At a demonstration earlier this year, by chance, I bumped into a former Labour MP and veteran activist, unafraid to speak out about Palestine, whom I hadn’t seen for ages, and we had a lively chat. She told me about her neighbour’s deep frustration about the endless delays regarding the publication of the Forde Report. Her neighbour was Martin Forde.
Just a few weeks ago, I was reflecting that all those social media posts I had written since late 2020 that ended: “Forde Report now!” might as well have said “Waiting for Godot”. But this chat certainly lifted my low expectations about it, if it did eventually appear.
Whatever pointed criticisms Forde might draft, I still anticipated they would be watered down enough so that Starmer, and his closest New Labour advisers’, might have to acknowledge it.
Partly, that is what we got. Its pervasive framing is a party at…
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