Jim Callaghan
Jum Callaghan's death at 92 has brought out all the usual hyperbolic praises that such milestone events engender, and perhaps in recognition of his limetime of political service, this is no more than his due. After all, it is a social convention (that we fearfully continue with certain knowledge of our own swiftly-approaching demise) that funerals are a time for warm-hearted eulogy, not cool-headed analysis.
Since others have polished the plaudits with greater skill than I can aspire to muster, it remains for me to rewind the videotape of history. As Chancellor of the Exchequer, he refused to devalue the pound, to the economy's cost. As Home Secretary, he sent the British army into Northern Ireland, with repercussions that the nations on both sides of the Irish Sea are still trying to detangle. As Prime Minister, he presided over a country in chaos, and by refusing to call an early (winnable) election he ushered in "The Winter of Discontent" and the Tories under Margaret Thatcher. This is the man who publicly and vociferously withheld his support from Barbara Castle's reformist "In Place of Strife", and suffered from the Union militancy that that program was supposed to replace.
Sunny Jim's lasting legacy to the nation was to hasten the demise of "Old" Labour, by blithely ignoring the irreconcible internal conflicts choking Party and Nation, thereby offering the Nation to Margaret and the Party (eventually) to Tony.
Much has been made of Jim being an honourable man. Honour in politics is a rare commodity, and we should applaud him for it; incompetance in politics is alas far more common, and for this our hands should remain apart.
1 comment:
Agreed, to me Callaghan seemed to represent that pre blair rightist social democracy, too bland for even the SDLP and too concerned with the appearance of power and respectability, not it's application. He is Labour's Douglas Hume or Major, the ditherer before disaster, Nicholas II esque. It draw to the attention the vacuum and confusion left by Wilson's flight. Indeed it stretches the memory to think what he did since 1979, and my mother always remembered his and Roy Jenkins Lower middle class pre-Whitehall accents.
Alas i think it is envitable that post mortum, there is only praise, Fate help us when Thatcher retreats to the Celetial boardroom. We can not dare to impinge on the at time vomitious mono-tone sentiments and i think some of the history is distorted by such pap. I hope that the words, twat and pretentious are included in my eulogy, In fact i'll make it part of my testament.
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