The Labour party is in my blood. Here’s why I’ve just cancelled my membership | Owen Jones

It’s difficult to disentangle Labour from my sense of self. Grew up in Stockport, looks a bit like Macaulay Culkin, bad dress sense … the Labour party always seemed to fit in there somewhere. My great-grandfather, a railwayman who had his wages docked in the General Strike nearly a century ago, was a Labour councillor. So was my grandmother; her proudest achievement was stopping a family being evicted by a private landlord over Christmas. My parents met at an open-air Labour meeting outside Tooting Bec in the 1960s (romantic). My mother bought me a Labour membership as a 15th birthday present. Under every Labour leader in my 21 years of adult life, I’ve plumped for the party’s candidates at local, national and European level, and campaigned for them to boot.

And yet, after a uniquely calamitous 14-year stretch of Tory rule, just as Labour looks set to reconquer No 10 by a landslide, I’ve just emailed the party cancelling my membership. My committed critics will understandably seek to link the two: Labour has shed its aversion to electability, and off sulks Home Alone’s patron saint of unelectable ideas.

But my decision isn’t based on a desire to see Labour for ever in the wilderness. Reaching it has been a gradual, painful process of realising the party won’t even do the bare minimum to improve people’s lives, or to tackle the crises that have led Britain to catastrophe; and that it will, in fact, wage war on anyone who wants to do either– making anyone with politics to the left of Peter Mandelson feel like a pariah on borrowed time. Yes, my relatives had conflicted relationships with the party, and were often frustrated by its insufficient radicalism. But they could always point to policies that transformed the lives of the people Labour was founded to represent, from the welfare state to the minimum wage and the NHS, where my grandmother worked for her whole life.

The premise of Keir Starmer’s leadership bid in 2020 was that popular policies such as taxing the rich to invest in public services, scrapping tuition fees and promoting public ownership were not to blame for the party’s 2019 electoral rout. Jeremy Corbyn’s 2017 election manifesto, Starmer declared, was the party’s “foundational document” – centred around such commitments and credited with the party’s biggest surge in vote share since 1945, even if it wasn’t enough to win two years after a shattering defeat. “Jeremy Corbyn made our party the party of anti-austerity,” Starmer told shattered Labour members, “and he was right to do so.” Though I didn’t vote for him, his pitch gave hope for the broad church my ancestors believed in. In response, I wrote a column titled: “Starmer can succeed, and he deserves our support.”

Yet five years on, Labour has become a hostile environment for anyone believing in the very policies Starmer relied upon to secure the leadership. Sure, Tony Blair’s leadership bid didn’t include laying waste to Iraq, but he didn’t pretend to be a slicker version of Tony Benn either. “Circumstances changed,” plead Starmer’s defenders. Weird, then, that according to Margaret Hodge, she was led to believe by a Starmer ally during the leadership election that he was “lying” in order to get the job. Weird, too, that during that same campaign Starmer told Andrew Neil that nationalisation of utilities would feature in a Labour manifesto, but 18 months later said: “I never made a commitment to nationalisation.”

Ah, the luxury of a Guardian columnist, goes the predictable retort, demanding the most vulnerable pay the price for his lofty principles. Consider, though, that ending the two-child benefit cap would lift 250,000 children out of poverty, and lessen the effects of poverty on a further 850,000, but Starmer backed keeping it anyway. Why? To sound tough, presumably. On who? Impoverished children, like those I grew up with in Stockport? This is the same Labour party that has ruled out bringing back a cap on bankers’ bonuses or instituting a wealth tax. The same Labour party committed to Tory fiscal rules that lock the country into dismal austerity policies that have delivered collapsing public services and an unprecedented decline in living standards. The same Labour party that gutted its one distinctive flagship policy, a £28bn-a-year green investment fund, not because it came under pressure, but because it feared it might.

Some argue that Labour is doing a Clark Kent, and will unveil its hidden progressive Superman upon assuming office. Yet those fiscal rules make that approach impossible, even if you disregard the propensity of Labour governments to become more rightwing in office.

The assault on Gaza, the great crime of our age, adds moral indecency to the pile of dishonesty and vacuity. When Starmer declared Israel had the right to cut off energy and water to Palestinian civilians, he did so as a human rights lawyer who understands the Geneva conventions. After letting shadow cabinet ministers defend him, he claimed it “has never been my view that Israel had the right to cut off water, food, fuel or medicines”. We all have political red lines: mine is supporting what would amount to war crimes against innocent civilians, toddlers and newborn babies among them, then gaslighting the public over doing so.

Where is my gratitude for Starmer delivering a now inevitable landslide victory, you may ask? Well, he didn’t force Boris Johnson and his cronies to violate their own pandemic rules, or to trash the NHS, or oversee the worst squeeze in living standards in history. Nor did he propel to power Liz Truss, whose unhinged economic experiment crashed the economy – the moment when the electorate turned on this Tory party for good.

The absolute power a landslide victory will give Labour should scare you. When Starmer allies deployed antisemitic tropes – with one joking about a “run on silver shekels” when two Jewish businessmen missed out on peerages, and another calling a Jewish Tory donor a “puppet master” – an apology was deemed to be sufficient. When another racially abused a journalist and had a sexual harassment complaint upheld, they were reinstated after investigation.

Contrast this with Diane Abbott, Britain’s first Black female MP, who was suspended after immediately apologising for an Observer letter in which she argued that Irish, Jewish and Traveller people are not subject to racism “all their lives”. She has been left in limbo for 10 months and counting while the party investigates – only for Labour to use the racist abuse directed at her by a Tory donor for political capital, while still refusing to reinstate her.

Another fellow leftwinger, Kate Osamor – again, a Black female MP – was suspended for describing the assault on Gaza as a genocide on the day the international court of justice placed Israel on trial for alleged genocide. Questions of racism, then, seem to be judged on whether they have a factional use – a sure sign of moral bankruptcy. This leadership style is crude in opposition; with an overwhelming majority, it will be chilling.

That is why I think those who believe in real change from the Tories’ bankrupt model should vote for Green or independent candidates. A new initiative – We Deserve Better – is raising money to support such candidates, judged on whether they believe in, say, taxing the well-off to invest, or public ownership, or opposing war crimes, even if they differ on this or that. Those seeking transformative policies are now fragmented, but they don’t have to be. The premise of this new initiative is simple: if the left doesn’t band together, the only pressure on Labour will come from the migrant-bashing, rich-worshipping right.

The Tories’ chance of winning is infinitesimally small. What matters now is whether anyone who wants to redistribute wealth and power is denied a voice in Starmer’s administration. That is certainly the ambition of his lieutenants. When inevitable disillusionment with a government rooted in deceit and lacking any solutions to Britain’s woes seeps in, it will be the radical right that stands to benefit.

So bid me farewell, even cry “good riddance”, but before you do, ask yourself: what do you think will happen next?

• Owen Jones is a Guardian columnist

• Guardian Newsroom: What is Labour’s plan?
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