He is no more. Hitch, RIP. Come to think of it, resting in peace is the last thing you would have wanted to do. Rest in hyperbolic but beautifully crafted fury.
The left lost Christopher Hitchens long before today. Or at least what some have called ‘the classic left’ did. Those of us on the neo-Blairite wing of the movement recognised, if not quite a good comrade, at least a kindred spirit.
Yet let’s forget the narrow political stances. There will only ever be one Hitch, of course. But if his shoes are too broad for others to fill, surely a select few are entitled to pay their respects to his cobbler.
‘Who is Labour’s Hitch?’, my editor asked me this morning; as one does.
Who indeed. Who within the people’s party rips convention asunder? Shakes a whitening fist at popular wisdom? Frankly, is a big enough pain in the arse?
I suppose one candidate, though he would not necessarily welcome the comparison, is Our Ken. Labour’s putative Mayor certainly has something of the Hitch about him. Or perhaps a reverse Hitch. The Ying to Hitch’s Yang. Ken’s shoot-first/drop the napalm/send in a SEAL team to mop-op the survivors afterwards approach is something of a homage to the Hitch. Though Ken being Ken, he would insist the reverse is true.
George Galloway cannot strictly be called Labour. Though he has been called just about everything else. He is one of the last true orators. Galloway can make words dance. They are frequently draped around a pole and wearing a g-string when they do so. But he shares the Hitch’s capacity to take the English language out on a glorious three day bender.
Then there is Tony Benn. The body is more frail. But the eyes still burn with a righteous fire. And he, like the Hitch, will always draw a crowd.
There are numerous Hitch impersonators. John McDonnell is a pretender to the throne. But in truth, that is all he will ever be. The Hitch kept it real. McDonnell dials it in.
Then there is Peter Hain. During the dark days of apartheid he had his own Hitch pitch. But Peter feels he has paid his dues. Rather than fight the power he now yearns to wield it. And whatever his viewpoint, the Hitch was never truly part of the establishment. He enquired, but the establishment wouldn’t have him.
And what of the new generation? Young. Ambitious. Hungry for the spotlight.
They have the itch. But none is true heir to the Hitch. Stella is too nice. Chuka too smooth. Rachel too earnest.
That said, searching outside the box produces some reward. Tom Harris, that maverick, outspoken, eloquent battler against the dying of the New Labour light is worthy of comparison. Hitch in a sporran.
So too is Maurice Glasman. He ploughs his own furrow. Usually straight through the middle of Ed Miliband’s own flower bed. But he is not afraid of taking Labour’s sacred cows and tossing them on the Barbie. But Glassman represents a different generation to the Hitch. More Labour’s Norman Mailer. Or, as Maurice would probably prefer, Labour’s Theophrastus of Lesbos.
And then there is one other. A Labour politician in many ways even more Hitch than the Hitch. Tony Blair. Their political journeys are in some ways similar. Their capacity to polarize opinion unchallenged. Both are genuine icons.
But the truth, sadly, is inescapable. Labour has no Hitch. Politics is now too sterile. The party of the people too uncertain and insecure.
Christopher Hitchens has waved the left goodbye for good. And perhaps that is how it should be.
Comments
Clr Ralph Baldwin / December 18 2011 1:04am
The Party is where it ought to be, it despises passion, waters down belief, closes debate, represses creativity. It is too wrapped up in its own self-interest and cynicism.
No great loss.