 1965 which fuelled the launch of new pressure groups demanding government action (Thane 2018, 268–9). For ‘universalists’ such as Richard Titmuss these issues required a ‘back to Beveridge’ approach (Lowe 2005, 161). The idea of ‘consensus’ before 1979 has been challenged (Robinson et al. 2017, 269–272). As Robinson et al. discuss, the 1970s saw a decline of deference and a politics of equality which was manifest in a range of social movements challenging the status quo (Robinson et al. 2017, 273). From the right there was an attack on universalism. In 1952, Iain Macleod and Enoch Powell defended the use of personal insurance and the means-test as the basis of welfare: “‘why should any social service be provided without a test of need?’” (Jones 1992, 48). Ewen Green has highlighted the hostility amongst rank and file Conservatives to excessive welfare spending dating back to the 1950s (Green 2006, 38). By the 1960s, the IEA was arguing for services to be purchased on the open market, supported by state subsidies if necessary. This, they believed, would increase personal responsibility and initiative (Lowe 2005, 161). There were challenges from the public as well. Research by the Conservative Party in 1968 reported the belief that people worked less hard because of social services and that three-quarters of the electorate thought that people who were unemployed should not get benefit unless they were prepared to do any job that was available. It also found that two-thirds of the electorate felt that means-tests were acceptable for rents and family allowances (Opinion Research Centre Report 1968, para. 11 and 12). The Heath administration marked a period where for the first time ‘targetting’ began to be publicly proposed as a solution to the cost of

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social security. The introduction of Family Income Supplement (FIS), a means-tested benefit for low-paid working families, reflected this shift in emphasis away from universal benefits (Thane 2018, 307). FIS was accompanied by increased means-testing of other benefits such as housing, school meals and clothing. These changes added to the complexity of the system and FIS introduced the ‘poverty trap’ which could see the takehome pay of low-paid workers fall after a pay rise (Lowe 2005. 158). By the late 1970s four million people were on means-tested Supplementary Benefit (SB). By 1976 there were 45 means-tested schemes (Alcock 1999, 208–9). Another break with past principles was that of the flat-rate minimum, which was, Beveridge envisaged, that contributions should be set at a flat rate and benefits paid out at a national minimum level. In 1973 budget constraints led Keith Joseph, the Secretary of State for Social Services, to increase pensioner and invalidity benefits more than sickness and unemployment benefits. For the first time long-term and short-term benefits were to be treated differently (Timmins 2001, 286). This period also saw increased vilification of the unemployed. In 1971 a committee on the Abuse of Social Security Benefits, the Fisher Committee, was set up by Joseph. Despite this committee finding no evidence of widespread abuse it concluded that ‘“substantial sums of money are misappropriated each year”’ (Golding and Middleton 1984, 235). Tony Lynes noted that the findings of the Fisher Committee were moderate but concluded that: ‘few people will read the report, compared with the very large numbers who will have seen the appointment of the Committee as confirmation of the belief that abuse of the system is rife’ (Lynes 1974, 79). The impact these changes would have on the collective social security model was noted at the time. A Child Poverty Action Group (CPAG) pamphlet concluded that ‘[this period] will become known as the age of redistribution of income to the rich’. They argued for redistribution not via selectivity but ‘in the Beveridge mould of benefits for whole groups of the population, rather than poor people within groups’ (Field 1972, 12). The Heath administration in this respect could be considered a precursor to the more overt attack on collectivism and redistribution that became manifest under Thatcher and after.

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The Challenge of Thatcherism In 1993 David Willetts, Thatcher’s health and social security advisor in the Downing Street policy unit, noted that Thatcher felt that an extensive a welfare state could ‘rot people’s moral fibre’ but that ‘she had no clear programme … People don’t realise it. But she was very cautious’ (Timmins 2001, 370). And in many respects the area of social security bears this out, the sort of radical moves envisaged by the IEA, amongst others, were not implemented under her administrations. But, as Shirley Letwin argues, for Thatcher there was a strong feeling that there had been an over-emphasis on the individual in society as needing ‘care’ which undermined the ‘vigorous virtues’, such as self-sufficiency and energy, and encouraged dependence (Letwin 1992, 32–5). We can see these values reflected in earlier speeches and articles by Thatcher. In a 1974 Daily Telegraph piece supportive of the Conservative manifesto’s promises on non-state pensions and house ownership, she noted that: ‘freedom is not just a passive ideal … It means freedom to act … to benefit from personal endeavour, to own property … [the] job of politicians is to create conditions in which that freedom can flourish’ (Thatcher 1974). In 1978 she argued: ‘What we offer is the true enfranchisement of the individual—and with it the responsibility, self-respect and robust independence’ (Thatcher 1978). Thatcher’s rhetoric was uncompromising: ‘Welfare benefits, distributed with little or no consideration of their effects on behaviour encouraged illegitimacy, facilitated the breakdown of families, and replaced incentives favouring work and self-reliance with perverse encouragement for idleness and cheating’ (Thatcher 2011, 8). In government some of this was put into practice. Her administrations began a programme of cuts and paring back that undermined the safety net. This was accompanied by a more overtly moralising rhetorical approach, emphasising the value of work and individual effort at the expense of those deemed to be ‘dependent’ or ‘work shy’. Cutting back benefit levels made savings, but it also allowed benefits to ‘wither on the vine’ as their value diminished. The first two social security bills in 1980 and 1981 saw: Child Benefit (CB) frozen, the earnings link for pensions removed, earnings related additions to unemployment and sickness benefits abolished, and other benefits, including invalidity benefits, cut by five per cent. By the early 1990s an ‘astronomic £43 billion’ more would have been paid in pensions between 1980 and 1992 had this link not been broken (Timmins 2001, 374). As Howard Glennerster

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notes, as the value of the state pension continued to fall it could become ‘an irrelevance and could be abolished’ (Glennerster 2000, 166). Overall pensions fell from 23 per cent to 15 per cent of average male earnings between 1981 and 1993. The value of Supplementary Benefit (SB) dropped from 61 per cent to 53 per cent of median earnings between 1978 and 1987 (Thane 2018, 355). The Fowler Review of Social Security, was a series of four reviews announced in 1984 as the biggest review into social security since Beveridge (Timmins 2001, 397) The 1986 Social Security Act, the product of this review process, which came into force in April 1988, introduced new benefits. Family Credit replaced FIS and Income Support (IS) replaced SB and a new scheme, the Social Fund (SF) was introduced alongside several other changes. However, despite an initial decline in the numbers on means-tested benefits, there was little impact on poverty overall, or indeed any budgetary savings (Glennerster 2000, 170–1). One significant change in the Fowler reviews was the SF.  The SF replaced a system of enforceable and appealable rules as one-off payments became, in most cases, loans awarded on a discretionary basis, furthermore the fund was cash limited and did run out of money (Lowe 2005, 344). This removed from the system a source of money for the very poor. One symbolic change in this review was the end of cradle to grave benefits as both the maternity grant and death grants were both abolished in favour of more generous, but means-tested, amounts for funerals and baby equipment. That their disappearance did not cause a stir indicates, as Timmins notes, the success of the ‘wither on the vine’ strategy (Timmins 2001, 402). Another example of the ‘wither on the vine’ approach to diminishing the levels of benefits can be seen when CB came under attack during the third Thatcher term, and it was frozen in three successive budgets: between 1979 and 1990 the value of CB had fallen in real terms by 21 per cent (Gilmour 1992, 129). Nigel Lawson’s 1988 budget cut CB: ‘This was another budget which blatantly favoured the rich, and since it coincided with cuts in unemployment benefit, housing benefit, and child benefit, it intensified the view that the Thatcher government was indifferent to increasing inequality’ (Cannadine 2017, 100). By 1990 the ‘poverty trap’ became still more severe. This period saw numbers in poverty increase from 5 million below the poverty line of household incomes below 60 per cent of average income 1980 to over 11 million in 1990 (Thane 2018, 366). Alongside the attrition of benefit levels, the Thatcher government attempted to transfer responsibilities away from the state and take people

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out of the system entirely. The Social Security and Housing Benefit Act 1982 made ‘Statutory Sick Pay’ the responsibility of the employer for the first eight weeks, albeit they could recoup much of this through National Insurance contributions. This was later increased to twenty-eight weeks (Glennerster 2000, 165–6). The right to housing benefit was restricted to those on incomes at the level of IS which saved £450 million annually (Lowe 2005, 343). In 1986 benefits for 16 to 25-year olds were reduced on the assumption that families could support them. Then, in 1988, IS was withdrawn from 16 to 18-year olds and CB from those not in in fulltime education or training. Students’ rights to claim benefits during vacations or to loans were also removed (Thane 2018, 384). All this increased dependence on families, some of which were unable to support their children (Thane 2018, 384). Despite all the above cuts the Thatcher years were not ones where the actual cost of social security declined significantly. But these changes were beginning to undermine the ideal of a collective, universal state. This was not only in practical terms but also through the rhetorical challenge to the ideals of Beveridge. A key refrain throughout this period was that of ‘why work’ or ‘work shy’ which reflected a belief that the benefit system encouraged dependency. Despite, as Timmins notes, cuts being made to the civil service, an exception was made for extra staff to tackle the ‘scrounging’ issue and the press made much of examples of such fraud: ‘A clear message was being delivered in all of this’ (Timmins 2001, 375). The 1983 Conservative Party manifesto explicitly notes that they had ‘clamped down firmly on fraud and abuse of social security’ (Conservative Party Manifesto 1983). Carol Walker notes that fears of scrounging were proven to be exaggerated as were the work disincentive effects of benefits (Walker 1987, 103–4). Yet the emphasis on this led to a clear stigmatization of those on benefits. In their work into public attitudes towards poverty Peter Golding and Sue Middleton noted that this critique was not unique to the Thatcher period. However, what was different in the 1980s was that the ‘strength of the rhetoric in the Thatcher administration has been to couch its message in terms that conjure up these types so readily for the media to act as cheer-leaders’ (Golding and Middleton 1984, 239). And this critique was only to strengthen over the period. One significant ministerial critic of collectivist approaches to poverty was John Moore who during his period as Secretary of State for Social Security was outspoken in his opposition to the ‘dependency culture’. Timmins argues that it was in this period that

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the welfare state began to lose some of the feeling of being a positive good: ‘If language shapes an agenda Moore played his part’ (Timmins 2001, 450). And reflecting back on her period in office Thatcher asserted her belief in opposing ‘irresponsible behaviour’: ‘they [the Victorians] distinguished between the ‘deserving’ and the ‘undeserving’ poor. Both groups should be given help: but it must be help of very different kinds if public spending is not just going to reinforce the dependency culture’ (Thatcher 2011, 627). In 1994 Paul Pierson argued that economic, political and social pressure fostered an image of a welfare state beset by crises. Yet ‘reform was generally incremental rather than revolutionary. The British welfare state is battered but intact’ (Pierson 1994, 180). However, whilst from the perspective of 1994 it might have felt ‘intact’, the changes, both in terms of policies and ideas, that Thatcher instigated set social security firmly on a track that led away from the Beveridge ideals.

Major: Thatcher’s Heir? The paradox of John Major’s premiership is that, despite his more emollient tone, his administrations increased the rolling back of social security and the denigration of those on benefits. The first actions of Major were deliberately pitched to mark a break with Thatcher. He unfroze, and then increased, CB and replaced the poll tax with a property tax scheme. It was an attempt to chart a more ‘progressive’ version of welfare policy (Page 2015, 106–7). But, if Major was often less sharp in his criticisms there were many—including minsters Peter Lilley and Michael Portillo, who were prepared to pursue a more radical push back against social security benefits and mount attacks on ‘underserving’ claimants. The core messages were resonant of the Thatcher era: a need to cut costs, made more urgent by the recession of the early 1990s; to move people out of benefits; increased conditionality, such that some groups lost entitlement; and to devolve services to the market or the family. The arrival of a much more ideological right-wing minister as Secretary of State for Social Security, Lilley, saw a programme of ‘better targeting or more selfprovision, or both’ (Timmins 2001, 509). Amongst the most significant measures was the introduction of Job Seekers Allowance (JSA). By introducing greater conditionality and hurdles for claimants to prove they were entitled to the benefit, JSA undercut the sense of a safety net for all and those who failed the tests could lose their benefits. As Timmins argues, JSA was ‘a defining moment in welfare state history’ as it cut entitlement to

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unemployment benefit to six months, and merged it with IS for the unemployed, which effectively ended a major national insurance benefit to which, in theory, people had contributed. JSA required that you were available for work and needed to demonstrate that you were actively seeking work, marking a sharp increase in conditionality. This emphasis on the link between benefits and job seeking was underlined when the Benefits Agency merged with the Employment Service (Timmins 2001, 528–9). Conditionality for disability benefits also increased as Invalidity Benefit was replaced by Incapacity Benefit. This saw more stringent tests assessed by a doctor appointed by the Benefits Agency rather than their own GP (Thane 2018, 410). Underlying this was a suspicion of fraud. As John Major stated to parliament: “Frankly, it beggars belief that so many more people have suddenly become invalids, especially at a time when the health of the population has improved” (Major 1993). Major was also keen to promote individual responsibility and a more moralistic family agenda. He ‘pledged to end “permissiveness” and promote “accepting responsibility for yourself and your family and not shuffling it off on the state”’ (Thane 2018, 402). One aspect of this was the Child Support Act in 1991, which had its roots in the late Thatcher period under Tony Newton. The explosion in lone parents, almost two-thirds of whom relied on income support, was seen to undermine the remoralising agenda of the Conservatives. In return for benefits single parents were required to inform the state of the child’s parentage allowing the agency to pursue the absent parent for costs. This policy had many ‘Thatcherite themes’ as it promoted marriage and the first partner and family at the expense of divorce, illegitimacy and separation (Timmins 2001, 450–1). As Glennerster states the: ‘problem of the single mother exploded into one of the nastiest social family policy issues of the 1990s’ (Glennerster, 2000, 197). Accompanying these policy changes was an amplification in the rhetoric around social security. This undermined support for the system and focussed on individual, rather than structural, causes of poverty. The 1992 Conservative Party Conference was peppered with speeches condemning dependency, most notably one by Peter Lilley which took aim at a range of ‘undeserving’ claimants (Page 2015, 109–10). As Hill notes, any speech at conference during these years which condemned fraud was ‘guaranteed to receive warm applause’ (Hill 1999, 177). In 1993 the Daily Mail columnist Keith Waterhouse attacked the ‘Single Parent State’ drawing on John Redwood’s observations about the dependency culture

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amongst single mothers (Thane 2018, 409). Indeed, in 1997 John Redwood proposed, in the name of ‘family values’, that single mothers should give up their children for adoption (Thane 2018, 409). As Dorey argues: ‘Concern for the poor and disadvantaged was conspicuous by its absence from most policies and public pronouncements particularly the ill-fated “Back to Basics” campaign which Major inaugurated at the Conservatives 1993 annual conference’ (Dorey 2011, 166). The premierships of John Major saw a more sustained attempt to create a ‘“marketized” and diversified public service’ and became more confident in its free-market rhetoric (Williams 2015, 70). These principles were not wholly disavowed by New Labour and set a precedent for the Coalition Government in 2010.

New Labour: Change and Continuity Glen O’Hara, in a recent piece on the domestic agenda of New Labour, has acknowledged that Labour used many techniques from the Conservative years. But he has noted that many aspects of New Labour’s domestic agenda were ‘remarkably activist’ and demonstrated ‘a real belief in the role of the state in economic and social life’ (O’Hara 2018). He concludes that it is ‘absurd … to characterise the New Labour governments as neoliberal’ (O’Hara 2018). New Labour’s social security policy, similarly, saw some continuities with Thatcher, but also some marked differences. On the one hand, New Labour saw continuities with the Conservative approach. In their first budget they drew criticism for accepting, albeit grudgingly, the cuts to single parent benefits that had been proposed by the Conservatives, even though later these benefits were increased and improved (Harman 2018, 204). In general, unemployed and disabled people were treated less favourably than pensioners, children and workers (Thane 2018, 451). The New Deal side of the tax credit scheme built on earlier Conservative, and Australian, initiatives. These schemes accelerated job placements and the percentage of lone parents in work rose. But reservations remained around the scheme because of the demeaning of unpaid caring work and the narrow concentration on an individual’s behaviour (Lowe 2005, 402–3). The launch of tax credits sought to ensure work paid and, despite some teething issues, did encourage a measure of redistribution, albeit not always to the poorest. However, these credits drew ever more people into a means-tested system and further

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undermined the system of contributory insurance (Lowe 2005, 404–6). IB was retained but the qualification test was more stringent. It was means-­ tested, so private pensions were included, and the Severe Disability Allowance (SDA) was abolished. This ‘tightening and targetting provoked anger from disabled groups and revolt in the Lords’ but it was part of the New Labour strategy to emphasize work (Glennerster 2000, 217). They also utilised the more pejorative term of welfare as a synonym for cash benefits. As Lowe argues, New Labour’s disdain for ‘formal’ social security saw the budget barely increase in real terms and it fell as a percentage of GDP between 1997 and 2002 (Lowe 2005, 399–400). Blair argued a big social security budget was a sign of failure and that Labour sought to encourage work not increased benefits (Timmins 2001, 540). New Labour saw a light touch tax regime with a competitive corporation tax and only in Gordon Brown’s premiership did the highest rate taxpayers have to pay fifty per cent income tax. Where it did redistribute it was through targeted benefits not through taxation (Farnsworth 2011, 256–7). However, there was a genuine attempt to tackle poverty and inequality. As Blair stated in 1997: ‘If the next Labour Government has not raised the living standards of the poorest by the end of its term in office, it will have failed’ (Hills 1998, 29). In 1999 Tony Blair announced an ambition to end child poverty. A range of policies followed including: the ‘Sure Start’ programme, increased health and education funding for deprived areas, and a range of improved benefits. There were also improved measures for pensioners: a Pension Credit, increases to the means-tested supplement, free TV licences for over-75 s, free eye tests, and increased income tax allowances (Thane 2018, 449). The New Labour years saw a decrease in relative poverty amongst young people and the elderly from 25 per cent when New Labour took office to just over 15 per cent when they left office (O’Hara 2018). As O’Hara concludes: ‘Determined government intervention was why those numbers fell at all: … Labour in office mounted a thoroughgoing attack on poverty—especially child and pensioner poverty—that was so successful that it helped keep overall inequality where it had ended up in the early to mid-­1990s’ (O’Hara 2018). A key issue in assessing the New Labour years has been why its efforts to reduce poverty and inequality were not sustained. One issue was the financial crisis in 2008 which saw gains being eroded. But there was also the intractable issue of attitudes towards poverty. As Carey Oppenheim, formerly of CPAG and a special advisor to Tony Blair, observed: ‘how do you embed that strategy …? Despite Labour’s very strong intensity in

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terms of resources and the Child Poverty Act and trying to make it more cross-cutting … if it is not embedded, connected and woven through in terms of public demand and understanding, it is very difficult for it to sustain through different administrations and colder climates and recessions’ (Thane and Davidson 2016, 25–26). It was certainly the case that even during this period of intense activity around poverty there was limited public enthusiasm for spending on benefits. Indeed, public opinion during the New Labour years moved more determinedly against social security. As Tom Sefton has outlined, the New Labour years, with their emphasis on ‘rights and responsibilities’, saw an increase in the numbers ascribing the causes of poverty to individual rather than structural causes. See also Chap. 8 by Stephen Farrall and Maria Grasso in this edition. Sefton notes the biggest swing came from Labour supporters and suggests that this might have been encouraged by statements from Labour minsters about deficiencies in the system (Sefton 2009, 237–9). Whilst some of this was already deeply embedded in public perceptions it might also have been indirectly encouraged by New Labour whose ‘stress on rewarding work in the government’s policy and rhetoric is in danger of overshadowing the needs of the most vulnerable who cannot work’ (Hewitt 1999, 169). The New Labour approach saw a genuine commitment to end poverty alongside the adoption of welfare to work, sanctions and a rhetorical emphasis on rights and responsibilities. It would be wrong to see New Labour as being consensual with Thatcher: the neoliberal ideal of disbanding the welfare state was not part of the New Labour agenda. Neither did Thatcher see them in this way, she described the term ‘New Labour’, first used in 1994, as a: ‘silly catch phrase [which] demonstrates that our new masters still can’t admit that everything they and their forbears stood for was utterly, and catastrophically, wrong’ (Thatcher 1999). The end of the New Labour period saw an international economic crisis and enabled the new Coalition government to pin the blame on New Labour for a heavily indebted economy: ‘Viewed cynically, the Conservative-led coalition is determined to not let a good crisis go to waste’ (Farnsworth 2011, 260). The austerity agenda thus allowed the subsequent Coalition and Conservative administrations to unpick many of the New Labour policies and revert to practices that continued the movement of social security policy away from the state.

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The Age of Austerity: The Coalition Government and Beyond Hugh Bochel has argued that ‘Part of Margaret Thatcher’s legacy to the Conservative Party was arguably to leave it more ideologically driven that it had ever been’ (Bochel 2011, 5). And this was evident in debates around social policy from 1997 onward. There were two broad strands of thought. One was that there was a need to detoxify the party in favour of a more compassionate conservatism; the other a feeling that what was required was a reinvigorated Thatcherite approach (Dorey 2011, 170–3). Cameron’s approach has been described as ‘progressive’ neoliberal. There was no question of moving away from a neoliberal economic approach, but it was felt that through social policy they could emphasise their progressive values (Page 2015, 128–9). One dimension of this was the creation in 2005 of the Social Justice Policy Group (SJPG) chaired by Iain Duncan Smith. This attempted to be less judgmental about those in poverty whilst still promoting policies with a moral underpinning. A key facet of this process was the recognition, in 2006, by Cameron of poverty as a relative concept (Page 2015, 130–2). However, in 2010, Ruth Lister and Fran Bennett argued that the Conservatives were ignoring the underlying socio-economic structural causes of poverty to focus on culture and behaviour (Lister and Bennett 2010). Lister and Bennett also raised concerns around the continued use under Cameron of the phrase ‘welfare dependency’ which, citing Fraser and Gordon, they note, ‘leaks a profusion of stigmatising connotations’ (Lister and Bennett 2010). And so, despite the progressive connotations there remained doubts. These doubts were realised in the way the Coalition government responded to social security after 2010 with a new austerity programme. Social policy reformulation was made more difficult after 2010 by economic constraints (Williams 2015, 4). In some areas the Coalition Government continued with New Labour policies. Pensions policy was broadly continued as the Coalition announced the ‘triple lock’ that state pensions would rise by the higher of average earnings growth, prices or two and a half per cent. Also, continuing from New Labour, were retirement age changes and other key benefits such as the winter fuel allowance and a free TV licence for those over 75. The Coalition government, however, was stricter on entitlement. It increased conditionality for lone parents by moving them onto JSA rather than IS where there was no child under 5 in the home. It also introduced new medical tests for Disability

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Living Allowance (DLA) (McKay and Rowlingson 2011, 157). The consequences of this more stringent regime were harsh. Each year from 1998 to 2008 there were between 200,000 and 300,000 sanctions of those on JSA and Employment and Support Allowance (ESA), and by the end 2013 this had reached 900,000 (Hills 2015, 265). There were also some new stricter measures. The so-called ‘benefit cap’ set a ceiling on the total level of housing benefits that could be claimed by one household, regardless of need. The bedroom tax, or the ‘abolition of the spare room subsidy’, saw social tenants facing benefit cuts if they were deemed not to be fully occupying their home. Both measures have led to some families seeing a significant shortfall between their income and outgoings and has increased debt. A further change under the Coalition has been the mean-testing of CB. The last universal benefit, and one that was so central to Beveridge’s thinking, survived the Thatcher era. However, in 2013 the Coalition removed CB for those earning over £50,000 and many of the working middle classes lost child tax credits. This has contributed ‘towards shifting the UK yet further towards the more residualised, “safety net” welfare state model on which so many Tory MPs were so keen—a welfare state into which a large proportion of taxpayers begrudge paying … [as] they believe that … there is never going to be much in it for them’ (Bale 2016, 396). The final flagship change announced under the Coalition was the introduction of Universal Credit (UC), the brainchild of Iain Duncan Smith. This has the aim of simplifying the process of moving from benefits into work by amalgamating all key benefits into one system (Page 2015, 139). UC was announced in November 2010. The early phases of UC, yet to be rolled out nationally, have been problematic. Trial areas have seen examples of increased indebtedness being incurred during the transfer process and admissions from the government that some claimants will be worse off (Schraer 2018). The cumulative impact of these changes, John Hills argues, has borne heavily on a narrow group of people and that the level of hardship can be seen in the escalating use of foodbanks, with 900,000 people receiving parcels from the Trussell Trust foodbanks in 2013–14, up from 60,000 in 2010–11: ‘What was once a national safety net, albeit not a very generous one, now has substantial holes in it’ (Hills 2015, 266). Pete Alcock has also noted that the Coalition was likely to take public spending as a proportion of GDP back down to levels experienced before the implementation of the post-war welfare state (Alcock 2016, 149).

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Conclusion The long-term sustainability of the austerity agenda and Coalition/ Conservative initiatives within social security remain a key public policy debate. How these are resolved will, in part, be determined by public attitudes. As Bale has argued issues with the ‘bedroom tax’, privatised work capability tests and the rise in foodbanks may be problematic even for those who are ‘perfectly happy, even keen, to see reductions in eligibility and payments to able-bodied … claimants’ (Bale 2016, 397). The British Social Attitudes survey (BSA) had seen declining support for social security spending since 1987. However, the 2017 BSA study suggests some ‘softening’ of attitudes towards the unemployed (Harding 2017, 2). Nevertheless, it remains the case that public understanding is low and that ‘politicians and the media do encourage the public to misperceive the benefits system’ (Geiger 2016, 18). The ‘success’ of this approach is reflected in the trajectory of public opinion. Table  11.1 illustrates how, since the Thatcher period, there has been a steady decline support for spending on welfare overall and an increasing lack of public sympathy for those on benefits. Table  11.2 indicates how single parent benefits have been a consistently low spending priority amongst the public. And, perhaps unsurprisingly given the thrust of attacks on those out of work, public support for extra spending on unemployment benefits plummeted in the years after 1984. These changes have been accompanied by public acceptance of high levels of inequality and a tendency to look to individual rather than structural explanations for poverty (Dorey 2011, 226–235). The social security system was already moving away from the Beveridge social insurance model before 1979. Lowe has argued most of Beveridge’s principles had been breached before 1979 (Lowe 2005, 158). Thatcher in office was more cautious than might be expected, although her Table 11.1  Unemployment attitudes

% agree government should spend more on welfare % agree if welfare was less generous people would stand on their own two feet % agree unemployment benefits are too low Source: Taylor and Taylor-Gooby (2015)

1987

1998

2007 2014

55 33

43 40

32 53

30 53

51

29

26

27

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Table 11.2  Priority for extra government spending on benefits %

1984

1994

2005

2012

66 55 35 22 16

64 57 26 34 14

80 52 8 39 15

70 58 13 38 14

Pensions Disability benefits Unemployment benefits Child benefits Single parent benefits Source: Taylor and Taylor-Gooby (2015)

administrations did see a programme of policy changes that began to stretch the safety net. But the key Thatcherite legacy in the area of social benefits has been the moral tone she adopted, overtly discriminating between the ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving poor’. These ideas were not unique to Thatcher, but she repurposed them for the later twentieth century and they grew in influence in the years after. By promoting such attitudes, Thatcher opened the way for future administrations to begin to implement policy changes that were to prove more fundamental to unravelling the structures put in place in 1948. By the years of New Labour, the idea of universalism was already undermined. Their failure to reshape the narratives, and in some ways reinforce them, only enhanced the capacity of the Coalition government to impose even more stringent changes. In this crucial sense the rhetorical and ideological thrust of Thatcherism has had a long-lasting and significant impact on the structures of social security in the United Kingdom.

References Alcock, Pete. 1999. Poverty and Social Security. In British Social Welfare in the Twentieth Century, ed. Robert M.  Page and Richard Silburn, 199–222. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. ———. 2016. Why We Need Welfare: Collective Action for the Common Good. Bristol: The Policy Press. Bale, Tim. 2016. The Conservative Party from Thatcher to Cameron. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Polity Press. Beveridge, Sir William. 1942. Social Insurance and Allied Services Cmnd 6404. London: HMSO.

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Bochel, Hugh. 2011. Conservative Approaches to Social Policy since 1997. In The Conservative Party and Social Policy, ed. Hugh Bochel, 1–22. Bristol: Policy Press. Cannadine, David. 2017. Margaret Thatcher: A Life and Legacy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. “Conservative Party Manifesto 1983,” 1983. Conservative Party Manifestos. PoliticalStuff.co.uk. http://www.conservativemanifesto.com/1983/1983conservative-manifesto.shtml. Dorey, Peter. 2011. British Conservatism: The Politics and Philosophy of Inequality. London: I.B. Tauris and Co. Farnsworth, Kevin. 2011. From Economic Crisis to a New Age of Austerity: The UK. In Social Policy in Challenging Time: Economic Crisis and Welfare Systems, ed. Kevin Farnsworth and Zoe Irving, 251–269. Bristol: The Policy Press. Field, Frank. 1972. One Nation: The Conservatives’ Record since June 1970. London: Child Poverty Action Group. Geiger, Ben Baumberg. 2016. Benefit ‘Myths’? The Accuracy and Inaccuracy of Public Beliefs about the Benefits System. LSE, CASE paper 199. http://sticerd. lse.ac.uk/dps/case/cp/casepaper199.pdf. Gilmour, Ian. 1992. Dancing with Dogma: Britain under Thatcherism. London: Simon & Schuster Ltd. Glennerster, Howard. 2000. British Social Policy since 1945. 2nd ed. Oxford: Blackwell. Golding, Peter, and Sue Middleton. 1984. Images of Welfare: Press and Public Attitudes to Poverty. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Green, E.H.H. 2006. Thatcher. London: Hodder Education. Harding, Roger. 2017. British Social Attitudes 35. London: Sage. http://www. bsa.natcen.ac.uk/media/39285/bsa35_key-findings.pdf. Harman, Harriet. 2018. A Woman’s Work. London: Penguin. Hewitt, Martin. 1999. New Labour and Social Security. In New Labour, New Welfare State?: The ‘Third Way’ in British Social Policy, ed. Martin Powell, 149–170. Bristol: Policy Press. Hill, Michael. 1993. The Welfare State in Britain: A Political History since 1945. Aldershot: Edward Elgar. ———. 1999. Rolling Back the (Welfare) State: The Major Governments and Social Security Reform. In The Major Premiership: Politics and Policies under John Major, 1990–7, ed. Peter Dorey, 165–178. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Hills, John. 1998. Thatcherism, New Labour and the Welfare State. LSE, CASE Paper 13. http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/5553/1/Thatcherism_New_Labour_and_ the_Welfare_State.pdf. ———. 2015. Good Times, Bad Times: The Welfare Myth of Them and Us. Bristol: The Policy Press.

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Jackson, Ben. 2019. Richard Titmuss versus the IEA: The Transition from Idealism to Neo-Liberalism in British Social Policy. In Welfare and Social Policy in Britain since 1870: Essays in Honour of Jose Harris, ed. Lawrence Goldman, 147–161. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jones, Harriet Overton. 1992. The Conservative Party and the Welfare State, 1942–1955. PhD diss., London School of Economics. Letwin, Shirley Robin. 1992. The Anatomy of Thatcherism. London: Fontana. Lister, Ruth, and Fran Bennett. 2010. The New ‘Champion of Progressive Ideals?’ Renewal: A Journal of Social Democracy 18 (1/2). http://renewal.org.uk/ articles/the-new-champion-of-progressive-ideals. Lowe, Rodney. 2005. The Welfare State in Britain since 1945. 3rd ed. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Lynes, Tony. 1974. Policy on Social Security. In Poverty Report 1974, ed. Michael Young, 70–99. London: Maurice Temple Smith Ltd. Major, John. 1993. Parliamentary Debate (House of Commons), 15 June, p. 732. https://publications.parliament.uk/pa/cm199293/cmhansrd/1993-06-15/ Orals-1.html. McKay, Stephen, and Karen Rowlingson. 2011. Social Security and Welfare Reform. In The Conservative Party and Social Policy, ed. Hugh Bochel, 145–161. Bristol: The Policy Press. O’Hara, Glenn. 2018. New Labour’s Domestic Policies: Neoliberal, Social Democratic or a Unique Blend? Tony Blair Institute for Global Change, 14 November. https://institute.global/news/new-labours-domestic-policies-neoliberal-socialdemocratic-or-unique-blend. Opinion Research Centre Report. 1968. 6 May, Points 11 and 12, CCO180/30/1/1. Conservative Party Archive, Bodleian Library, Oxford. UK. Page, Robert M. 2015. Clear Blue Water: The Conservative Party and the Welfare State since 1940. Bristol: Policy Press. Pierson, Paul. 1994. Dismantling the Welfare State? Reagan, Thatcher, and the Politics of Retrenchment. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Renwick, Chris. 2017. Bread for All: The Origins of the Welfare State. London: Penguin. Robinson, Emily, Camilla Schofield, Florence Sutcliffe-Brathwaite, and Natalie Thomlinson. 2017. Telling Stories about Post-war Britain: Popular Individualism and the ‘Crisis’ of the 1970s. Twentieth Century British History 28 (2): 268–304. Schraer, Rachel. 2018. ‘What Is Universal Credit—And What’ the Problem? 11 October. https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-41487126. Sefton, Tom. 2009. Moving in the Right Direction? Public Attitudes to Poverty, Inequality and Redistribution. In Towards a More Equal Society: Poverty, Inequality and Policy since 1997, ed. John Hills, Tom Sefton, and Kitty Stewart, 223–244. Bristol: The Policy Press.

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Taylor, Eleanor, and Peter Taylor-Gooby. 2015. British Social Attitudes 32. London: Sage. http://www.bsa-data.natcen.ac.uk/. Thane, Pat. 2018. Divided Kingdom: A History of Britain, 1900 to the Present. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thane, Pat, and Ruth Davidson. 2016. The Child Poverty Action Group in the 1990s and 2000s: Witness Seminar. London: King’s College London. https:// www.kcl.ac.uk/sspp/departments/politicaleconomy/research/british-politics-and-government/cpag-research/cpag-witness-seminars.aspx. Thatcher, Margaret. 1974. Daily Telegraph, 9 October. Thatcher MSS (Digital Collection). https://www.margaretthatcher.org/document/102427 . ———. 1978. Speech to Conference for Management in Industry. 9 January, Thatcher MSS (Digital Collection). https://www.margaretthatcher.org/ document/103502. ———. 1999. Speech to the International Free Enterprise Dinner. 20 April, Thatcher MSS (Digital Collection). https://www.margaretthatcher.org/ document/108381. ———. 2011. The Downing Street Years. London: Harper Press. Timmins, Nicholas. 2001. The Five Giants: A Biography of the Welfare State,. New Edition. London: Harper Collins. Walker, Carol. 1987. Reforming Social Security—Despite the Claimant. In The Growing Divide: A Social Audit, 1979–1987, ed. Alan Walker and Carol Walker, 101–109. London: CPAG. Williams, Ben. 2015. The Evolution of Conservative Party Social Policy. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

PART IV

Interpretations

CHAPTER 12

Thatcher’s Young Men and the End of the Party: Parody, Predictions and Problems in Literary Representations of Thatcherism Dominic Dean

As Thatcherism’s long hold over British politics either comes to an uncertain end—or enters a newly reconfigured and renegotiated phase—its original contradictions are increasingly exposed. This chapter links two of them: Thatcherism as nationalist project versus its orientation towards transnational wealth; and its appeal to ambitious, destructively creative young men versus its social conservatism. These connected contradictions are a route into interpreting both Thatcherism’s appeal and how this appeal has come apart over time, as this chapter will explore through literary representations of Thatcherism from Alan Hollinghurst, Hanif Kureishi, and Ian McEwan. As in many of popular culture’s representations of Thatcherism, these authors present the entrepreneurial young man as a key figure in Thatcherism’s appeal. In some cases explored here, this young man is also a migrant or a transnational figure, who not only

D. Dean (*) University of Sussex, Brighton, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_12

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embodies Thatcherism but also prefigures its eventual disintegration. Literary fiction, like popular culture, parodied Thatcherism’s contradictions; unlike the latter, it took a sustained interest in the nature of Thatcherism’s appeal, rather than presenting it solely as absurd, amoral or immature. This led to richer narratives with their own insights into Thatcherism’s underlying psychosocial appeal and which, I shall argue, have renewed credibility and salience in the era of Brexit. They constitute a significant source for understanding Thatcherism’s political logic and cultural legacy.

Brexit: The End of Thatcherism? Brexit is, I argue, an end to Thatcherism as a specific combination of conflicting imperatives, a period when the repressed conflict between these imperatives comes decisively into the open. Here, I use ‘Brexit’ not primarily to refer to the event of the United Kingdom leaving the European Union,1 but rather as a distinctive period in British history, beginning in early 2016 and continuing at the time of writing, defined by the political and cultural conflicts that began during the referendum campaign period and have continued after it. This Brexit unpicked Thatcherism’s ideological-rhetorical knot between British nationalism and free markets (and what is arguably their most important practical materialisation for late Thatcherite and post-­ Thatcherite Britain, the European Single Market). Brexit exposes a contradiction between neoliberalism and nationalism—a contradiction, and a choice, where Thatcherism had offered a combination. Such an appealing combination of conflicting imperatives as Thatcherism presented is, in psychoanalytic terms, the kind of wish-fulfilment that Sigmund Freud saw as defining dreams. (Fantasy—whether offered by a dream, drugs, or even by wealth or a reversion to childhood—is a leitmotif in Thatcherism’s cultural representations, as we shall see.) As Murray argues in ‘The Psychopolitics of Brexit’ (2018, 137–138), such wish-fulfilment—and the repression of conflict and contradiction, even when logically implicated in one’s own position—is also a feature of contemporary politics. Brexit itself remains haunted by the particular ‘dream’ of combined neoliberalism and nationalism that Thatcherism offered. Yet much of the governmental

 At the time of writing, this has not yet occurred.

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approach to Brexit from 2016 to 2019 has, in effect, recognised that Brexit demands a choice between market and nationalist interests. Although some prominent Thatcherite Brexiteers would never acknowledge this demand,2 Britain’s second female Prime Minister understood it well and presented it explicitly. The majority who voted to Leave, Theresa May determined, were driven by reaction to the transnational wealth and relatively derestricted movements of people produced during the 1990s, 2000s and 2010s. Although May, a Conservative who had reached political maturity under Thatcher, wished to sustain the role of markets in wealth creation, they would no longer receive either unconditional support, or be protected by pretence that there was no real choice between such support and the interests of the British nation.3 There was such a choice, in May’s view, and the nation must come first. This was an attitude that pre-dated Brexit, as evident in May’s insistence that migration control must take precedence over the economic benefits brought by international students in the UK (Mukherjee 2018, 78–79), but both the attitude and May’s power to act on it were vastly strengthened by the Brexit vote and her subsequent premiership. May’s was not an unreasonable interpretation of recent history. The Leave vote in the 2016 referendum was most significantly driven by opposition to de-restricted migration, opposition to the EU’s apparent competition with British sovereignty, and ambivalence towards the EU’s record as an institutional mediator of globalised capitalism (Curtice, 2017). Although the Leave campaigns did make claims for economic benefits from leaving the EU, messages emphasising the need to control migration (a basically anti-free-market demand, particularly given the implication of ending the UK’s participation in free movement of labour within the Single Market) constituted the dominant feature of the Leave campaigns 2  Brexiteers like Daniel Hannan and Jacob Rees-Mogg, sometimes viewed as unreconstructed Thatcherites, promoted Brexit as opportunity to deregulate and ‘free’ the British economy. This has been criticised because (a) it is not clear that the political context of the vote to Leave indicates popular support for such a transformation; (b) it is unclear how the economic openness established by the European Single Market could be more effectively replaced. 3  Some Thatcherites did acknowledge that choices between market and national interests could arise. For example, the invasion of the Falklands was partly prompted by defence cuts undertaken as part of the first Thatcher government’s rationalisation of public spending; the invasion itself and subsequent British victory, however, led to a partial reversal of this approach. In general, though, Mrs Thatcher’s rhetorical positions did not acknowledge any conflict between nationalism and free markets.

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(Mukherjee 2018, 77–78). Following the referendum, the economic consequences of the vote were negative (Born et al. 2017) but public support for Brexit stayed reasonably resilient (YouGov 2016). This was the context for May’s view that a substantive renegotiation, rather than a rhetorical reconciliation, between market and national imperatives was now required. However, the 2017 general election suggested that the existence of this choice did not translate into a strong or stable mandate for a single answer to it. The disappointing outcome for the Conservatives confirmed that Brexit divided the nation severely, and in ways that seriously undermined traditional coalitions of support for the major parties. As with Brexit itself, the exposure of previously disguised contradictions and conflicts where there was previously coalition or relatively greater consensus, and aggressive challenges to the realism of proposed resolutions for those conflicts, were key features of the election.4 Two factors in the outcome, which gained significant attention, were the apparent role of the anti-­Conservative youth vote5 and—most significantly for the crisis in Thatcherism’s legacy—the turning of relatively wealthy metropolitan voters and educated professionals against May’s Conservatives (Curtis 2017). Still before this disappointment, though, May clarified the contradiction between nation and transnational market by the quasi-literary technique of making it into a character in a narrative: the Citizen of Nowhere, who dominated the reception of her 2016 Conservative Party Conference speech (May 2016) delivered at the high point of political confidence in her interpretation of Brexit. Although this speech did refer—in a piece of Thatcherite-New Labourite continuity, though re-imagined post-Brexit— to a ‘global Britain’ marked by economic success, May was explicit that this would be achieved by rejection of globalisation’s most visible manifestations: (allegedly) unfettered migration, economic irresponsibility, and cultural transnationalism. Crucially, May made all these—through the Citizen of Nowhere trope—into one and the same thing6; the 4  The outcome may also have been significantly influenced by Theresa May’s campaign, which was alleged to have damaged Conservative support amongst core older voters too. 5  The role of the youth vote in 2017 has been vigorously debated; the British Election Study argued that there had been no robustly-identified increase in turnout of young people, but that there was nevertheless a surge in support for Labour amongst young people that did vote (British Election Study Team 2018). 6  Liberal and leftist reaction to this speech strongly emphasised the xenophobia of the ‘citizens of nowhere’ trope. May’s defenders pointed out that the phrase appeared within an attack mostly directed towards wealthy elites; my point here is that her speech took irrespon-

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i­rresponsibility of globalised capital was defined by its results in lack of national allegiance. By associating irresponsible wealth with transnationalism and migration, the Citizen of Nowhere embodied precisely the contradictions between nationalism and capitalism that Thatcherism had sought to deny, evade, or—at the very least—minimise. These contradictions had, however, received earlier narrative embodiments, which are the focus of this chapter, across literary depictions of Thatcherism.

The Character of Thatcherism’s Contradictions Young men dramatise Thatcherism’s appeal in fictional narratives by, amongst others, Martin Amis, Hanif Kureishi, Ian McEwan, and Alan Hollinghurst (noticeably all relatively young men themselves, and who first achieved commercial success, during the Thatcher years). Tracing how literary representations of Thatcherism used the young man to imagine Thatcherism’s appeal, and anticipate its disintegration, generates suggestive—and, I argue, credible—readings of how Thatcherism’s appeal eventually came unstuck in real, recent British history. The young man’s prevalence in this literature was matched by the prominence of the same figure in pop-cultural representations of Thatcherism, where he consistently embodied, threatened, and exposed contradictions in the Thatcherite project, evident long before Brexit (Dean 2017, 234). In some of the literary cases we shall explore, the young man also embodied what would prove to be one of the most significant Thatcherite contradictions, the conflict between British nationalism and the migration and transnationalism—the Citizens of Nowhere—that emerged from the freer markets established during the 1980s. Thatcherism sold its combination of neoliberal aspiration and nationalism specifically through the oedipal dynamic centred on such young men; the novels considered here both illustrate this oedipal-ideological dynamic and anticipate its collapse. The need to return to these young men chimes with more recent understandings of political motivations that Brexit itself has helped to emphasise. The Brexit vote was interpreted by some prominent Remainers as an irrational or emotive phenomenon, where Leave’s ‘take back control’ slogan offered a wish-fulfilment that was psychically powerfully, but contradictory and essentially unreal. The Campaign sible wealth and de-restricted migration as a single combined target, in conflict with the nation’s interests.

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Director of Vote Leave (who later became Chief Adviser to Prime Minister Boris Johnson), Dominic Cummings, reflecting on Leave’s success (Cummings 2017), acknowledged and explored the principle that political decisions were motivated by resonant images and phrases playing off deep-­ seated wishes (Murray (2018), giving a psychoanalytic reading of Brexit, observes that such expressions of wishes often repress or evade underlying contradictions). These observations are also true of Thatcherism; and ironically, the use of such wish-fulfilment to unpick Thatcherism’s legacy, in Brexit, helps us to see how this characterised the Thatcherite reconciliation of markets and nationalism in the first place.

Maggie’s Boys During its high period, Thatcherism rhetorically presented itself as releasing the entrepreneurial young man from the stultifying restrictions of the so-called post-war consensus, and from the emasculating anti-militarist, feminist and gay ‘Loony’ Left.7 Thatcher was the ambitious and indulgent mother; the Wets and the post-war hierarchy, the ageing patriarchate to be swept aside. There is an obvious Oedipal dynamic here, remarked upon at the time (Abse 1989) and subsequently: Thatcher, the desired mother, offered a tantalising union of Id with superego in declaring greed as good. This fantasy had very real political efficacy: not only opponents of Thatcherism, but sympathetic writers of its history like Charles Moore (2015),8 agree that Thatcherism’s emphasis on materialistic opportunity—and the ambitious young men to whom it appealed—was central to its political success. The same dynamics featured in Thatcher’s immediate circle and political faction, as Jeffrey Archer (1990—also quoting Young 1989) observes of Thatcher’s early leadership: Although inheriting a shadow cabinet […] Thatcher did manage to surround herself with like-minded junior colleagues […] John Hoskyns, ideas man in her private office, was, according to Young, the archetypal Thatcherite […] ‘of military bearing and with a good business record [and] a fierce pessimism about the [post-war, social-democratic, consensus-­based] past, millennialist optimism about the future and a belief in the business imperative as the sole agent of economic recovery’. (Archer 1990, 312)

 On the ‘loony left’ and the Thatcher government, see Marshall (1990).  See Moore (2015), particularly Chapter 19, ‘What They Saw in Her’.

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In the country as in her party, the aspirational, ambitious, entrepreneurial young man was the future according to Thatcherite rhetoric (Dean 2017, 232–234) this was a claim widely parodied in both popular and literary culture, from Harry Enfield’s character Loadsamoney to Martin Amis’s John Self in Money (1984/2000). Yet even whilst Thatcherism deployed the removal of restrictions on materialistic aspiration as a key element of its appeal, it emphasised the ‘good’ part of greed-is-good, as in Mrs. Thatcher’s own retelling of the Good Samaritan parable to link morality with monetary resources (Thatcher 1980). Against the Left’s allegations that her programme was undermining social responsibility, Thatcher invoked a ‘Victorian’ alignment between wealth creation and morality, and re-cast the Left as antisocial in their ‘Loony’ fringe of pro-minority movements.9 Thatcherism thus attempted to reconcile greed to good by containing an aspirational and materialistic future within a firm (if historically doubtful) invocation of the ‘Victorian’ past, and simultaneously by marrying unleashed capitalism with revived nationalism. If the Big Bang-era City was associated with amoral, and increasingly free-floating, transnational wealth (an association that would accelerate during the 1990s and 2000s), the 1980s City Boy who worked there was grounded by his imagined working-class roots and unsophisticated tastes (as with Loadsamoney). As Joseph Brooker notes, the era’s ‘prevalent image’ was that of ‘the barrowboy become successful city trader’, ‘the working-class lad who has struck it rich without bothering to acquire the educational and cultural capital hitherto associated with wealth’ (Brooker 2010, 57). His masculinity was an updated version of how Denis Thatcher had courted his wife, according to whom the young Denis (already a millionaire) had a ‘certain style and dash’ and ‘drove a Jaguar’, but possessed straightforward tastes and reactionary politics (Thatcher 1995, 66). Such ‘boys’ kept Thatcherism rhetorically grounded in Britain, even as it introduced a free market programme that derived its power and attraction from opening Britain to transnational flows of capital, and ultimately (if unwillingly) to flows of people, too. Whilst Thatcherism gladly embraced the former, it largely opposed the latter through policies hostile to immigration and through its rhetorical attempts to identify the entrepreneurial beneficiaries of its programme with nationalist values. 9  I explore this in Dean, ‘Spirits of Enterprise: The Disappearing Child in Thatcherism and Theory’.

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The ‘multicultural’ London (and City) of the 1990s and 2000s—where New Labour extracted the ‘aspirational’ elements of Thatcherism from an increasingly anachronistic Conservative Party—marked a loss of relevance for Thatcherism’s strategy of containing its transnational neoliberalism through rhetorical nationalism. Popular culture was reminded of the young man’s now-ironic significance for Thatcherism in 2011: the film The Iron Lady (Lloyd 2011) opens with an aged, senile Thatcher escaping her protected home to purchase some milk. This unsubtle reference to ‘Thatcher the Milksnatcher’, and the ironic echo of the Grantham shop of Thatcher’s childhood, cue a hellish vision of an uncomprehending Thatcher travelling through the Britain she created. As she approaches the young immigrant or second-generation worker at the counter, an obnoxious City type cuts ahead of her, talking aggressively into his phone. Whilst the unrecognised old lady waits behind him, a young black man approaches behind her. He listens to loud Bangra through headphones—atomised like the City man—and impatiently pushes past Thatcher. This aggressively masculine London is a centre of global business, and global migration. The financier on his mobile ironically echoes the yuppie City Boys, who appear later in a montage representing Thatcherism’s late 1980s peak, where flushed young men on the trading floor are juxtaposed with headlines: ‘Profits, Profits, Profits’, and ‘Maggie’s Millionaires’ whilst the boorish Notsensibles song repeatedly yells out: ‘I’m in love with Maggie T’.

Oedipal Thatcherism Literary fiction, like popular culture, parodied Thatcherism’s contradictions; unlike the latter, it sometimes took a sustained interest in the underlying nature of Thatcherism’s appeal, and the highly masculinist and oedipal dynamic through which that appeal operated. The narratives considered here are authored by men whose awareness of this appeal reflects its potency even for those whose appreciation claims ironic or critical distance. Ian McEwan’s The Child in Time (1987) combines sharp parody of Thatcherism’s appeal with a melancholic, ambivalently sympathetic exploration of the driving forces behind that appeal. There, as in many of her cultural representations, Thatcher appears as the fantasised oedipal mother who releases the young man into a libidinal entrepreneurialism. This emerges through the dynamic between an unnamed, but clearly identifiable, Thatcher (‘the nation’s parent [in] collective fantasy’ (McEwan

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1987, 80)), and her favourite, Charles Darke. Darke, a publisher who becomes a highly successful politician in this Prime Minister’s government before experiencing a bizarre regression to childhood, is an associate of the novel’s protagonist, Stephen, whose daughter’s disappearance drives the novel’s symbolism and plot. Here, the Prime Minister releases previously repressed materialistic ambitions in the young male (the repression is explicitly blamed on the post-war, social-democratic establishment, embodied in Stephen’s own father); Thatcher is the mother who kills off the father to indulge her sons’ appetite for pleasurable accumulation. Darke (as I have explored elsewhere—Dean 2017, 238–240) exposes the contradictions in such fantasies, and anticipates the ultimate collapse of Thatcherism’s attempts to combine a libidinal sense of masculine aspiration and accumulation being unleashed with social conservatism and nationalism. When Darke undergoes a total regression to a private childish narcissism, spending his days climbing trees and playing, he comes to embody ‘childish’ ambitions for pleasure that become politically disruptive, mocking Thatcherism’s oedipal logic by following it too closely and too far. The Child in Time exemplifies a trend within depictions of Mrs. Thatcher, where she repeatedly appears as a fetishised, often surreal figure, answering the needs and wishes of (invariably male) supplicants. Alan Hollinghurst’s The Line of Beauty (2004) is one of the most extended explorations of this theme, where Thatcher’s presence is all—pervasive, yet she appears directly only when the protagonist encounters her through a cocaine-fuelled haze, a fantastic image within a pleasurable stupor; and Thatcher seems to function similarly even in supposedly more sober contexts: The men did something naughty, and got away with it, and not only did they get away with it but they’ve been asked to do it again […] the economy’s in ruins, no one’s got a job, and they just don’t care, it’s bliss. And the wives, you see, all look like…her—they’ve all got the blue bows, and the hair. (Hollinghurst 2004, 62)

Like Freud’s version of a dream, Thatcher’s appeal is marked by the ability to join conflicting phenomena in order to fulfil a profound wish— to be naughty and responsible, greedy yet good, all at once. The imagery itself signals that there is something about Thatcherism’s wish-fulfilment that won’t last—that the party will eventually end.

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Transnational Young Men In Stephen Frears’ film My Beautiful Laundrette (1986), with its screenplay by Hanif Kureishi, some entrepreneurial young men use their identification with Thatcherism to take revenge on the white nationalists who previously terrorised them, finding opportunity in the Thatcherite reconciliation of capitalism and nationalism: Johnny: Aren’t you just giving ammunition […] to people who say Pakis just come here to hustle other people’s lives and jobs and houses. Nasser: But we’re professional businessmen. Not professional Pakistanis. There’s no race question in the new enterprise culture. (Kureishi 1986, 341)

Kureishi’s Nasser, like Hollinghurst’s Bertrand Ouradi, is an immigrant entrepreneur marked by successful integration into British nationalism,10 explicitly attributed to Thatcherism: For Nasser, Thatcher’s killing off the post-war social-democratic patriarchate is expected to take post-war Britain’s white nationalist movements down with it. These characters reflect the real success of some prominent Asian entrepreneurs in Thatcher-­ era Britain: though Thatcher (1984) was hostile to non-white immigration, this was rhetorically tempered by meritocratic and aspirational tropes: ‘For us, it is not who you are, who your family is or where you come from that matters. It is what you are and what you can do for our country that counts’, she told the 1984 Conservative conference. Conservative  Thatcherism did generally involve a belief in the possibility—and necessity, where immigration had already taken place—of the integration of ethnic minorities into British society, an integration that could positively align with entrepreneurialism and the free market, where Enoch Powell had famously argued that such integration was effectively impossible. Camilla Schofield (2013, 329–346), for example, has clearly distinguished between Thatcherite and Powellite approaches to this issue. However, immigration, race and integration were nevertheless fraught matters for Thatcherism, because (a) this integration was predicated on the absorption of minorities into the majority culture, with the latter retaining absolute dominance, unlike the ‘multicultural’ model later associated with the early Blair era; (b) Margaret Thatcher did not regard such integration as easily achieved, and she strongly sympathized with the presumed anxiety of the white British majority towards non-white immigration (Moore 2013, 382). The Thatcher governments consequently adopted significantly restrictionist positions on immigration, even from territories with strong cultural, economic and/ or political ties to Britain, most notably Hong Kong (Moore 2015, 10–11). 10

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campaign adverts emphasised the offer of their entrepreneurial culture to ethnic minority voters—though, as Paul Gilroy argues, ‘in a manner which ‘invited [them] to forsake all that marks them out as culturally distinct’, and required unequivocal identification with Britain (Gilroy 1987, 65). Nasser and Bertrand are both migrants who integrate with the nation through making the most of their control of transnational capital. Both reside in houses that embody their success in this endeavour—Nasser, in the Home Counties countryside; Bertrand, in Lowndes Square, Belgravia (near what would become Mrs. Thatcher’s actual retirement residence).11 However, both these immigrants have sons, younger men who come to disrupt the reconciliations of capital and nation that Thatcher has (for them, at least) enabled. For Nasser’s son Salim, this disruption arises through reigniting conflict with local white nationalists; for Nasser’s nephew (and semi-adopted son), Omar, it arises in a gay relationship with one of those nationalists; and for Bertrand’s son Wani, it arises via excesses of sex, drugs, and queerness. In these cases, wealth-seeking entrepreneurialism—and the nexus of desires it reflects, triggers, and attempts to contain—is not, ultimately, reconcilable to conservative nationalism: Bertrand said, in his tone of clear, childish self-importance, ‘Yes, I’m making quite […] a big contribution to the party.’ [sic] ‘Splendid!’ said Dolly, and gave him a smile in which political zeal managed almost entirely to disguise some older instinct about Middle Eastern shopkeepers. (Hollinghurst 2004, 252)

Bertrand Ouradi is an immigrant entrepreneur who arrived in Britain in the 1960s (ibid., 225) and by the 1980s has become immensely wealthy and well-connected through developing grocery businesses that successfully undercut older British low-end shops, whilst simultaneously establishing luxury ‘food halls’ targeting the upper classes. Wani Ouradi is Bertrand’s son and lover of the novel’s protagonist, the Oxford graduate Nick Guest, who himself accesses the Thatcherite elite through becoming the lodger of his friend Toby’s parents, including Conservative politician Gerald Fedden. Wani’s parents have raised him with the clear (and successful) aim of integration into the British elite; he first meets Nick at Oxford. Although 11  Margaret Thatcher lived at 73 Chester Square, Belgravia, from 1991 until shortly before her death in 2013 (Papworth 2016).

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Wani has gentle and aesthetically-minded qualities, he also reflects his father’s consumerist values, and uses the family wealth to develop his own lifestyle brand through his new magazine (on which Nick is given a vague non-job). Although Wani doesn’t directly share his father’s political climbing, an equivalent restless drive operates in his rapacious appetites for casual sex, pornography, and cocaine (on which the novel’s title puns). The significance of Hollinghurst’s novel here lies in his identification of a series of parallel drives (in the psychoanalytic sense) behind Thatcherism’s appeal, drives that uncannily link male childhood and youth, unleashed capitalism, queerness, and transnationality, and which contribute to an early ‘end of the party’ at the novel’s conclusion. Though this ‘end’ to High Thatcherism is in the immediate context contained, it anticipates the ultimate disintegration of Thatcherism’s internal coherence, and exposes its reliance on incompatible wishes. Thatcher’s role is again that of the symbolic mother releasing her sons into pleasures previously restricted by the post-war social democratic consensus; there is both an oedipal and a queer tinge to this role, as indicated in Nick’s characterisation of Thatcherite males’ behaviour around their leader as ‘heterosexual queenery’ (ibid., 382). The parallel between Thatcherism and gay male sexuality is further emphasised in how the gay Thatcherite Paul ‘Polly’ Tompkins pursues his sexual conquests with strikingly entrepreneurial energy, ‘startling triumphs of will, opportunism and technique’ (ibid., 62). Having Thatcher as the mother who removes rather than asserts restraint makes the young man who benefits from her into a symbolic child, and Hollinghurst, like McEwan, explores this readily-parodied dimension of Thatcherism with counter-intuitive seriousness, finding links between Thatcher’s men ‘doing something naughty’, queerness, and actual childhood—as when Nick visits Wani’s family at home: Wani rested his hand on his little cousin’s head, and the boy looked up at him adoringly […] Little Antoine had a remote-controlled toy car, which Wani was encouraging him to crash […] a bright-red Ferrari with a whiplike antenna. Nick crouched forward […] but the two boys seemed oblivious of him, Wani almost snatching the controls now and then to cause a top-speed collision. (Ibid., 210–211)

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Antoine’s delight is an early form of the drive for unrestrained libidinal pleasure that his cousin and his cousin’s father enact through their entrepreneurial careers. This scene is partly parody: Wani’s personalised ‘WHO’ plate is a colder and clearer display of materialistic egotism than the toy car, and cars repeatedly signal the ‘drive’ for pleasure in The Line of Beauty, its libidinal and chaotic potential: Bertrand’s Rolls Royce and Wani’s Mercedes are spectacular, aggressive, and status-affirming objects of integrated immigrant wealth. Yet Wani also uses his Mercedes to pick up boys for threesomes, and when Wani buys Nick his own car, Nick later uses it to drive Gerald’s daughter to uncover her father’s affair. Little Antoine’s Ferrari displays pleasure before its integration and containment in an adult order, and it also hints that such containment is far from stable: The Ferrari smacked into Bertrand’s slipper once again, and little Antoine made it rev and whine […] ‘Enough Ferrari for today,’ Bertrand said, and gave it back to the child with no fear of being disobeyed. Nick felt abruptly nervous at the thought of crossing Bertrand, and those same naked images of his son melted queasily away. (Ibid., 214)

Nick instinctively reads Antoine’s collision with Bertrand as an uncanny sign of the far more serious risks he is himself taking in his relationship with Bertrand’s son, perceiving Antoine’s relationship with Wani as a peculiar parallel and rival to his own, as he hints when he and Wani escape to take coke before lunch: ‘Turn the key,’ said Wani. ‘That little boy follows me everywhere.’ ‘Ah, who can blame him,’ said Nick graciously. (Ibid., 217)

The co-location of queer desire and the ‘heterosexual queenery’ of the free-market Thatcherites in desires for pleasure, play, and display that originate in childhood (and are never wholly left behind) hints at uneasily-­ suppressed disruption: if these things originate in a common psychic place, how will Thatcherism securely distinguish its own project from the queer, the foreign, the illegal? In this novel, it will not. Not only are Thatcherism’s pleasures associated here with a queer-­ oedipal version of male childhood and its enduring aftermath, their containment by social class includes tendencies towards its own destruction, as spectacular displays of wealth and sex generate envy and emulation that cannot be easily contained:

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Some lads, or ‘louts’, roamed about under […] the market hall [which] had been the pride of Nick’s childhood […] Now he revved round it, the lads looked up […] the achievements of sex and equities and titles and drugs blew out in a long scarf behind him […] pleasures and privileges these boys couldn’t imagine and thus beyond their envy […] Gerald sprang out […] torn between his sporty show-off self and a hint of compromised dignity […] in being seen in such a car with a young gay man. (Ibid., 285)

Nick suggests the ‘achievements’ his car (Wani’s gift to him) embodies are beyond the lads’ jealousy: a mental containment of potential for social disturbance (a disturbance he himself is in fact unintentionally carrying out). Gerald’s comical anxiety to avoid recognising the affinity between his own exhibitionism and Nick’s queerness ironically reflects, in turn, Nick’s own containment strategy. Parallels between Thatcherite conspicuous consumption, class disruption and queerness recur when Nick, Wani, and a young man they have picked up for sex drive by a house previously owned by the Feddens: The house was having a restoration so thorough it looked like a demolition. […] by the side gate there was a painted black finger and the words TRADESMEN’S ENTRANCE; underneath which, in red spray-paint, a wit had written CUNTS ENTRANCE, with an arrow pointing the other way. […] A workman […] stared [at] one of a thousand car-loads of easy wealth that roared and fluttered round London, knocking things down and flinging things up. They might be due for defence or contempt, or for the sour mixture of the two aroused by young money. Nick nodded affably at the man as he pulled away. Mixed in with his unease […] was a feeling that the builder knew just what they would be getting up to. (Ibid., 195–196)

As with the ‘lads’, Nick is anxious that the builder might somehow recognise the link (which is in his case real in a very material sense) between Nick’s Thatcherite-yuppie wealth and his queer sexuality. The ‘CUNTS ENTRANCE’ graffiti suggests the double-edged nature of such observation; it threatens to meet the exhibitionism of Nick and Wani with a masculinist exhibitionism of its own, equally unrestrained and no longer class-contained. Visible spectacles of well-funded, de-restricted pleasure invite their own disruption: the young man whom Nick and Wani have picked up, ‘Ricky’, one of the ‘three and quarter million unemployed’ (ibid., 197), absorbs the environment of elite debauchery with an ease

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that Nick finds disturbing (ibid., 194), suggesting that he might be able to manipulate that environment, rather than merely being exploited within it. The inherent instability in releasing young men’s pleasures from constraints and then attempting to contain them, to maintain social conservatism and racist nationalism, is the target of The Line of Beauty’s satire (the title hinting at the fraught ‘lines’ around desire). This is demonstrated through the blurred lines, the mischievous parallels, that Hollinghurst establishes between the pleasure-seeking young men that Thatcherism more or less sanctioned (the yuppies) and those to whom it was opposed (gays). Wani is both a pleasure-seeking gay man and an entrepreneur (and even his entrepreneurial venture with the magazine, in its camp indifference to substance, is heavily gay). All the real-estate developments in the novel are tied to yuppie culture, and when Wani gives Nick a monetary gift, he invests it in such a development, doing the deal within a masculinist yuppie atmosphere: It was nearly all men in the restaurant […] sharp-eyed older men, looking faintly harassed by the speed and noise, their dignity threatened by the ferocious youngsters who already had their hands on a new kind of success […] a sort of ruthless sex-drive was the way Nick imagined their sense of their own power. […] It wasn’t so much a public-school thing. As everyone had to shout there seemed to be one great rough syllable in the air, a sort of ‘wow’ or ‘yow’. (Ibid., 204–205)

As aggressive as this yuppie culture is—and even though it embodies an aspirational, class-cutting desire to be ‘rich without bothering to acquire the educational and cultural capital hitherto associated with wealth’ (Brooker 2010, 57)—it is also physically and socially contained in its own spaces, as indicated by its obsessive interest in real estate. In this, it ironically resembles gay culture, which also relies on such containment, as at the cruising pool at Hampstead, with its controlled perimeter: Nick went ahead on the path and held the gate open for Wani, so that for several seconds the outside world had a view of naked flesh before the gate, with its ‘Men Only’ sign, swung shut behind them. (Ibid., 181)

The fact that Nick’s holding the gate open for Wani exposes the gay life within is, perhaps, an ironic hint of how Wani’s own fervent attempts at containment will eventually fail: The Line of Beauty parodies and predicts

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how pleasures cannot be contained within their designated ‘lines’, particularly the lines of social conservatism and nationalism within which Thatcherism sought to contain its release of entrepreneurial, masculinist and libidinal pleasures, the the ‘ruthless […] drive’ that condenses in ‘wow or yow’. Wani’s containment strategies for his promiscuous sex life, including the elaborate façade of his engagement, fail to protect him from HIV-­ AIDS, tabloid exposure, and a revival of barely-suppressed racism towards his family and ethnicity. Embodying this eventual failure of containment strategies, queerness serves as a parallel and entangled thread within a series of 1980s phenomena: casual sex (gay or otherwise), the spread of HIV-AIDS, the circulation and consumption of cocaine (closely identified with City Boys), and the spread of wealth (Nick starts getting funded by Wani (Ibid., 201), thus joining cocaine dealers, rent boys, interior designers, and barely-useful employees on the magazine (Ibid., 206).) All these spreading phenomena, variously breaching their containing ‘lines’, are parallels to another kind of spread: migration of people and capital, and its causal but fraught relationship with open markets and aspirational capitalism. Throughout the novel, this is registered through the paradox of Nick Guest’s passive-but-­ observant view of the often racist society around him alongside his preference for non-white partners, which Wani implies is fetishistic (Ibid., 191). Hostility towards immigrants and minorities gains only the thinnest veneer of ambivalent suppression in the novel’s High Thatcherite society: ‘He talked a lot of rot at dinner on…the coloured question […] Racism, you know’—as if the very word were as disagreeable as the thing it connoted was generally held to be. ‘A lot of rot certainly is talked on that subject,’ Nick said, with generous ambiguity. (Ibid., 78)

Such tactical ambiguity (carefully crafted but insecure ‘lines’ in yet another sense) sustains Thatcherite society in the novel—and eventually fails there. Migration’s potential for disruption (given racist recognition as ‘the coloured question’) underlies and intertwines with all the various targets of paranoid suppression here. The effect of transnational ‘entrepreneurial’ migration, as achieved by Bertrand, is to make national identity, migration status (which Gerald, at the Home Office, is involved in managing), and social status—whilst important—simply commodities to buy: hence Bertrand’s funding of the Conservatives and Wani’s Oxford

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education. This commodification ultimately makes national identity as unstable as capital itself, which flows into some very peculiar places here, not least when directed by Wani. This is paralled in how, despite the distaste for immigrants repeatedly voiced by the novel’s Thatcherites, migration nevertheless has value for them, in Bertrand’s wealth as a funding source, but also in how diversity functions as object of consumerist and sexual desire, including in racial otherness encoding pleasures otherwise circumscribed by taste: the Ouradis are vulgar in their displays of wealth, but the white British Thatcherites around them enjoy their passive access to that vulgarity. The idea of migration as producing otherness that can be translated, not only into abject racialized phobia, but alternatively into commodity value, is encapsulated in the Ouradi shop’s emblem of exotic fruit (ibid., 228). Entrepreneurial migrant men have, then, a dual-direction relationship with Thatcherism: They can buy national identity and elite status, but the white elite also has an interest (albeit ambivalent) in buying them and their goods (Bertrand has become rich in part by selling luxury consumables to British elites who envy the capital he accumulates as a result). This exchange is reconciled in part through imagining it as an ‘upwardly-­ mobile’ motion that climbs and integrates into the existing hierarchy, rather than disrupting it. This is exactly how Bertrand shapes his career and family; Wani is Bertrand’s heir, and sustains his joyless engagement in anticipation of heirs of his own. Against these hierarchical and vertical ‘lines’ of social climbing and heterosexual reproduction, though, there are sideways movements of capital, cocaine, and sex; and Wani, the second-­ generation entrepreneurial young man, drives many of them through the underlying movement of transnational wealth, which itself ultimately derives from that bane of Thatcherism and its ultimate disruptor in Brexit: migration. It was exactly these unpredictable sideways movements, driven by transnational wealth and evading any substantive national allegiance, that Brexit prompted Theresa May to target in her 2016 ‘Citizens of Nowhere’ speech: But today, too many people in positions of power behave as though they have more in common with international elites than with the people down the road, the people they employ, the people they pass in the street. But if you believe you’re a citizen of the world, you’re a citizen of nowhere. You don’t understand what the very word ‘citizenship’ means.

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May’s speech was an attempt to put Britain—and post-Thatcherite, Brexit-era Conservatism—back inside its proper lines, even at the cost— which Thatcherism proper would never fully or openly admit—of acknowledging the conflicts between nationalism and free markets, between transnational accumulation and conservative identification with the national community. The Line of Beauty is a powerful example, one amongst several noted here, of this ending to Thatcherism—specifically ending its wish-fulfilling reconciliation of conflicting forces—being parodied, problematised, and predicted. It does so by taking a tradition of embodying Thatcherism’s appeal in the entrepreneurial young man, and then playing out the contradictions in this appeal through finding its uncanny, ironic resonances with queerness and transnationality.

Conclusion The Line of Beauty expands the tradition of representing Thatcherism’s appeal as excessive, over-invested (as Mrs. Thatcher’s own image certainly was), and contradictory. This way of viewing Thatcherism has greater credibility now than during Thatcher’s premiership, insofar as political success is now more widely recognised as driven by resonant images, figures, phrases and narratives, and their ability to connect with basic fears and desires. Yet even if Mrs Thatcher herself (with her policy-focussed, literal mentality) did not recognise it, some of those involved were already well aware at the time that her political project’s success, its hold over not only the political but also the cultural imagination in the Britain of the 1980s and well beyond, depended on exactly these things—as, for example, its association with innovations of political imagery from Saatchi and Saatchi, themselves young immigrant men in the 1980s, showed. Literary history (and the popular culture with which it intersects) also provides important evidence for these dynamics. Authors like McEwan, Amis, Kureishi and Hollinghurst could identify and propose the drives behind Thatcherism’s appeal and their dimensions that would ultimately make that appeal incompatible with the realities of a late capitalist, globalising and socially diverse society; their fictional diagnoses provide a rich and credible reading of events beyond more conventional political history. This literature provocatively presents an intersection between the entrepreneurial, aspirational young male and the transnational ‘citizen of nowhere’, and in doing so delivers a powerful alternative history of why Thatcherism’s wish-fulfilling combination of different forces eventually

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led to their own dissolution in Brexit. Nevertheless, as long as there are incompatible drives in our politics and culture—split as it is between the influences of globalised capitalism, intergenerational change, and revived ethno-nationalist and other identitarianisms—fantasies of reconciling these forces may well arise again, as they did so powerfully between Margaret Thatcher and her symbolic sons.

References Abse, Leo. 1989. Margaret, Daughter of Beatrice. London: Jonathan Cape. Archer, Jeff. 1990. Elections, contemporary history, policy and ideology: Current writing on Mrs Thatcher. Australian Journal of Political Science 25 (2): 309–316. https://doi.org/10.1080/00323269008402125. Amis, Martin. 1984/2000. Money: A Suicide Note. Reprint. London: Penguin. Born, Benjamin; Müller, Gernot J.; Schularick, Moritz; Sedláček, Petr. 2017. The Economic Consequences of the Brexit Vote. CESifo Working Paper 6780. https:// www.econstor.eu/handle/10419/173056. British Election Study Team. 2018. ‘Youthquake: A Reply to Our Critics’. https:// www.britishelectionstudy.com/bes-impact/youthquake-a-reply-to-our-critics/#.XMR6m5NKh1M. Brooker, Joseph. 2010. Literature of the 1980s: After the Watershed. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Cummings, Dominic. 2017. How the Brexit Referendum was Won. The Spectactor, 9 January. https://blogs.spectator.co.uk/2017/01/ dominic-cummings-brexit-referendum-won/. Curtice, John. 2017. Why Leave Won the UK’s EU Referendum. Journal of Common Market Studies. Vol. 55. Annual Review, pp. 19–37 Curtis, Chris. 2017. How Britain Voted at the 2017 General Election. https:// y o u g o v. c o . u k / t o p i c s / p o l i t i c s / a r t i c l e s - r e p o r t s / 2 0 1 7 / 0 6 / 1 3 / how-britain-voted-2017-general-election. Dean, Dominic. 2017. Spirits of Enterprise: The Disappearing Child in Thatcherism and Theory. Literature & History 26 (2): 231–250. https://doi. org/10.1177/0306197317724668. Gilroy, Paul. 1987/2002. There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack. Revised ed. Abingdon: Routledge. Hollinghurst, Alan. 2004. The Line of Beauty. London: Picador. Kureishi, Hanif. 1986. My Beautiful Laundrette [Screenplay]. London: Faber and Faber. Lloyd, Phyllida (Director). 2011. The Iron Lady [Film]. Pathé.

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Marshall, William. 1990. Britain: Homosexuality and Local Democracy. Agni, no. 31/32, pp.  37–41. Accessed 14 February 2020. www.jstor.org/ stable/23009363. May, Theresa. 2016. Speech to Conservative Party Conference. Transcript: Accessed 23 August 2019. https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/theresa-may-speech-tory-conference-2016-in-full-transcript-a7346171.html. Mukherjee, Ankhi. 2018. Migrant Britain. In Brexit and Literature, ed. Robert Eaglestone, 73–81. Abingdon: Routledge. Moore, Charles. 2013. Margaret Thatcher: The Authorised Biography, Vol. 1: Not for Turning. London: Allen Lane. ———. 2015. Margaret Thatcher: The Authorised Biography, Vol. 2: All That She Wants. London: Allen Lane. McEwan, Ian. 1987. The Child in Time. Reprint, 1992. London: Vintage. Murray, Martin. 2018. The Psychopolitics of Brexit. In Brexit and Literature, ed. Robert Eaglestone, 131–143. Abingdon: Routledge. Papworth, Jill. 2016. Surreal Estate: Inside Margaret Thatcher’s Chester Square Retreat. The Guardian, 9 February. Accessed 24 August 2019. https://www. theguar dian.com/money/2016/feb/09/sur r eal-estate-margar etthatcher-chester-square-retreat. Schofield, Camilla. 2013. Enoch Powell and the Making of Postcolonial Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thatcher, Margaret. 1980. TV Interview for London Weekend Television Weekend World. Accessed 24 August 2019. https://www.margaretthatcher.org/ document/104210. ———. 1984. Speech to Conservative Party Conference. Accessed 24 August 2019. https://www.margaretthatcher.org/document/105763. ———. 1995. The Path to Power. London: Harper Collins. Young, Hugo. 1989. One of Us. London: Macmillan. YouGov. 2016. YouGov/The Times Survey Results. 13–14 September. Accessed 23 August 2019. https://d25d2506sfb94s.cloudfront.net/cumulus_uploads/ document/36cem5h375/TimesResults_160914_VI_Trackers_W.pdf.

CHAPTER 13

The Politics of The Iron Lady Antony Mullen

In his work on the ‘internationalising of Thatcherism’, Martin Farr (2017) has noted how, in many non-fiction media texts, the image of Margaret Thatcher is becoming increasingly more symbolic and less party political.1 This process does not occur within a specifically British context but in an international one—and it is evident across different media forms, from filmmaking to journalism. According to Farr, the process of internationalising Thatcherism is not about ‘neoliberalism, […] foreign policy, […] an economic history [or] an assessment of Thatcherism’: it is concerned with the ‘personification of an ideology’ and how that ‘can help its dissemination’ and its ‘transmission to new generations’ (2017). Farr begins with a phrase borrowed from David Cannadine’s biography Margaret Thatcher: A Life and Legacy (2017).2 Drawing upon Cannadine’s identification of Thatcher’s ‘global charisma’ (2017, 124), Farr separates Thatcher and Thatcherism and specifies that there was a ‘global charisma of the person  Farr is especially—though not exclusively—concerned with the international news media and news reporting of political speeches, events and debates. 2  As pointed out in my review of this biography (Mullen 2017), Cannadine fails to add anything substantially new to Thatcher scholarship and, indeed, offers a relatively uncritical account of her early life and influences which does little more than to reiterate what Thatcher said about herself. 1

A. Mullen (*) Department of English Studies, Durham University, Durham, UK © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_13

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and the -ism’ (2017), and that both have been imported across the world.3 The impression of Thatcher that has informed the accounts Farr refers to are largely influenced by her international trips, rather than her domestic appearances. What emerges in these accounts, though, is a narrative which overlooks Thatcher’s renowned divisiveness at home. Instead, there is an incorrect assumption that Thatcher’s three general election victories were indicative of a wide-spread popularity. In Farr’s terms, ‘the impression internationally is that [Thatcherism] must have been popular because she was re-elected, that there was a great formation behind her in winning the miners’ strike’ (2017). The consequence of this is that Thatcher has, to a great extent, come to represent qualities of leadership, decisiveness, ‘iron-­ fisted will’ and ‘strong conviction’ in the international media: instances of this can be found in news coverage about Thatcher in East Asia, India, Europe, Australia and the United States of America (2017). Attached to Thatcher within many of these accounts is a narrative which emphasises her role in reversing decline in Britain. Farr identifies that the Czech press coverage of her death said that, in Britain, she had ‘pointed out the path from a rotting society’; it was reported that Emmanuel Macron openly regretted that France had not had its own Thatcher in the 1980s; and the Indian media noted how she had reversed the ‘British disease’ (2017). Furthermore, in China, Germany, Russia, Canada, Iran, South Africa and Italy, media commentators spoke of Thatcher as a saviour figure and talked of her ‘revolution’ being a ‘global’ one (Farr 2017). International politicians have also embraced Thatcher and Thatcherism in a way that has accelerated the process of divorcing the two from one another and reinforcing Thatcher’s status as a symbol of leadership, strength and of reversed decline. In 2015, in the run-up to the 2016 US 3  His distinction between the importing of Thatcher and Thatcherism and the exporting of the two is important. Farr notes that efforts to establish think-tanks and various lecture series, for example, have had a limited impact on the process he identifies. One such speaker series, established in the early 1990s, was a money-making venture by Mark Thatcher which, according to Farr, achieved little beside generating profit. Rather, the internationalising of Thatcher and Thatcherism has been down to a process of importing: individuals inspired by Thatcher or who have borrowed from her (either ideologically or stylistically) have done so of their own free will. That is, they have not needed to partake in programmes designed to spread a ‘Thatcherite’ message, they have ‘imported’ her influence themselves through their own interpretation. Farr notes, though, that for all the international commentators have called for Thatcherism in their own nation (“What France needs is Thatcherism’, ‘What India needs is Thatcherism’, comes up time and again’, he says), there is also an explicit acknowledgement that Thatcher was a nationalist (2017).

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presidential election, former Republican hopeful Carly Fiorina invoked the image of the Irony Lady to affirm her own leadership qualities; in 2016, French presidential candidate François Fillon embraced the intended insult that he was a Thatcherite as a compliment; Tsai Ing-wen, the first female President of Taiwan, praised Margaret Thatcher and held her up as a guide for her own approach to leadership; and, in a UK context, Scottish National Party leader Nicola Sturgeon publicly stated her admiration for Thatcher’s leadership qualities. The vast range of individuals who associate themselves with Thatcher’s model of statecraft highlights that her ‘leadership style and mode can transcend very hostile political boundaries’ (Farr 2017).4 The enduring image of Thatcher that permeates the international media is, according to Farr, one of masculinised feminine strength: this point is underscored by the fact that one of the images commonly used alongside her obituaries in the international press was of Thatcher riding in a tank. Thatcher’s masculinised qualities are not separated from feminine iconography however. Farr notes how images of her handbag are often associated with a combative style (with ‘to handbag’ becoming a verb which describes an act of verbal criticism), while one cartoon commented upon her legacy by depicting her using a feather duster to sweep hammers and sickles from the planet. What the internationalising of Thatcherism has produced, Farr concludes, is ‘a template’ with a particular ‘manner’, a synonym for ‘action’, ‘change’ and ‘dynamism’ within the context of a narrative about ‘Britain being transformed’, and it represents ‘patterns of leadership’ that cut across political divides (2017). Moreover, that Thatcher personifies all these qualities—as a symbol of a strong leader capable of delivering radical change—helps communicate the ideas, principles and values of Thatcherism to a mass audience that might not have received or understood them in the same way in an abstract form (Farr 2017). Using Farr’s ‘internationalising’ framework, this chapter considers how the 2011 film The Iron Lady—commercially successful and critically 4  One could argue that Thatcher’s symbolic qualities transcend politics altogether. In 1996, pop group the Spice Girls declared that Margaret Thatcher was ‘the first Spice Girl’ in an interview in which Victoria Adams (Posh Spice) also echoed Thatcher by describing the European Union as ‘a terrible trick on the British people’ and a threat to the UK’s ‘national identity and individuality’ (Boggan 1996). More recently, singer Nicki Minaj likened herself to Thatcher, describing both herself and the former Prime Minister as ‘queens and women of power’ (CM 2018).

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acclaimed the world over—contributed to Thatcher’s increasingly symbolic status. The study of this film is significant because of its role in shaping Margaret Thatcher’s image and contributing to the public understanding of her legacy in its present political moment, as well as understanding the film narrative’s relationship with scholarly accounts of British politics across the last four decades. In examining it—and its reception—through the critical lens provided by Farr, this chapter explores the political underpinnings of a film which presents an ostensibly objective (that is to say, straightforwardly and factually biographical) portrait of Thatcher. The Iron Lady was released in cinemas across the UK in 2012. Directed by Phyllida Lloyd and written by Abi Morgan (informed loosely by the John Campbell biography of the same name), the film received mixed reviews; its portrayal of Thatcher as a dementia sufferer in particular caused outrage among some of those who viewed her favourably. By contrast, the film was also criticised by her detractors who said it represented her in too positive a light (White 2012). Despite these predictable criticisms, Thatcher’s former speechwriter, John O’Sullivan, described Meryl Streep’s performance of Thatcher’s later years as “very truthful” (2019) and Caroline Slocock, Thatcher’s final Private Secretary, said (in the presence of O’Sullivan, following his own comments on the film) that The Iron Lady offered “a really good portrayal” which “really captured her” (2019). Thatcher never saw the film and Mark and Carol, her children, were reported to have avoided seeing it too (Pierce 2012). Nonetheless, Thatcher’s dementia plays a crucial role within the film as a storytelling device, separating her time in office from the storyline’s present moment: it is the primary means by which the film divorces Thatcher from Thatcherism. Graham Fuller noted that, soon after the film’s release, it was widely noted ‘that it presented Thatcher without Thatcherism’ (2012, 67). Fuller’s analysis is that ‘sound commercial reasons’ led the film’s writer and director to offer a representation not of the ‘dry stuff of policymaking’, but of a love story (between the young Margaret and Denis), her ascent through the male-dominated House of Commons to lead the country, and a sympathetic portrait of her ‘comparative anonymity’ in her later years (2012, 67). The film opens with an old, unrecognisable Margaret Thatcher buying milk and looking at newspaper headlines about a bombing, which include ‘Fear for Brits in Hotel Blast’. The headlines are a self-conscious reference to the IRA bombing of the Grand Hotel in

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Brighton in October 1984. By presenting the event as a distant memory, it frames the present-day Thatcher, who looks frail and is practically unidentifiable to others in the shop, in stark contrast to the portrait of a resolute Thatcher giving her conference speech after, and in spite of, the bombing. Throughout the film, reminders of Thatcher’s earlier life and political career cause her to have flashbacks which act as a means of transporting the film between the past and present day.5 By distinguishing the past and the present in such stark terms, the film offers two different representations of Thatcher: the public image of a Prime Minister and the private life of an individual in her later years. That she has dementia, an illness which causes lapses in memory, divorces the present-day Thatcher from her past self. This is best articulated when Thatcher responds ‘I don’t recognise myself’ upon seeing footage of her present-day self on the news. The presence of an imagined Denis Thatcher, despite his being dead in the film’s present-day storyline, accentuates the distinction between the two Thatchers and allows the film to represent the older, frailer Thatcher through a personal relationship (while the earlier Thatcher is explored as a public figure).

The Feminist Lady Brooke Allen (2012) has written that the ambiguity surrounding the political views of Abi Morgan and Phyllida Lloyd means that it is difficult to know where the film’s loyalties lie in regard to Thatcher herself. Allen states that the lack of a clearly pro- or anti-Thatcherite message, combined with the writer’s and the director’s unknown political positions, means that ‘[even] political enemies will be compelled to admire Thatcher’s well-­ honed skills, her demonic energy, her grade-A brass balls, and will find themselves rooting for her at the most surprising moments’ (2012, 113). Allen’s article on the film is typical of the writing around this particular representation of Thatcher: the lack of an obvious political position means that what is emphasised more than anything, with regard to who Thatcher is and what she represents, are those traits of leadership and strength, presented as if unquestionable and unobjectionable. But by what means does 5  Other instances like this include hearing music which causes her to recall dancing with Denis and accidentally signing her name ‘Margaret Roberts’ which invokes memories of hiding under the table in the flat above her father’s shop as Grantham was bombed during the Second World War.

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the film attempt to make those viewers who are more hostile to Thatcher admire her, in Allen’s words? In separating Thatcher from Thatcherism, the film contributes to the process of turning Thatcher into a symbol of strength and leadership as per Farr’s internationalising thesis. More specifically, though, the film presents Thatcher as a progressive force for women in politics: she is not simply a strong leader, but a strong female leader who succeeds against all odds. The film has a feminist undertone which seeks to present Thatcher as objectively having achieved much as a woman, and for women, regardless of one’s opinion of her politics. Susan L. Carruthers acknowledges that the film’s underlying message appears to be ‘Whatever else we might think of her […] we must admire this woman’s glass-ceiling-shattering ascent and her spouse’s willingness to put her career before his, as defiant of normative gender roles’, adding that ‘Thatcher’s lonely separation—a woman in a world of men—forms a constant motif’ throughout the film which makes it more about her journey than her politics (2012, 52). One of the earliest instances of the film presenting Thatcher as a female role model is when a young aide tells the present-day Thatcher ‘I hope you appreciate what an inspiration you’ve been to women like myself’. The notion of Thatcher as a female role model is, significantly, present in both the representation of the past and in the present moment: while the film usually seeks to emphasise the differences between the two different temporalities, the feminist message cuts across this divide and, as a result, underscores her achievements as a woman as one of her defining and enduring characteristics. The film echoes much of the discourse that Farr identifies in the international media, including a scene in which the news (in the film) credits Thatcher as the ‘woman who changed the face of history’, emphasising that hers is a global legacy; Thatcher’s own line ‘none of these men have the guts’ also echoes Farr’s identification of Thatcher as a symbol of strong leadership and masculinised, combative femininity. As Rebecca S. Richards has said of the ‘Iron Lady’ trope, ‘the very specific identity […], situated originally in Thatcher, is unique, in that it became a transnational identity for female heads of state, even if they did or did not resemble Thatcher in body or politics’ (2011, 8).6 Like Farr, Richards sees 6  Richards’ work on the ‘Iron Lady’ as a transnational rhetorical device is curious in its attempt to use Donna Haraway’s work on cyborgs and feminism (from 1984) to explain Thatcher and other female world leaders. While this element of her article is not convincing, she is right to assert that, by embracing the intended insult, Thatcher initiated a ‘subversive

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the characteristics of the ‘Iron Lady’ persona as a template which cuts through political divisions and describes instead an approach to statecraft and qualities of leadership. Thatcher’s time in party politics is presented in the film as one of struggle: she is patronised at her candidate selection meeting and often presented in isolation early in her parliamentary career. The scene in which she first enters the House of Commons depicts Thatcher’s heels as the only feminine shoes among a plethora of men’s shoes: in doing so, the film suggests that this is not Thatcher’s issue alone, but that of all women who are chronically underrepresented. Thatcher’s time as Education Secretary is represented in the film with a degree of factual inaccuracy. When she is mocked for her high-pitched voice, she is shown to be the only woman in the House of Commons. Thatcher was, at this time, one of numerous female MPs, but the decision to present her as a lone woman being mocked by men on both sides of the chamber emphasises that the film is, at times, concerned less with historical accuracy and more with advancing the notion of Thatcher as a symbol of female strength and leadership. Thatcher’s observation that her ‘background’ and ‘sex’ meant that she would ‘never truly be one of them’ is presented as justification for her authoritative ‘Iron Lady’ persona. Yet, the film also makes clear that the construction of this image was not down to her alone, but also down to the involvement of Airey Neave and Gordon Reece, the television producer who worked as a political strategist for Thatcher. Neave is presented as the only other parliamentarian who is loyal to Thatcher: his role in constructing what the Soviet Red Star branded her Iron Lady persona is not that of a dominant male, but of a supportive one. However, a second historical inaccuracy is used to further the notion that Thatcher’s political career was a lone battle: Neave and Thatcher part ways in a car park when, seconds later, Neave’s car blows up. In reality, Thatcher was not present when Neave fell victim to an IRA bomb but, by representing his loss in this way, viewers are directly confronted with the poignant image of Thatcher witnessing the loss of her only male ally in the most violent way. Time and again the film prioritises telling the story of Thatcher’s struggle as a woman over what is historically true.

moment that challenges the either/or binary of femininity or militarism that has often precluded women from participation in the higher office in their countries’ (Richards 2011, 7).

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The Nationalist Lady The sections of the film that offer an account of Thatcher’s political career (rather than her later life) mirror the ‘national revival’ narrative that Farr describes in ‘Margaret Thatcher’s World’. The film establishes the Winter of Discontent as a moment of crisis which, as Colin Hay has identified, provided key material for Thatcher’s own narrative about the decline of Britain in the run up to the 1979 general election (2010, 464). The film depicts the streets filled with rubbish and there is a power cut during one of Prime Minister Edward Heath’s cabinet meetings: the overly-powerful unions are proposed as the cause of the problem. In a cabinet discussion about the unions, Thatcher listens as Heath and his Secretaries of State repeat the word ‘compromise’, invoking memories of her father during the Second World War. Alfred Roberts’ lessons on strength and leadership are positioned, in this way, as the foundations of Thatcher’s own political agenda and personal determination.7 This suggests to viewers, prior to the film’s account of her premiership, that the origins of Thatcherism are rooted in her experience in her father’s shop in Grantham. By suggesting that the overly powerful unions were the cause of the Winter of Discontent and that Thatcherism was the application of ‘common sense’ principles (gained while running a family business) to running the country, the film uncritically reinforces the narrative that Thatcher offered to the electorate at the time.8 Similarly, in its account of her premiership, the film focuses on the restoration of Britain and its reputation. Phrases like ‘restore this country to greatness’ and ‘put the great back into Great Britain’ are accompanied by fanfare and images of the Union Jack in its representation of her election as Prime Minister in 1979. It combines these images of triumph with actual archival news footage of Thatcher, blurring the boundaries between fact and fiction and contributing to the sense that the film is an objective historical account. Likewise, Thatcher’s insistence that ‘we did not seek election and win in order to manage the decline of a great nation’ and her reference to ‘our determination to see the country prosper 7  The Iron Lady presents a claim that her political vision was rooted in her father’s teachings earnestly but, during Thatcher’s premiership, programmes like Spitting Image satirised the claim: the ‘Grantham Anthem’, for example, presented Thatcher singing at a piano about how her father’s teachings helped her to go on to create the universe. 8  See, for example, Sally Abernethy’s (2018) article on Thatcher’s success in framing her political agenda as ‘common sense’ principles to understand how the film reinforces Thatcher’s own position.

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once again’ speak to both the film’s feminist undercurrent (by presenting her as a lone female battling men who wish to maintain the status quo) and to a narrative of national revival.9 Nationalism is explicitly presented as a defining characteristic of Thatcherism, too, particularly in the film’s representation of the Falklands War. The film offers no alternative to the view that Thatcher was a lone figure taking on the (male) political establishment to defend her nation. Thatcher’s decision to dispatch a task force to the Falkland Islands—justifiable, in her mind, because they are a British territory and they have been invaded by fascists—is met with scepticism by those who question the financial cost of doing so. Geoffrey Howe is depicted saying that Britain ‘can’t afford to go to war’, but Thatcher prioritises the defence of British territory over economic savings. By combining the notion of Thatcher as a lone woman and the defender of Britain, the film casts Thatcher as a Churchillian figure who protected her nation in an hour of need. It goes to such lengths to emphasise the idea of Thatcher as defending Britain on her own that it inaccurately suggests that the then Leader of the Opposition, Michael Foot, opposed military intervention: Foot had, in fact, supported Thatcher’s defence of the Falkland Islanders ‘based on moral grounds’ including their right to self-determination and because the Argentinian act of aggression reminded him of Hitler and Mussolini (Boyce 2005, 46). Much like the earlier scenes when Thatcher was Education Secretary, as well as in its depiction of Airey Neave’s death, the film accommodates historical inaccuracy in order to reinforce its key message about what Thatcher represented as a woman. The UK’s victory in the Falklands War is presented as a moment of national pride, with the song ‘I’m in Love with Margaret Thatcher’ (1979) by the Notsensibles unironically playing over images of national celebrations. Thatcher declares it a day to ‘hold one’s head high and take pride in being British’. Heard in the soundtrack, speaking from the present moment, Denis Thatcher reflects upon the 9  This is especially true of her confrontation with US Secretary of State Alexander Haig. Haig visits the UK to attempt to affirm the USA’s position of neutrality over the Falklands. In what is presented as a patronising address, Haig attempts to tell Thatcher that his understanding of the situation is more sophisticated. His line ‘But Margaret with all due respect, when one has been to war…’ is cut short by Thatcher’s retort ‘With all due respect sir, I have done battle every single day of my life, and many men have underestimated me before. This lot seem bound to do the same, but they will rue the day’. Here the film blurs the distinction between military conflict and life as a woman in politics, explicitly demonstrating what Farr identified as a masculinised, combative femininity (2017).

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moment of the Falklands War by stating that Margaret had gone ‘from the most hated Prime Minister of all time to the nation’s sweetheart’ and that ‘Britain was back in business’. By attributing these lines to the imagined Denis Thatcher, the film presents these exaggerated claims as the subjective opinions of somebody personally close to her, although they are claims which the film’s account does much to support.10 In doing so, the film identifies the significance of British national identity and the importance of restoring pride in Britishness as a central aspect of Thatcher’s project— but it does so at the cost of factual accuracy. While the film represents Thatcher as having a transformative effect on the nation, it does not seek to imply that there were no social or cultural divisions which undermined the idea of a singular British identity during her premiership. The exchanges between Thatcher and Michael Foot in the House of Commons are used to explore these divisions. Foot tells Thatcher that, under her, the ‘rich get richer and the poor are irrelevant’. Furthermore, members of her own cabinet are overheard accusing her of being ‘out of touch with the country’. The film also uses archival footage of the rioting in Brixton, with a newsreader stating that ‘we are now one split nation with a huge gulf dividing the employed from the unemployed’. Yet, this suggestion of a divided nation is one which does not damage Thatcher’s character. The rioters are presented as violent and unreasonable; Thatcher’s (fictional) retort to her cabinet’s accusation of being out of touch sees her challenge her colleagues about the cost of living. By asking them to list the price of butter, the film implies that their inability to do so means it is they who are out of touch: Thatcher subsequently lists 10  Research published by Ipsos MORI shows that the net satisfaction ratings of Thatcher and of her government both peaked after the Falklands War. However, this increase in popularity was momentary and Thatcher’s net satisfaction soon returned to around what it had been at the time of her election in 1979 (i.e. under 5%). Thatcher’s net satisfaction at the time of the 1983 general election was not as high as it had been at the time of the Falklands War. However, Ipsos MORI’s data does show a sharp increase in two measures of public opinion, immediately prior to both the 1983 and 1987 general elections: ‘capable leader’ and ‘understands problems facing Britain’. Thatcher may not have been popular, but she was seen as a strong leader capable of taking the country in the right direction. In a public survey conducted in 1989 which sought to understand what voters considered the ‘three best things’ Thatcher had achieved, the Falklands War was mentioned by ‘only a few’: more saw her handling of the trade unions as a greater achievement (Skinner 2013). Despite this, though, the comments attributed to Denis Thatcher in the film, that Margaret had become the ‘nation’s sweetheart’, does not reflect that this was momentary and that she had a negative net satisfaction rating for most of her time in office.

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various brands of butter and their prices which reinforces the film’s earlier emphasis on her roots as the grocer’s daughter. Where the film is most critical of Thatcher is in relation to her downfall, which is presented as a consequence of a failed extension of her nationalist thinking. The Community Charge (more commonly known as the poll tax) and her increasing Euroscepticism (discussed by Crines earlier in this volume) are presented as too extreme for Thatcher’s Conservative Party colleagues. Her justification for the poll tax is that ‘if you live in this country you must pay for the privilege’, which is framed as a misjudged translation of her abstract political rhetoric about nationhood into policy. The poll tax riots are represented as much more brutal than the earlier Brixton riots. This time the rioters are not simply presented as violent but as victims of the policy: now it is the state which, through the more aggressive (rather than defensive) police, is seen as violent. Yet, Thatcher’s downfall is also highly theatrical and sympathetic to the notion that she was ousted by her male colleagues. This is a point which is subtly conveyed through the introduction of conventions from director Phyllida Lloyd’s previous experience of directing opera. As Thatcher leaves Downing Street for the final time, much to the upset of her (not coincidentally) female clerical staff, she walks through rose petals to the sound of tragic operatic music. The archetypal operatic female reflected by Thatcher at this point is widely understood to represent the victimised heroine and the subject of a tragic demise not of their own making (Ketterer 2006, 111; Lucia 2000, 1420; Rutherford 2013, 25). In abandoning all claims to historical accuracy and drawing upon intertextual conventions (with which they are obviously familiar) in this highly-­ theatrical portrait, Morgan and Lloyd’s feminist account of Thatcher is one which sees the men who have conspired against her throughout the film finally succeeding in bringing about her downfall. This is not presented as the result of an unpopular policy, against which Thatcher was warned by her cabinet colleagues, but a consequence of a male-dominated political establishment reasserting control.

The Iconic Lady The final scene of the film, which returns to the present moment, is not so much political in orientation but intended to invite viewers to reflect upon the meaning of Thatcher’s career (as the film has just presented it) as a woman. The scene depicts Thatcher in her home looking out of the

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window, listening to the sound of children playing. An aide offers to wash her tea cup, but Thatcher declines and the film ends with her standing at her sink. This scene self-consciously refers to an earlier flashback depicting the moment that Denis Thatcher asked Margaret Roberts to marry him. Along with accepting his proposal, the young Margaret offers the caveat ‘I will never be one of those women, Denis, who stays silent and pretty on the arm of her husband’, adding that ‘one’s life must matter […] I cannot die washing up a tea cup’. By gesturing back to this statement that she must live a meaningful life in the film’s final moment, the two scenes—the proposal and the final scene—bookend the filmic representations of Thatcher’s successful political career. Immediately prior to this scene, the film had already begun to establish a process of reflection. Thatcher, looking back at her political career, recalls that ‘all I wanted was to make a difference in the world’: although she does not explicitly state whether she considers herself to have done so, the film’s account of her impact on British politics leaves little room for suggesting that she did not. This is a film about a life that mattered. The specific reference to making a difference ‘in the world’ echoes the narrative which emerged in the international media, following her death, about her legacy being a global one (Farr 2017). That she is shown, in the final scene, to be content with washing the tea cup towards the end of her life implies that Thatcher is satisfied, in her own terms, that her life has mattered. Indeed, this is what Lloyd intended: she stated, in an interview with The Guardian, that the film was not ‘a plea for forgiveness for policy’ but ‘a contemplation of the cost of a big life’ (Cochrane 2012). Speaking to the Daily Telegraph, Lloyd said that she was making The Iron Lady ‘for the next generation as much as for my generation’ (Brown 2011). Madsen Pirie, the President of the Thatcherite Adam Smith Institute think tank, suggested that the film would ‘prompt a reappraisal of Margaret Thatcher and the part she played in changing the nation she led’ (Pirie 2012). There is, in these comments and others like them, a sense that one of the most significant consequences of the film’s release was its introduction of Margaret Thatcher to a new generation. On-screen representations of Margaret Thatcher are numerous. Her early life and election to the House of Commons were examined in The Long Walk to Finchley (2008) and her downfall was the subject of both Thatcher: The Final Days (1991) and Margaret (2009). The Iron Lady stands apart from these though in that it has enjoyed global commercial and critical success. Aside from grossing $114 m worldwide (74% of which was attributed to

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foreign audiences), the film was also successful at the Academy Awards, the BAFTAs and the Golden Globes among other award ceremonies. More importantly though, the film picked up both the Oscar and BAFTA in the Best Actress and Best Makeup categories (i.e. those pertaining to Thatcher’s style, appearance and character), highlighting that the film’s success was linked to its interpretation and representation of Thatcher. It is because of this that discussion of the film warrants inclusion in this volume: it is not merely a representation of Margaret Thatcher, but one which has reached a large international audience and been celebrated globally for its accurate portrayal (despite its historical inaccuracies). But what political message underpins that portrayal? I have suggested that while multiple critics (of varying political persuasions) quoted here have identified The Iron Lady as a film which conceals the political sympathies of its writer and director, it is markedly more favourable to Thatcher than many of its cinematic predecessors or, indeed, contemporaries. The Iron Lady often uncritically reiterates Thatcher’s own account of her premiership (or, at least, an account which is sympathetic to Thatcher). The film suggests, for example, that the unions, too powerful and influential, caused the Winter of Discontent and that all those around Heath’s cabinet table, except Thatcher herself, were too weak to deal with the issue. What is more though, the film acknowledges social and cultural divisions—for example, between the North and South, or the employed and the unemployed—but their representation here comes second to the story about Thatcher’s achievements as a woman. By separating Thatcher in the present moment from the Thatcher of the 1980s (and before), the film distances her from the impact of her own policies. In so doing, The Iron Lady contributes to the internationalising of Thatcherism, as per Farr’s thesis, by emphasising her qualities of strength, leadership, determination and masculinised femininity, and distancing her from any grounds for criticism that may exist.

References Abernethy, Sally. 2018. ‘Let Us Be Cool, Calm—And Elected’: Conservative Party Strategy and Political Narrative Prior to the 1983 General Election. Contemporary British History [First View]. https://doi.org/10.108 0/13619462.2018.1503956. Allen, Brooke. 2012. Playing with Archetypes. The Hudson Review 65 (1): 108–114.

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Boggan, Steve. 1996. Spice Girls Vote Thatcher the New Leader of Their Band. The Independent, 13 December. https://www.independent.co.uk/news/ spice-girls-vote-thatcher-the-new-leader-of-their-band-1314278.html. Boyce, David George. 2005. The Falklands War. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Brown, Mick. 2011. Bringing the Iron Lady to the Big Screen. The Daily Telegraph, 24 December. https://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/filmmakersonfilm/8968746/Bringing-the-Iron-Lady-to-the-big-screen.html. Cannadine, David. 2017. Margaret Thatcher: A Life and Legacy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Carruthers, Susan L. 2012. The Iron Lady. Cinéaste 37 (2): 51–52. CM. 2018. Nicki Likens Herself to Thatcher. The Nation, 26 August. https:// nation.com.pk/26-Aug-2018/nicki-likens-herself-to-thatcher. Cochrane, Kira. 2012. Phyllida Lloyd: How to Humanise Margaret Thatcher. The Guardian, 5 January. https://www.theguardian.com/film/2012/jan/05/ phyllida-lloyd-iron-lady. Farr, Martin. 2017. Margaret Thatcher’s World. In Thatcher and Thatcherism: New Critical Perspectives at Durham University, Durham, UK, January 19–20. Fuller, Graham. 2012. The Iron Lady. Film Comment 48 (1): 67–68. Hay, Colin. 2010. Chronicles of a Death Foretold: The Winter of Discontent and Construction of the Crisis of British Keynesianism. Parliamentary Affairs 63 (3): 446–470. Ketterer, Robert C. 2006. Roman Republicans and Operatic Heroines in Napoleonic Italy. In Operatic Migrations: Transforming Works and Crossing Boundaries, ed. Roberta Montemorra Marvin and Downing A.  Thomas, 99–124. Aldershot: Ashgate. Lucia, Christine. 2000. Musicians. In Routledge International Encyclopaedia of Women: Global Women’s Issues and Knowledge, ed. Cheris Kramarae and Dale Spender, 1419–1421. London and New York: Routledge. Mullen, Antony. 2017. Review of Margaret Thatcher: A Life and Legacy. By David Cannadine. Twentieth Century British History 29 (2): 324–326. O’Sullivan, John. 2019. Working with Margaret Thatcher. In Margaret Thatcher: 40 Years On, Oxford University, Oxford, UK, June 15. Pierce, Andrew. 2012. Still the Iron Lady: Dignified, Elegant—And in Remarkably Good Spirits. A Unique Portrait of Baroness Thatcher. Mail Online, 19 March. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2116927/The-Iron-LadyMargaret-Thatcher-good-spirits-public-outing.html. Pirie, Madsen. 2012. Review: The Iron Lady. Adam Smith Institute. Accessed 27 June 2019. https://www.adamsmith.org/blog/media-culture/ review-the-iron-lady. Richards, Rebecca S. 2011. Cyborgs on the World Stage: Hillary Clinton and the Rhetorical Performances of Iron Ladies. Feminist Formations 23 (1): 1–24.

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Rutherford, Susan. 2013. Verdi, Opera, Women. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Skinner, Gideon. 2013. Margaret Thatcher (1925–2013). Ipsos MORI. Accessed 27 June 2019. https://www.ipsos.com/ipsos-mori/en-uk/margaret-thatcher1925-2013. Slocock, Caroline. 2019. The Woman Behind the Mythology. In Margaret Thatcher: 40 Years On, Oxford University, Oxford, UK, June 15. The Iron Lady. 2011. Directed by Phyllida Lloyd. UK: Pathé. White, Michael. 2012. The Iron Lady Portrays a Very Different Margaret Thatcher from the One I Knew. The Guardian, 3 January. https://www.theguardian. com/film/2012/jan/03/meryl-streep-margaret-thatcher-iron-lady.

CHAPTER 14

‘Death of a Member’, 10 April 2013 Martin Farr

Whenever the House stands adjourned and it is represented to the Speaker by Her Majesty’s Ministers that the public interest requires that the House should meet at a time earlier than that to which the House stands adjourned, the Speaker, if he is satisfied that the public interest does so require, may give notice that, being so satisfied, he appoints a time for the House to meet, and the House shall accordingly meet at the time stated in such notice. —House of Commons Standing Order 13 (1)

I I think we owe a debt of gratitude to the staff who have turned up in the middle of their holidays. The food was warm and this place is as warm as it ever gets. Everything ran smoothly, as though it were a perfectly ordinary weekday event in the middle of the Session.

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker, for recalling Parliament. It is right that we, the representatives of the people of the United Kingdom, should meet in this Chamber that she dominated for so long to pay tribute, but also to reflect on her long period in office. We are here today in rare circumstances: a M. Farr (*) Newcastle University, Newcastle upon Tyne, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5_14

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recall of both Houses of Parliament for the specific purpose of paying tribute to not just a formidable former Prime Minister and leader of the Conservative Party but to a distinguished Member of your Lordships’ House. The House should be proud that the first woman Prime Minister will be honoured in the way I think she deserves to be honoured. I did not intend to speak because, unlike many here, I did not know Margaret Thatcher personally. However, this has become a public debate on her legacy. I have been sitting listening for some seven hours now. I came before Prayers and found that there was nowhere to sit on the Benches, so I sat on the floor. I would have waited 60 hours to speak. It is an honour. We will hear the memories and judgments of those who experienced first hand the phenomenon. It is a great privilege. On previous occasions, we have come to this House to remember the extraordinary Prime Ministers who have served our nation. Today, we also remember a Prime Minister who defined her age. I was her creation. If one considers the number of people whom she sacked, promoted, defeated or berated, they must make up a goodly number of those in the House today. Not only does this House know where the bodies are buried but some of the bodies are present. We are debating a motion that says that this House has considered the matter of tributes to the Baroness Thatcher. Much has been said over the past few days about Margaret Thatcher. Indeed, much of it has been said several times. What a wonderful treasure trove this session has been. It is going to be of great value to historians and people who write about Margaret Thatcher. I believe that this session is providing for future historians examples, hitherto not revealed in public, of the many aspects of this remarkable lady and countering the sometimes false images of her. Noble Lords have added to our understanding and there has been a lot of new material for historians to mine. It has been a marvellous history lesson. I have been listening avidly. I am sure that history will be more accurate as a result. Perhaps in the new term in September, why can we not have a copy of today’s Hansard placed in every school so that they can learn from it? I do not want to suggest that there is an equivalence between the Bible and today’s Hansard and that your Lordships are all evangelists or prophets, but I think that it is an idea to bear in mind. She was, and will remain, a polarising figure. I have asked myself why she is still so controversial. There are Members in the House today from all parties who profoundly disagreed with Mrs. Thatcher but who have come here today willing to pay their respects. Let me say this to those hon.

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Members: your generosity of spirit does you great credit. It is perfectly possible to disagree with her policies but recognise the character of that achievement. Here in our House there are many who helped Lady Thatcher to shape our political history. There are those who took the other side of the argument. There are those who served politicians of all sides in the best traditions of our public service. I disagree with much of what she did, but I respect what her death means to the many, many people who admired her, and I honour her personal achievements. She loved and respected this place and was for many years its finest debater. On the day of her election as leader, we were meeting in Committee that evening. I happened to be on my feet about half past ten, when to my astonishment the door opened and in walked Margaret Thatcher. She proceeded to sit on the Front Bench, through the night, we were all absolutely amazed. That demonstrated her commitment to her duty in the House. Someone said earlier that she was scared of nothing. She was quite scared of the Commons. I remember seeing her knees knocking when she was making speeches. That was because she respected the House. When you were discussing policy she would often say, ‘What do we do about telling Parliament?’ I remember when the chairman of the Procedure Committee had the bright idea that instead of Questions being on Tuesday and Thursday, they should be on Wednesday for half an hour. She looked him steely in the face and said, ‘What do you think the House of Commons would like?’ Things stayed as they were. She had a hugely impressive voting record. She was one of the last out of the Lobby, and she was there for people to talk to—rather than going in, out and away to do what was thought to be more important business. She believed in Parliament as the cockpit of political debate, in a way that is perhaps not fashionable today. Margaret Thatcher was my political inspiration. For me personally, and for millions of people in this country, she was an inspiration. She inspired huge loyalty. I was struck by the number of Conservatives at Westminster who said that Margaret Thatcher had brought them into politics. After the 2010 general election, I had the honour of organising a small number of receptions to introduce her to new colleagues. She drew great solace and comfort from the number of those colleagues who told her that they were in Parliament because of her inspiration. I never wanted to be a politician, but I ended up becoming one. My profound respect for her, and that of millions of people, was birthed then and has endured. She gave people such as me and my generation—Thatcher’s children—the confidence to

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seek a career in public life. The Prime Minister, the Deputy Prime Minister and I all came of age in the 1980s, when people defined their politics by being for or against what she was doing. She was a role model for many of us. My father often remarked that Margaret Thatcher was not just the first British female Prime Minister, but the first British Asian Prime Minister. For some, Lady Thatcher inspired then, and inspires now, a devotion to a politician who they believe not only ‘saved’ this country but was the political ideal to which they aspired and, indeed, is the political model that they believe that they still need now. She inspired a generation. Her true legacy lies here on these Benches and in those who are coming up behind us.”

II If Cromwell was the catalyst of parliamentary democracy, then in my judgment Margaret Thatcher will go down as the person who was the catalyst to change our country into the country it is today.

“In order to understand the true greatness of Margaret Thatcher it is necessary to remember the state of our country when she became Prime Minister. Young people cannot imagine a time when the bins were not collected, when there were power cuts and a three-day  week, when the dead were not being buried, and when—worst of all—our democracy was being held to ransom by the trade union movement. There is a danger that we will forget just how bad the economic situation was in the 1960s and 1970s. Margaret Thatcher’s arrival could not have been any later, because we were on the edge. Our country was in decline—a decline that many thought was permanent and some thought was terminal. Almost everyone agrees that, in 1979, Britain was set on a course that could not go on. It demanded radical change. A myth has grown which has led to the contentious attitude of some people today. They forget that, in 1979, Britain was on its knees. What needed doing had needed doing for decades. She set out to do those things. She changed Britain. We felt that the country was broke. The outlook was bleak. There was mass inflation, unemployment and terrible apathy as rubbish piled up around us and the strikes continued. We were in a desperate state. Industrial anarchy. The then Chancellor was recalled from an aeroplane at Heathrow to come and answer to the International Monetary Fund. The dead were going unburied, the garbage was piling up in the street and the country was in a state of utter shambles. This country was the sick man of Europe.

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Britain was basically a basket-case. The unions had become all-powerful and they could not be tamed, with successive wild-cat strikes. All sorts of economic chaos resulted. It was a decade of stagnating state-run industry, of accelerating inflation touching almost 30%, of three-day weeks, of the Times unpublished for a year, of widespread industrial strife and thrombosis. Hope, aspiration and entrepreneurship were being suppressed by the instruments of the state—militant trade unions and vested interests that stood opposed to change and reform. I can testify to what it was like. It was absolutely dire—[Hon. Members: ‘It was horrible.’] As my colleagues say, it was horrible. The atmosphere was full of pessimism. There was no hope and no aspiration. The UK had to turn to the IMF for a standby credit. The rubbish piled up in the streets, corpses being left unburied and industry being held to ransom. We were the sick man of Europe. I was proud to grow up during the Thatcher years and to see at first hand the inspirational way in which she introduced powerful changes to improve our country. The task in 1979 certainly required a dominant personality to shake this country out of its somnolent conservatism. I was fully aware of the disastrous state. She restored our nation’s much-needed dignity. Successive Governments had failed to deal with what was beginning to be called the British disease: appalling industrial relations, poor productivity and persistently high inflation. There was a sense that the role of Government was simply to manage decline. Margaret Thatcher rejected this defeatism. She had a clear view about what needed to change. Although it seems absurd today, the state had got so big that it owned our airports and airline, the phones in our houses, trucks on our roads, and even a removal company. The air was thick with defeatism. Our economy, society and politics lay crippled after decades of decline. Our balance of payments was appalling, we had gone to the IMF with hat in hand. I remember studying by candlelight. I recall literally crying with sadness and shame as I watched rubbish piling up in our streets on television screens and heard of families who were unable to bury their dead. We had become the sick man of Europe. She wanted to break with the consensus of an over-mighty state and a dependent people. No one would question the need for greater financial discipline in the 1970s and into the 1980s; industries were in a mess. At the heart of her approach was her instinctive understanding that the restoration of prosperity depended on supply-side reform: breaking down the entrenched privileges—of the professions as much as of the trade unions; simplifying and reducing taxes; cutting back the tangle of regulation; and

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enhancing individual opportunity and aspiration. Inflation was to be controlled not by incomes policies, but by monetary and fiscal discipline; industries were to be set free into the private sector; trade unions should be handed back to their members; and people should be able to buy their own council homes. Success in these endeavours was never assured. Her story was one of a perpetual battle, in the country, in this place and sometimes even in her own Cabinet. I remember her saying, ‘What I always feel about problems in government is that the important thing is to work out what is the right thing to do. You may not be able to achieve it, or not immediately, but that has to be your starting point. That has to be your goal’. For me, that is what marks her out as an outstanding and extraordinary leader, perhaps above all. She brought this country around; ending decades of decline. We had Chancellors going to the IMF cap in hand, the three-day week, the lights turned off, the rubbish piled high in the streets and the bodies not being buried in cemeteries. She restored our national pride—from being the sick man of Europe.”

III We remember that she had an extraordinary capacity to overcome—and even not notice in some ways—the objections that were raised to her as a woman.

“I am speaking because, of 49 speakers, only six are women. It is a remarkable statistic that only 100 women in the history of this country have become Conservative MPs. The remarkable fact that she was only the second woman on the Conservative Benches to serve at Cabinet level makes her achievements even more impressive. Before she was elected, there had been no general election with more than 200 female candidates, or more than 30 elected women MPs. One of my stalwarts recounts how as a young Conservative he went into that selection meeting saying, ‘I’m not voting for a woman.’ He came out having voted for that woman. In the general election of 1992, when she stood down, there were 571 female candidates, and 60 women were elected to this place. The numbers have risen significantly since then. Through her efforts, Margaret Thatcher changed the place of women in British public life and politics. She changed the world for women. Lady Thatcher could have done so much for female politicians, and for working mothers and women struggling to hold their families and

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communities together, but she chose not to do so. A Prime Minister has a responsibility to try to generate within the nation a feeling of one nation, consensus and being able to move forward together. Yet that public persona of conviction and confrontation held back much of what might otherwise have been achieved. It is regrettable that the legacy of this quite remarkable woman, did not much encourage the growth of women coming forward and taking positions of authority. I am of a generation that was raised by women. The women whom I knew, who raised me and millions of people like me, who ran our factories and our businesses, and who put out the fires when the bombs dropped, would not have recognised their definition of womanliness as incorporating an iconic model of Margaret Thatcher. To pay tribute to the first Prime Minister denoted by female gender, okay; but a woman? Not on my terms. I cannot stand by and watch commentators say that Margaret Thatcher did nothing for women. Margaret Thatcher’s great belief in freedom and the individual and the fact that her Governments brought freedom and choice to people who had never had it before made a huge difference to millions of women throughout Britain. Bringing freedom, choice and opportunity—those were her watchwords—to young women of the 1980s transformed them into the women of the ‘90s and of this century Lady Thatcher played a crucial role. I met her at fundraisers for ‘Women2Win’ or for individual female candidates, including current Members of the House. Lady Thatcher was always absolutely remarkable in her steadfastness and support for women in the Conservative party. She gave everybody the confidence to make the very best of themselves—she certainly did that for my generation of women. When Margaret Thatcher was elected as Prime Minister, there was a frisson among every woman in my peer group who had been struggling to get up the ladder. It never occurred to her that women might need special pleading. She did not want women-­ only shortlists; it simply never occurred to her that her female status was any hindrance at all. We probably will see a woman Prime Minister again. But will we see the intellect, the drive, the passion and the core beliefs to shape events, not bend to them? Will we see the whole package? She gave not just herself but all of us a belief and a confidence that things could change. It required a woman to give us that backbone and inspiration and the belief that a country could be changed. They say that cometh the hour, cometh the man. Well, in 1979 came the hour, and came the lady. What a woman.

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The noble Baroness spoke about Lady Thatcher’s lack of aspiration to be a feminist, if I may sum it up in that way. That may have been fair but she was nothing if not feminine and many of her colleagues, and many of those who were her civil servants, will recognise that. In everything she did in public life, she was always, on every occasion, immaculate and elegant. She always looked fantastic. She was always absolutely immaculately dressed. Has it not been wonderful over the past few days watching those old news reels and seeing that, on every occasion she faced as the first female leader in the western world, she always wore exactly the right thing? Here was a lady who was tougher than any man, but she never lost her femininity. None of us can forget Margaret Thatcher’s extraordinary elegance. We saw this lady who was perfect in every way. No human being is perfect but she seemed to be perfect in every way. Margaret Thatcher was a very beautiful woman. She had beautiful hands and lovely ankles, and she knew precisely how to use both. Any woman who is stupid enough to think that there is something unsuitable about using the gifts that God has given her should be ashamed of herself. She knew perfectly well that she used them not because she was not as good as men but because she was better than men, and she also wanted to have a bit of an advantage. I remember coming to the Chamber during an all-night sitting. All of a sudden, in walked the Prime Minister, not a hair out of place, smiling. We sort of slid up the Bench saying, ‘Here I am’. It was a pleasure to see how she turned herself out and how she never forgot that she was a woman. I echo the comments, even in the latter parts of her life, as regards her beauty, and those amazing eyes. It took a French President to appreciate that, even if his remark had a twist. Mitterrand was said to be a socialist, but the meetings went rather well. When the President finally came to leave, I went with the Prime Minister to see him off at the front door of No. 10. I said, ‘That visit went rather well, didn’t it, Prime Minister?’ She said, ‘Yes, I suppose it did’. Then there was a pause and she said, ‘Of course he likes women, you know’. I recognised that the President had been flattering her femininity throughout the meeting, and that she had recognised that and enjoyed every minute of it. She was a beautiful woman. One of the biggest deals we have ever done was the al-Yamamah defence deal with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. She played a huge part in that. When she went there, she observed all the courtesies of the Arab world—a long dress, long sleeves and a scarf—but I am quite sure that when she flashed her eyes at King Fahd it was all a done deal.”

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IV More than once during the time that I was with her, she told me that her role as Prime Minister was to be the guardian of the strategy.

“She had a clear vision of what that strategy should be and of the policies required to carry it out. She displayed great courage and determination in pursuing this strategy and in introducing and sustaining the policies which it required, and she could exercise great firmness and all the strength of her personality in making sure of the active support of her colleagues and her civil servants in putting the policies into effect. She was utterly fastidious in her preparations. She was a glutton for work and took an infinity of trouble to master the detail of every subject that she was called on to consider, often to the discomfiture of those with whom she was going to discuss it. The trauma of preparation for Prime Minister’s questions is still seared into my memory. Twice a week it was as if the arms of a giant octopus shook every building in Whitehall for every analysis of every problem and every answer to every question. Mrs. Thatcher depended very heavily on briefing. We delivered lots of briefs to her in the evenings, and by the morning she would have mastered and be ready to use them. After six months in the Home Office studying prisons day in and day out, I was summoned and found that she knew far more about prisons than I did. I thought that that was an amazing example of briefing and retentive memory. I remember saying to her on one occasion, ‘You must have worked very late to get all this into your mind’. She said, ‘Well, I find midnight is the worst. By 12.30 I get a second wind’. For her, the working day was two or three hours longer than it was for any of the rest of us weaker vessels. She respected the Civil Service. But I think that she thought that civil servants in general were too set in their ways and had become too accustomed to the management of decline. One of my duties was to advise her on issues about the organisation of the machinery of government. I do not think that she was ever much interested in those issues: she thought that they were of secondary importance. What mattered to her was having the right policy and having the right person in place to put the policies into effect. Tinkering with organisations diverted energy from what really mattered. I think that we would also agree that she was a staunch defender of our parliamentary system and the part that it should play in our national life. Her respect for Parliament was instilled in others. When judicial

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review was gaining force I suggested that we might arrange a seminar between senior civil servants and some of the judges so that the judges would know more about the way in which decisions were taken in government. ‘Absolutely not’, she said. ‘I am not going to have any appearance of the Executive appearing to interfere with the independence of the judges’. It was said that Margaret Thatcher could be very intolerant of those who did not agree with her. That was a parody of the truth. Those people who did not work with Mrs. Thatcher assume that by her very nature she began and ended with an entrenched position and refused to listen. Part of her enormous talent was her ability to question, challenge and press you on issues as a way of trying to find whether the views that she held herself could stand that stress-testing. I protested about how she had handled a particular colleague during a meeting. He looked at me and said, ‘She deals in destructive dialogue. She gives me the lash. They send a stretcher for me’. Our ambassador at the Security Council had never met her before. When he started trying to report to her, she, not uncharacteristically, kept interrupting him, and he was not used to this. After the fourth interruption, he stopped and said, ‘Prime Minister, if you didn’t interrupt me so often, you might find that you didn’t need to.’ She not only kept quiet but six months later appointed him her foreign policy adviser. She respected people who stood up to her and never held it against anybody at all. The Treasury Whip piped up. She went for him such as I have never seen, and we were very concerned that he may have completely destroyed his political career. Three months later she appointed him a junior Minister. She loved the row but never had any feelings of bitterness. Someone who was one of the dominant political figures in the democratic politics of the western world in the last century. The whole world has a debt to her, which it fully recognises as well. We were seen as weak across the world. She won huge respect for our country abroad. She returned from a meeting with President Bush to decide on the first Gulf war. I had never seen her in such a state. She was marching around the study saying, ‘You’ve no idea what a struggle it is putting backbone into him.’ She made the wrong judgment about South Africa. Despite the advice of others who urged economic sanctions, Margaret Thatcher said, ‘No, I will go it alone.’ That is a great scar on the history of the Commonwealth. This divisive lady was responsible for introducing harmony across the iron curtain. She saved our country; she helped bring freedom to half our continent. Destroying communism and opening up

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eastern Europe to proper democracy. The irony of her going is that she lived out her retirement in the certain knowledge that on the issue that primarily brought about her fall—that of Europe—she had been right. She had a remarkable ability to distance herself somehow from the policies of the Government of which she was also leader. ‘The Foreign Office aren’t wet—they’re drenched.’ She would begin the discussion in her typically strident way, saying, ‘Well, Secretary of State, I am not very attracted to what you want to do, but let us hear it, if you must’. He would then explain what he wanted to do. Having listened, she would say, ‘Well, Secretary of State, if that is what you want to do, you’d better go on and do it. But if it all goes pear-shaped, don’t come back to me to bail you out.’ We have talked about how she changed her mind but not about how loyal she was when she had changed her mind. When she grasped that the policy needed changing, she was the one who led from the front, leaving one carrying the standard behind her. It was tremendous support for a junior Minister—not just for tea ladies and staff, or Secretaries of State, but for all levels of government. I had never experienced a chief executive like that in all the jobs that I had done in the private sector. I used to be astonished by the certainty with which she felt that she understood what the British people were thinking. She never asked me to commission a focus group. She delayed abolition of the National Dock Labour scheme because ‘It is January and it is cold and foggy. This is not the right time. We will wait until the spring, when the sun and the daffodils are out, and it will be all right’. Lo and behold, the Government waited until the spring and the decision went exactly as she said. Lady Thatcher had a real appreciation of middle England’s hunger for aspiration, giving people a greater chance to own their own home. The rights and wrongs of the community charge are not for today, but the casework that Mrs. Thatcher came across drove home the inequality of a household with several wage earners paying the same as a pensioner. She was extremely pragmatic, in the best sense, about the health service. She made it perfectly clear that if I thought that the reforms which had just been launched were not well based, it was up to me to stop them. ‘The Government have no money. You are being asked to supervise the distribution of a great deal of money, and you must spend it wisely and carefully because it is taxpayers money’. On more than one occasion when I left she said, ‘I just want you to look as you go out at what it says on that door’, to remind me that it said First Lord of the Treasury. She was trying to indicate that, in the final analysis, it was going to be her word. ‘Prime Minister, when we are old

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and retired the only really interesting thing about us will be that we worked for you’. Today we are all proving that compliment to be right.”

V Like all great human beings and all great politicians, she was a person of contradictions.

“There were two great influences in her life. One was her scientific training. The other, of course, was her religious belief. I think she has been the salvation of the nation. The light of her legacy will shine as a beacon down the generations. She was an evangelist. She had a mission. She saved our country. She offered her successors a chance to build a new Jerusalem. It was entirely fitting that the place where she particularly enjoyed the chance to walk securely and privately in her latter years was the grounds of Lambeth Palace, which successive archbishops placed at her disposal. The other side of Mrs. Thatcher, which I hope does not get overlooked, was her interest in science. I remember No. 10 organising groups of researchers to come and meet her. She would grill them for an afternoon and they would emerge looking exhausted, while she would look hugely refreshed by the experience of having cross-examined them on their science. Having read over the summer about climate change, she decided that it was a really big problem which people had underestimated. She made a speech to the Royal Society—way ahead of international opinion—in which she very clearly set the problem out in scientific terms. Her scientific background led her into that insight. I asked her what she would have done if the second Iraq war had come on her watch. She said, ‘It is not sufficiently or fully realised that I was a scientist before I became a politician. We had no evidence and we certainly had no proof, so I would not have committed one single member of the armed services’. If I may observe to right reverend Prelates, there is a precedent for being divisive: there are sheep and there are goats. The noble Baroness was aware from both her scientific training and her religious beliefs that there are things that are right and things that are wrong, technically, scientifically and morally. It was Margaret Thatcher who saved the Labour party. Anybody leading the Tory party would have won the 1979 general election. We created Margaret Thatcher, in that sense. Perhaps her greatest legacy is that she converted the Labour party from a party that was pursuing extreme left-­ wing policies, and dragged it kicking and screaming to the centre. She was

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someone who took the fight to her opponents, and who deployed a scorched earth policy to destroy them. We were 18 years in opposition. Our system forces political parties to change. If you do not listen to the electorate, the electorate ignore you, and you pay a very high price. We were trounced. We were a divided party and a divided Opposition, and we had a very long and tough time getting through it. We had to reform and change and get our act together. She forced the Labour Party to reinvent itself. She gave the unions back to their members by making postal ballots for trade union elections compulsory. Many of those seats across the north returned Labour Members only after Tony Blair embraced the free market, low-tax message of Margaret Thatcher. Caution is something that does not normally go with a charismatic leader. She was a very cautious woman. She recognised that you could not have a whole plethora of interventions, initiatives, new ideas and headline-­ grabbing ideas. She knew that you won things only by fighting them through and succeeding with them one at a time. She did not go ahead with the abolition of the dock labour scheme until she had dealt with the problems of the mining industry. She did not move to privatise water until she had made sure that people recognised that it was the only way to pay the bills. She has been charged with being overconfident, even arrogant, but you saw a very different picture inside No. 10—somebody whose motivation and force was not built on overconfidence but was in fact built on lack of self-confidence. She said it was something that the media never really realised about her. I believe that that was the driving force. Ahead of every general election she would pack her bags at No. 10 because she by no means took it for granted that she would win. She had a quality of caution, which is something that very few people of her strength have ever evinced. Although she was often described as an ideologue she was not. She stuck to common, decent morality and then looked at the facts. Whenever you had an issue or a policy discussion, she would always start by saying, ‘What are the facts?’, and then you would work out how you were going to sell this particularly difficult policy. As has been said, she was a conviction politician with skill and determination in expressing her convictions. But she was also a shrewd, cautious and pragmatic political operator in government. She was not an ideologue, she was somebody who looked at the evidence. She was intolerant of people who were woolly and who argued that things could not be done because they would be unpopular or that it was too difficult, but when she met someone able to argue from a

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point of fact and whom she respected, she not only listened, but could change her mind. In discussing appointments with her, she never once asked, ‘Is he one of us?’ When commentators describe her as driven by ideology, they fail to understand: the day-to-day issues that faced Mrs. Thatcher as a local constituency MP influenced her policies. She never forgot that she was also the Member of Parliament for Finchley and she believed that it was her duty to come here not just to speak but to vote on behalf of her constituents. Her ability to remember their names and their concerns was truly astounding. The dripping tap that the council would not repair was the most important thing to that constituent, and so it became the most important thing to the woman whom my party members remember as ‘our Margaret’. Finchley brought home to her what needed to be done. Within minutes of Mrs. Thatcher returning to Downing Street, the No.10 machine would be on the phone, demanding politely to know what she had been told, because she had returned full of vigour, demanding to know what was going on with this or that. There are countless examples of her warmth and her compassion. ‘Do you know of any of our people in the House of Commons who are going to be alone over this Christmas period? If you do, I would like to ask them to Chequers to come and stay’. The devotion of those who worked with her and stayed with her after she was no longer the Prime Minister is testament to that. She could be very pleasant indeed. She would give someone a real roasting from the Dispatch Box if they made a comment, but out there in the corridor she would be very kind. That is the truth of the woman.”

VI We should regard some of the more unseemly reactions to her death as a backhanded tribute to her. But let the argument about her legacy be based on the facts and not the myths which her opponents would prefer to believe.

“I shall be at the funeral at St Paul’s. I was at Churchill’s funeral in St Paul’s. We will honour the other great Prime Minister of the past 50, 60 or 70 years, Margaret Thatcher, in a similar way. In the Members’ Lobby there are rightly four principal statues: Lloyd George, Winston Churchill, Clement Attlee, and Margaret Thatcher. At times of deep crisis, the whole country rallies behind a unifying leader, whether it is Churchill in wartime or Attlee in peacetime. We should also come to some kind of consensus

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here today that there were two quite remarkable Prime Ministers of post-­ war Great Britain: two Prime Ministers who actually changed the country and did so in the way they wanted to change it. They did not sit as change happened round about them. They were Clement Attlee and Margaret Thatcher. We all pretend that we act on the basis of evidence, sense and reason, but most of us—apart from her and Attlee—act on the basis of pressure, prejudice and perception. Make no mistake—I think now of all the figures of Prime Ministers in the Lobby—she was one of the defining figures of the last century. It was Baroness Thatcher who reversed our post-war economic decline and restored Britain’s confidence and standing. I quote from Harold Wilson’s tribute to Churchill: ‘the tempestuous years are over; the years of appraisal are yet to come’. To hold parties to celebrate the death of someone is wrong. It is said that you can judge people by their opponents, and that has been used in the context of the disgraceful minority of Trots and socialist workers who have behaved so badly in recent days. I find the hostility that one hears from some people today hardly surprising. I do not believe that she would feel at all surprised by that hostility. She was not somebody who expected acclaim and unanimity. I have a feeling that some of these distasteful and disgraceful demonstrations might well have pleased her. In some ways, the protests are the greatest compliment that could be paid to Margaret Thatcher. Even in death, the left have to argue against her. A lot has been said about the harsh nature of some of the responses to the news of Mrs. Thatcher’s death, but the House needs to understand the reason. The reaction of people whose frustration is heartfelt. They have lost their sense of place in society. The funeral next week will take place 20 years to the day since Easington colliery was closed. Please do not blame the people in my part of the world if they choose that day to pay a tribute very different from that being paid in the House today. Some of us have lost a dear friend, who in my case was not only a friend but a mentor and protectress—someone I loved and cared for very deeply. A wonderfully kind and utterly magnificent lady. Her compassion and her greatness as a human being. You did know that you were in the company of greatness. Easily the greatest Briton of my adult lifetime. I was a witness to greatness as well as to great events. A great Prime Minister. There was a real greatness. Sheer greatness. We have lived in the shadow of greatness. We shall never see her like again. The greatest Prime Minister this country has ever seen. There will never be another like her. A very great lady. A unique and towering figure. A titan of the twentieth century—a true

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colossus on the political stage. An icon of the twentieth century. She was phenomenal. She bestrode the world stage like a colossus. I believed in Margaret Thatcher to my core. For millions of British people from all walks of life, men and women, she was their heroine. My heroine. So many people who met her have said to me, ‘That was the highlight of my life’. They realised greatness when they were in its presence. She was truly my heroine. It is a day of finality—a day when we know that we will never have Margaret Thatcher in our midst again. Margaret Thatcher was brought down in the end not by the electorate but by her colleagues. To hear all the support, warmth and memories that are being given today, there are some members of her party who have perhaps forgotten the role that they played in that very brutal downfall. I was devastated. This occasion gives me the opportunity to put on record my utter contempt for those in our party—people who were not fit to lick her boots—who ousted her. That did an awful lot of damage—but not just to the country, as it did long-term damage to the Conservative party as well. Her last day in office was marked by the brutality with which people in her own party treated her, somehow forgetting all that she had achieved for them. That was a disgraceful day. It is something that my own party have never done to a leader in the past and I hope will never do in the future. They put her in a dungeon downstairs, underneath this Chamber. I went down there. She was dressed in black. She was traumatised. I do not know how it happened, but it was appalling to witness. I was her Parliamentary Private Secretary after that. She was angry; people around the world could not understand it and it is important to remember that she was never beaten by the British people. It was a disgrace. I left her, I fear, at the mercy of her friends. That I do regret.”

VII She was a mixed blessing. Of that there is no doubt.

“It has been said many times, including this afternoon, that she was a divisive figure. She was. She had to be. There was no consensus on the right thing to do for our country. If she had waited for consensus, nothing. Her real legacy will be the way in which her policies changed the lives of ordinary people such as my grandparents, who were among the hundreds of thousands who bought their council house, the workers who were given the right to decide whether to strike or whether to join a trade

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union and the many people who started their own businesses during the Thatcher years and were given opportunities that had been beyond the reach of many people. What will linger in the memory is the single most extraordinary achievement of any leader in the post-war era—that of turning a failing country and a basket-case economy into a country that had recovered its self-respect and had a future. My view remains that what Attlee set out to do was absolutely right, and that what Lady Thatcher set out to do was wrong. I know which side I am on. [‘The losing side’]. She made the political weather. She made history. And let this be her epitaph: she made our country great again. Fundamental changes. It was her passion for the truth that made her such a dangerous adversary in argument. Those who disagreed with her undoubtedly felt that to be arrogance on her part, but she felt she was a guardian of greater truths and principles, which were far more important than her mere self. It is to Lady Thatcher’s credit that she has shown that we should not be daunted by problems of that scale and magnitude, but should tackle them head-on and overcome them with the same flame of conviction and resolution that remains her greatest memorial. She was the personification—the epitome—of aspiration. She rightly reminded us that whatever a person’s background if they worked and studied hard they could get on and succeed. I would describe one of Margaret Thatcher’s great contributions as being to what I call liberation politics. She liberated a lot of people who had had no prospects because they were in the proletariat herd. She hugely enlarged the middle class—the bourgeoisie—of this country. As a result of the structural changes that she introduced, we are a much more equal society than we were. Far more people now have the opportunity to run their own lives. We owe Margaret Thatcher so much. Greatness has to be tempered with generosity and magnanimity. For some she was a divisive figure and someone to whom they were, and remain, fundamentally opposed; someone whose very name, even now can raise heights of emotion, of passion, of anger, of despair and more; and someone who they believe can never be forgiven for what she did to individuals, to communities, to industries and to the country. I come to the spiritual part of what I regard as the desperately wrong track down which Thatcherism took this country. We were told that everything I had been taught to regard as a vice was, in fact, a virtue: greed, selfishness, no care for the weaker, sharp elbows, sharp knees, all these were the way forward. Untempered individualism. It would be wrong and hypocritical if the views that we expressed at the time were not mentioned today. Even if we

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accept that some of that was inevitable, the unfortunate thing was what I can only describe as the indifference to and, at times, brutal contempt for, those who had lost their jobs—Will the hon. Gentleman give way? I was made redundant at the time he was describing. I set up my own business thanks to Thatcherism, I made a success of it and here I am now, preaching it forward.—Does that not prove the point? What he said very much expresses Thatcherism. He says, ‘I was made redundant. I found another job. Here I am today.’ What about all the others who were not in a position to do that? My point could not be better illustrated, and I thank the hon. Gentleman for doing it. Dominance should always have a counterpart in concern for the victims of radical change. Labour Members agree that change, and even painful change, is often necessary, but we also believe that it should not be bought at the price of tripling unemployment, tripling child poverty and an unacceptable increase in inequality. The painful changes that were made were not carried by the broadest shoulders and have left an unbalanced economy with which we are still grappling. It would be dishonest and not in keeping with the principles that Margaret Thatcher stood for not to be open with the House, even on this day, over what she did. In mining areas such as the one I represent, communities felt angry and abandoned. Gay and lesbian people felt stigmatised by measures such as section 28, which today’s Conservative party has rightly repudiated. Margaret Thatcher will be remembered for a long time in Scotland and Wales. She should be judged on her own terms—on whether she did deliver harmony where there was discord and hope where there was despair. Certainly in south Wales, she failed on those two counts. The great steelworks of the west of Scotland do not exist any more. Maybe they were going to go anyway but it was the way in which it was done which left the lasting impression and which will cloud the memory of somebody who made such an impact on British life. It would be wrong not to put on record our profound disagreement with her socially and economically divisive policies, which were particularly opposed in Scotland and Wales. She helped remind us that we have a national consensus that values society, values solidarity and values community. For that at least, we can be grateful. It is probably not done on these occasions to face up to the criticisms that have been made of Mrs. Thatcher, but she was never one to be limited by what was the done thing. I have been struck over the last few days by the number of times I have heard the word ‘divisive’ being used on the television—as if every one of Margaret Thatcher’s policies created

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division, especially so in the north of England. That is not right. It is true that the restructuring of our economy in the early 1980s hit parts of the north hard, but many metropolitan journalists fall into peddling an easy fallacy, suggesting that the north was uniformly hostile to the message of Lady Thatcher—we were not. It was not Margaret Thatcher who ruined those mining communities. ‘The enemy within’ was probably one of the most polarising statements against any change that we would have been able to achieve, and made consensus difficult. She did things that I deplored; she did things I thought were wonderful. The reason for the insufficient balance is polarisation. She was the most courageous challenger. One reason why I think she will have an increasing part in the history books is that she presided over and contributed to the ending of one of the great political struggles in this country: between capitalism and socialism. Her enduring legacy is not just in what she achieved and the fact that the Labour party has not reversed much of it. She was also the architect of a business revolution. Many people forget that before her time even the terms venture capital and entrepreneur hardly existed. I have heard it suggested that somehow the recent financial crisis has its origins in her approach to economic policy. Nothing could be further from the truth. Those who worked with Mrs. Thatcher know that she disliked financial excess. She would have found the abuse of market power by some bank leaderships every bit as deplorable as the behaviour of trade union leaders. It is said that she was harsh, but she made us face reality, and reality was harsh. Those who did not like facing reality projected their hatred of reality on to her. The human cost of facing up to reality would have been much less if previous Governments had not, for reasons of false analysis and cowardice, failed to deal with those realities earlier. If blame is due for the fact that any harshness materialised, it is due to her predecessors rather than to her. Those who hated reality, who hated being proved wrong and who hated seeing their illusions shattered transferred their hatred to her. Fortunately, she was big and strong enough to act as a lightning rod for their feelings. This has been a remarkable day—one that none of us who has sat through it will ever forget. It has been a great parliamentary occasion for a great parliamentarian. I am sure that Baroness Thatcher, as a great parliamentarian, would appreciate how the debate has been conducted. Much has been said about the battles that Margaret Thatcher fought. She certainly did not shy from the fight and that led to arguments, but what is remarkable is how many of those arguments are no longer arguments at

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all. So many of the principles that Lady Thatcher fought for are now part of the accepted political landscape of our country. Very few of her major policies—I can hardly think of any—were reversed by the Governments who succeeded hers. The change that she made to the face of Britain was complete. Everything that she stood for will survive her. The unwavering conviction that Lady Thatcher possessed so magnificently sets an example for every generation. What we miss from politics today is her certainty, her seriousness, her clarity of principle, her fusion of the practical with her sense of moral purpose. I believe that the Prime Minister, and many who sit behind him, were inspired by Margaret Thatcher, and that many of the politics in which she believed have found its way into our Government. In different ways, I believe that we are taking forward her legacy.” Question put and agreed to. Resolved, That this House has considered the matter of tributes to the Rt Hon Baroness Thatcher of Kesteven LG OM. Sittings of the House Ordered, That this House, at its rising this day, do adjourn till Monday 15 April 9.48 pm House adjourned.1

VIII Thus spoke Parliament on the passing of Margaret Thatcher. Or, rather, thus spoke those parliamentarians who were present. Their testimony is unrepresentative as there were fewer parliamentarians present than would otherwise be the case due to the parliamentary recess, thereby rendering the day incidental, and interpretations of it impressionistic. The present literary curiosity, then, has been crafted from a parliamentary one. Yet it 1  These 8873 words were extracted from the 109,673 words combined of House of Lords: Debates, volume 744, part number 134, 10 April 2013, columns 1127–1206, ‘Death of a Member: Baroness Thatcher’; and House of Commons Official Report, Parliamentary Debates, Sixth Series, volume 560, part number 138, 10 April 2013, columns 1613–1720, ‘Tributes to Baroness Thatcher’. The extent of the licence taken beyond blending quotation from different parliamentarians has been to capitalise words so as to create sentences, but not to affect meaning: the spirit of comments has been observed. Other than with one obvious transcription error (had/has) no changes have been made, and nothing has been repeated from, and nothing added to, the official published record.

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was also a parliamentary moment, and was a historical moment, if one as minor as Thatcherism was major. It saw the recollecting of a decade twice, in a few hours; in one case by those who were part of it, and in the other by those who—in the main—were born of it. It stands as the most significant and coherent appraisal of the person and of the -ism that the place where both were catalysed would ever offer. In their peculiar ways, these reflections on the death of a member offered often unintentionally profound significations of the social and cultural legacy of Thatcherism in the twenty-first century. The event, like the subject, was sui generis. Given so prominent a platform there was throughout a sense of history being made; certainly of history being sought. The very fact of the debates was historic. Precedent was that when a former Prime Minister died during a parliamentary recess, tributes were paid once parliament returned. On the day that she died, the Prime Minister’s office—though not David Cameron personally— requested of the Speaker, John Bercow, the recall of Parliament, an uncommon recourse that had last taken place after urban rioting two years before. Proportion, too, was extraordinary. Separated by two months in 2005 Lord Callaghan (who had died during recess, but for whom there was no recall) had detained MPs for just under, and Sir Edward Heath just over, an hour; tributes by Peers took ten minutes. On 10 April 2013, by contrast, MPs and Peers began talking about her at half past two, the Lords concluding at eight o’ clock, while MPs carried on until almost ten. Yet neither debate, nor any account of them, could serve as a work of record, not least as the official record itself was only a—sometimes loose— approximation of what was actually said, and could offer no sense of, for instance, government benches in the Commons without a space, or opposition benches without a person. Nor does it record the mood of the Commons chamber, other than the most voluble emotional responses: nothing of collective expression, or reaction. And the subject was nothing if not generating of reaction. The very fact and format of the debates were political issues in a way tributes to the dead tend not to be. Only four years after the ‘expenses scandal’ had taken place, convulsing the institution of Parliament in a way that nothing else had between 1959 and 2013 when she was of it, and with ‘austerity’ a dominating political narrative, the press keenly highlighted that MPs could claim up to £3700 in travel expenses to return—as reports often framed it—from their holiday and back to it afterwards. Concerns that the Prime Minister was politicising death were stated

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sometimes on, but more usually off, the record. At least two Labour MPs expressly boycotted the debate: John Healey and Ronnie Campbell, the latter of whom told the BBC he would rather be in a torture chamber. The independent MP George Galloway espied a state-sponsored eulogy and condemned the suspension of democracy the following week when Parliament was adjourned whilst the funeral—Operation True Blue—took place. The Labour Leader, Ed Miliband, found himself in the invidious position of risking upsetting those on either side of him by the extent of the respect paid or criticism made in his speech. Such questions were acute when what had been tabled in the Commons were tributes, but that, given the subject, the conventions of debate would apply: assertion, contestation, intervention. That felt apt when the event itself remained contentious. The standard, counter-intuitive, prediction before the sessions was that that of the Lords would be the more interesting of the two, in the way that Lords sessions generally are—more informed, less partisan—and with the additional attraction of the chamber being almost a living museum of the 1980s, with exhausted volcanoes ranged alongside lesser ruptures of the political crust. At least one observer, however, expected the opposite. For all the colour and granularity of the debate in the Upper House, from those who had had power, or had sought power, it was in the Lower where the real significance would likely be felt: from those in power, and those seeking power, each shaped in one way or another by their experiences three decades before. All were her ‘children’. Where Peers spoke of her as a contemporary, commoners did so as a cause, in all the varied forms and with all the varied outcomes that that implied; her part in their formation. So it followed that the Commons would be where legacy would be live. So it proved. Those who were not present passed on the chance to extol, or excoriate, for the annals. There was no way of knowing why most of those parliamentarians not present were not present. Most Conservative MPs did, many Labour MPs did not, attend, but it could equally not be known why some parliamentarians who did—Lords Dodds, Howe, Heseltine, and Owen; Kenneth Clarke—did not speak. None of her three successors as Prime Minister spoke—only one remained in parliament, and Gordon Brown was in France; the parliamentary silence of John Major and Tony Blair was enforced—and none of her three successors as Leader of the Conservative Party. Her cabinet colleagues present that afternoon included Lords Deben, Forsyth, Fowler, King, Howard, Jopling, Mackay, Tebbit,

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Waddington, Waldegrave, Wakeham, Young. As far as the Conservative Party was concerned, the Lords was a palace of paean. None of her own party critics intervened in either chamber. Frank Field apart, those not of her party had recourse to the merely political; those of her party could blend it with the personal. To her own, her bossiness and certainty was affectionately recalled, reinforcing head-shaking, guffawing, legend. Anecdote softened and rounded; stories of kindness or dedication. The woman few saw, and variations thereof: hand-written notes to the bereaved; personal subventions to the poor; kindnesses to cleaners and waiters at the same time as the defenestrating of bureaucrats and ministers. There was more consensus than had been voguish at the time. A debate was not what either session resembled. Pieties and platitudes predominated. She at least had a Tory Prime Minister to lead the tributes, albeit one required to have a Liberal Democrat alongside him, one whose own speech, not untypically, sought statesmanlike to straddle and ended up satisfying few. Formerly foes, Lord Ashdown agreed with Lord Howard that she had saved the country. Gisela Stuart, Barry Sheerman, and Frank Field, of Labour, and Simon Hughes, Liberal Democrat of the landmark 1982 Bermondsey by-election, were laudatory, though much good it did the latter when his grudging partners in government roared at recall of her roasting of him in the chamber. Hitherto never-yoked, Michael Meacher and Sir Gerald Howarth highlighted the selectivity of commemoration by list. Beyond the conventions of observance the registers were appropriately extreme. The spectrum ranged from the least—Glenda Jackson—to the most—Philip Davies—admiring. Some critics were nuanced—Baroness Royall, Lord Robertson, Dr Alasdair McDonnell; more were less so. There was anger, both on her behalf—Bill Cash—and towards her: the tightly-­ controlled fury of Angus Robertson, the Scottish National Party Leader in Westminster, so clinically concise that it seemed to catch Members by surprise. It was striking how much the ‘debate’ was predetermined, delivered with little interaction with or cognisance of any preceding contributions: so the jarring shifts in tone from David Anderson to Andrew Tyrie, from Kevin Barron to Christopher Chope; parliamentarians that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing. Only once was another’s speech substantively engaged with, and that was to ask that it be ruled out of order. And on only one occasion, electrically, was there disputation, when David Morris—in period dress, something else not noted in the official record—intervened on David Winnick, to self-laud an aspirant and his

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decade and in so doing dousing with fuel an already incendiary Member. Baroness Royall’s was the most measured and thereby effective critique, enhanced by her status as Shadow Leader of the Lords; a model of courteous censure. Malcolm Rifkind’s was the best-delivered and funniest, run close by Lord McNally. John Redwood’s thoughtfulness the more so for being noteless. John Whittingdale and Peter Lilley the more effective for engaging with the critiques of their heroine. David Anderson alone referred to incontinence and dementia, and in doing so sensitively, earned licence for justification of the so-called death parties in his native North East. Enoch Powell’s presence was felt in each debate, and for the same quotation: on her tensile properties before and after the forge that was the Falklands. Lord Tebbit was icily compelling. There were misjudgements. Glenda Jackson’s speech, from the first word to the last, lacked wit, wisdom, or—remarkably—delivery. Two speeches in particular felt like the 1980s being lived out again, in real time: those of Lord Soley and Sir Tony Baldry, the latter then seeking to limit the free speech of other members. It being at least notionally a debate, the Speaker decided, and—it being this Speaker—emphatically, against the Second Church Estates Commissioner, partly in consequence of the length of whose pontificating the chair had later to restrict interventions to three minutes, by which point the House had thinned, and regurgitation thickened. Rather than de-centre the person from her age, the debates perhaps inevitably de-centred almost all other agency. What was spoken of, and with what incidence, was as striking as what was overlooked. Some terms were much more frequently heard in the Commons (‘conviction’, ‘council house’, ‘enterprise’, ‘Europe’, ‘freedom’, ‘ideology’, ‘inspiration’, ‘legacy’, ‘Reagan’, ‘unemployment’, ‘values’) and, even compensating for the slightly shorter debate, others much more common in the Lords (‘Brighton’, ‘decline’, ‘Falklands’, ‘greatness’, ‘Methodism’). Generally, and predictably, such distinctions were along generational lines. Some terms were conspicuous by their absence. There were two mentions of ‘social security’, only one of ‘citizenship’, and ‘Docklands’, and no reference in either debate to ‘civic society’. Notwithstanding the subject herself, the debates were largely male affairs in still apparently largely male assemblages. In the Lords, for most of the time the only female voice was that of Baroness Anelay, the Government Chief Whip, who mainly announced which men would be speaking next. Baroness O’Cathain said that that did not really matter that so few women spoke. ‘Femininity’ was mentioned many times in each chamber; ‘feminism’, never.

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For of all the anticipation of the debates’ historical worth, it was revealing in its own way that little that was not personal to the speaker, certainly in the Commons, had much intrinsic value. Cliché grew like Topsy; received wisdom and boilerplate history were shamelessly recapitulated. Bromide, of both conception and expression, was for many the compound of choice, at times applied so liberally and consistently, as over the state of Britain in May 1979, that, but for the repetition, it might have been scripted. A corollary of cliché, as it may have sounded in the public gallery, was veracity; or, perhaps to those watching on television, manufactured consent. The urtext of declinism was inserted into the narrative when Lord King brandished Sir Nicholas Henderson’s valedictory—and strategically leaked—dispatch as British ambassador in Paris in 1979, the year zero for so many speakers. The most penetrating and most historically valuable—and unexpectedly personal—contributions were from Cabinet Secretaries: Lord Armstrong trenchantly, Lord Wilson disarmingly. The predecessor she was most often likened to, surprisingly—and legitimately—in the Commons, was Gladstone. Attlee was named more often than was Churchill, who was nevertheless implied every time someone stressed that she was the greatest peacetime Prime Minister. Their shared mantle was greatness. Pace Harold Wilson’s tribute to Churchill, the tempestuous years were over some time before he was; unlike her, as even her supporters implied, in his historical moment Churchill served to unify. Contrasting her with what she saw as a more compassionate Conservative Prime Minister, Diane Abbott quoted Harold Macmillan’s own televised Parliamentary evisceration of Thatcherism. Afternoon became evening, and, as opposition members became scarcer, so the scene increasingly resembled the 1980s: a seemingly endless blue roller. There was a distinct sense of consanguinity when a Conservative spoke, their nodding, smiling, chortling, confrères arrayed around them. It was a party of life, in death. As such it contrasted in spirit with some of the festivities in other parts of the country that week. To its members, the spoils: one could discern—as another predecessor of hers might have put it—hard-faced men who looked as if they had done very well out of the decade. Only Peers, though, deemed the occasion itself to be likely of interest to posterity. The occasion was unquestionably however an event, through all but two hours of which, in both chambers, sat, or perched, the Prime Minister. He who had willed the means eventually willed the end.

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Otherwise the front benches were engaged only in opening and closing the tributes, after which the chambers, and then the Palace, emptied, staff returned to their holidays, and recess resumed; sketch-writers filed their copy, sub-editors fashioned the headlines; and life moved on for all but the historians.

Index1

A Age, period and cohort (APC), 9, 161–163, 166–168, 173, 175, 178, 180 Attlee, Clement, 36, 79, 280, 281, 283, 291 B Baker, Kenneth, 86, 87 Blair, Tony, 10, 39, 46, 78, 165–167, 173–175, 181, 186, 203, 219, 240n10, 279, 288 Blond, Phillip, 39, 45–52 Brexit, 3, 9, 25, 52, 65, 185–204, 232–236, 247, 249 Britishness, 7, 8, 141, 260 British Social Attitudes Survey, 162, 165, 166, 168, 223 Brown, Gordon, 167, 186, 203, 219, 288

C Callaghan, James, 99, 173, 175, 178, 181 Cameron, David, 23–25, 27–30, 39, 46, 57, 59, 67, 221, 287 Canary Wharf, 9, 77–93 Cannadine, David, 60, 62, 63, 214, 251, 251n2 Clegg, Nick, 35 Coalition government (2010–15), 218, 221 Community, 6, 9, 21, 40, 41, 50, 57–59, 62, 67, 69, 70, 103, 117–135, 152, 166, 191–195, 248, 273, 277, 283–285 Conservative Party, 2n1, 3, 6–8, 15–31, 56, 57, 57n2, 60, 81, 85, 139, 140, 145–147, 150–152, 165, 186, 188, 189, 191, 196, 197, 204, 211, 215, 221, 238, 261, 268, 273, 282, 284, 288, 289

 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

© The Author(s) 2020 A. Mullen et al. (eds.), Thatcherism in the 21st Century, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-41792-5

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INDEX

Conservative Research Department (CRD), 5, 40, 132, 143–145, 151 Crime, 9, 41, 42, 117, 159–182, 165n2, 168n7 D Delors, Jacques, 22, 190, 191, 193, 195 Docklands, 77–93, 290 ‘Dry,’ 18–21, 81, 85, 254 E England, 6, 106, 141, 148, 162, 167n4, 277, 285 EU referendum (2016), 24, 187, 232, 233 Euroscepticism, 21–25, 30, 186–197, 204, 261 Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM), 21, 22, 30, 197 European Economic Community (EEC), 104, 112, 185, 187n3 European Union (EU), 2, 9, 22–24, 30, 38n2, 64, 185, 187, 187n3, 197, 199–204, 232, 233, 253n4 F Falklands War, 60, 259, 260, 260n10 Family/families, 6, 26, 36–38, 40, 41, 44, 49, 51, 55, 59, 60, 62, 63, 69, 122–125, 128, 165, 195, 211–213, 215–217, 222, 240, 242, 246, 247, 258, 271, 272 Friedman, Milton, 7, 36 G Gamble, Andrew, 4–6, 17, 22, 37, 186 General elections

1979, 143, 258, 278 1983, 20, 260n10 1987, 7, 20, 55, 151, 260n10 1997, 23, 25, 139, 152, 165, 198, 202, 202n9 2017, 3, 29, 140, 234 2019, 3, 9, 139 Giddens, Anthony, 39–45, 50, 52 Good Friday Agreement, 9, 104 H Hall, Stuart, 7, 164, 175, 181 Haughey, Charles, 100n3, 101, 103n11, 107–113 Hayek, Friedrich (von), 7, 36, 57 Heath, Edward, 20, 21, 61, 189, 191, 209, 211, 258, 263, 287 Heseltine, Michael, 9, 19, 77–93, 135, 192, 288 Hollinghurst, Alan, 10, 231, 235, 239–242, 245, 248 Homosexual/ity, 6, 26 House of Commons, 101n6, 142, 197, 254, 257, 260, 262, 269, 280 House of Lords, 1, 9, 10, 45, 186, 197, 286n1 Howe, Geoffrey, 60, 82, 84, 86, 91, 101n6, 106, 191, 192, 259, 288 I Ideology, 3, 5, 15, 16, 36–39, 45, 52, 78, 133, 182, 198, 251, 280, 290 Inflation, 5, 37, 38, 46–48, 199, 270–272 Institute for Economic Affairs (IEA), 209, 211, 213 IRA, 9, 254, 257 Ireland, 101, 104, 108, 112, 113, 187n4

 INDEX 

The Iron Lady (film), 10, 238, 251–263 Ishiguro, Kazuo, 10 J Johnson, Boris, 3, 139, 151 Joseph, Keith, 59, 60, 69, 82–84, 91, 200, 212 K Keynesianism, 80 Kureishi, Hanif, 10, 231, 235, 240, 248 L Lawson, Nigel, 38, 58, 191, 214 Lloyd, Phyllida, 254, 255, 261, 262 London, 1, 4, 59, 78, 79, 81, 82, 84, 85, 88–90, 92, 93, 102, 103, 106, 109, 111, 112, 164, 238, 244 London Docklands Development Corporation (LDDC), 78–80, 82, 83, 85–90, 93 M Major, John, 16, 22, 23, 25, 26, 36n1, 38, 78, 149, 163–165, 175, 177, 178, 181, 186, 196, 197, 197n5, 199–203, 200n8, 216–218, 288 Marquand, David, 39, 45–52 Maude, Angus, 60–64, 69 May, Theresa, 2, 2n1, 3, 15–31, 233, 234, 234n4, 234n6, 247, 248 McEwan, Ian, 231, 235, 238, 242, 248 Miners’ strike (1984–85), 7, 130, 140, 149, 151

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Morals/morality, 4, 6, 16, 18, 25–30, 37, 42–44, 46, 61–64, 134, 166, 213, 221, 224, 237, 259, 279, 286 Morgan, Abi, 254, 255, 261 N Narrative(s), 10, 117–135, 175, 185, 196, 210, 224, 232, 234, 235, 238, 248, 252–254, 258, 259, 262, 287, 291 Nationalist/ism, 4–5, 7–8, 10, 101, 103, 107, 144, 145, 199, 231–233, 233n3, 235–241, 245, 246, 248, 252n3, 258–261 Neoconservative/ism, 6–7, 25 Neoliberal/ism, 2n1, 4, 6, 7, 50, 63, 117, 130, 131, 134, 135, 161, 162, 209, 218, 220, 221, 232, 235, 238, 251 New Labour, 10, 27, 39, 43, 46–50, 57, 62, 161, 162, 165, 167, 173, 175, 177, 178, 181, 210, 218–221, 224, 238 New Right, 5, 163 Norman, Jesse, 39, 45–52 Northern Ireland, 4, 9, 99–107, 100n3, 100n4, 100–101n6, 109, 110, 112, 113 “No such thing as society,” 8, 55 P Policy Exchange, 46 Political generation(s), 160, 162–163, 167, 168, 173, 175, 178, 181 Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA), 102, 107–110, 112, 113

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R Reagan, Ronald, 1, 113, 113n23, 163, 290 Region/regionalism, 4, 9, 90, 122, 135 Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC), 100, 106, 108, 109, 111 S Scotland, 4, 8, 9, 117, 126, 134, 135, 141, 145, 150, 151, 284 Scottish National Party, 253, 289 Social capital, 124–127 Social security, 10, 61, 160, 209–224, 290 Streep, Meryl, 254 T Thatcher, Carole, 1 Thatcher, Denis, 237, 254, 255, 255n5, 259, 260, 260n10, 262 Thatcher, Margaret, 1–10, 8n2, 15–31, 35, 36, 36n1, 38, 39, 48, 55–63, 56n1, 57n3, 69–70, 77–93, 99–113, 117, 131–135, 140–149, 151, 152, 159–182, 185–204, 209–224, 231–249, 251–263, 251n2, 252n3, 253n4, 256n6, 258n7, 258n8, 259n9, 260n10, 268–274, 276, 278–286 Thatcherism, 2n1, 3–10, 15, 16, 18, 20, 30, 35–52, 55–70, 78–80, 82, 92, 107, 117–135, 139–153, 161, 164–166, 182, 186, 200,

204, 213–216, 224, 231–249, 251–254, 252n3, 256, 258, 259, 263, 283, 284, 287, 291 Thatcherite(s), 3–6, 9, 16, 17, 19, 20, 26, 29, 35–40, 36n1, 42–45, 47, 48, 50–52, 57, 78, 84, 92, 93, 119, 132, 135, 147, 149, 159–182, 221, 224, 232, 233, 233n2, 233n3, 235–237, 240–244, 240n10, 246, 247, 252n3, 253, 262 The Thatcher Network, 8 Trade unions, 5, 18, 19, 35, 37, 40, 48, 63, 118–120, 126, 131–135, 140, 150, 160, 200, 260n10, 270–272, 279, 283, 285 U UKIP, 24, 30, 187 V Victorian values, 7 W Wales, 4, 8, 9, 20, 139–153, 162, 167n4, 284 ‘Wet,’ 8, 18–21, 29, 81, 85, 100n4, 236, 277 Willetts, David, 39–49, 51, 52, 56, 213 Winter of Discontent, 5, 258, 263 Working class, 49, 56, 117, 118, 126, 127, 129, 131–135, 237