I am not a member of any political party. That feels worth saying at the outset.
For many years, I belonged to the party I had followed since I was a student. It helped shape my political instincts and gave expression to many of the values I still hold. But in time I resigned my membership, not because I had abandoned those values, but because I no longer felt that party allegiance was the best way to express them.
That distinction matters to me. I believe deeply in public service, democracy and civic life. I believe politics should be taken seriously, because decisions made in Parliament, councils and public institutions shape the lives of people and communities in very real ways. But I have become increasingly wary of tribal politics – the kind that asks first whose side you are on, rather than what kind of country we are trying to build.
I have always found myself drawn to the broad, liberal, reforming centre of British politics. Not the centre as a place of bland compromise or managerial caution, but the centre as a serious political tradition in its own right. A place that believes in enterprise and fairness, liberty and responsibility, aspiration and compassion. A place that understands that government cannot do everything, but also knows that good government matters profoundly.
My politics have been shaped by more than one tradition. From modern social democracy, I take the belief that social justice and economic competence belong together. Compassion does not require hostility to enterprise. Nor should prosperity be pursued without regard to those who are left behind. I believe in public services, but I also believe they must be well led, well run and willing to change. I believe in opportunity, but not as a slogan. Opportunity has to be built, child by child, community by community, institution by institution.
There is, equally, much in the one-nation Conservative tradition that I have always respected. At its best, it recognises that society is not merely a collection of individuals pursuing private advantage. We have obligations to one another. Institutions matter. Local identity matters. Social cohesion matters. Those who have power, wealth or influence carry responsibilities beyond themselves.
That tradition understood something important about Britain: that a country divided into winners and losers, secure and insecure, heard and unheard, cannot flourish for long. It also understood that change, to endure, has to respect belonging. People are not just economic units. They are rooted in families, neighbourhoods, histories, loyalties and places.
So my politics sit somewhere between these instincts: the reforming belief in opportunity, modernisation and public service, and the one-nation belief in obligation, stewardship and social cohesion.
That does not make me politically confused. Quite the opposite. It gives me a fairly clear set of tests.
- Does a policy help people to live with dignity and agency?
- Does it strengthen communities rather than merely manage problems?
- Does it balance personal freedom with social responsibility?
- Does it take public service seriously enough to reform it?
- Does it recognise that markets can create prosperity, but cannot by themselves create justice, belonging, or decency?
- Does it face the future with confidence rather than retreating into nostalgia or grievance?
Those are the questions that matter to me.
There is also something important here about diversity. I believe that the diversity of our communities and our nation is not a problem to be managed, but a strength to be recognised, respected and celebrated. A confident country should not ask people to leave parts of themselves at the door in order to belong. It should be capable of holding difference, disagreement and complexity without fear.
That is not always easy. Building a shared society in a diverse nation requires effort, generosity and a willingness to listen. But the alternative – a politics of suspicion, division and grievance – diminishes us all. Britain is at its best when it is open, practical, decent and self-confident enough to embrace the contribution of all its people.
There is also something important about tone. I am weary of politics that thrives on anger. I am weary of the implication that moderation is weakness, or that nuance is evasion. The country faces hard choices: economic, environmental, demographic and social. It needs seriousness, not theatre. It needs practical compassion, not ideological certainty. It needs leaders who can disagree without dehumanising.
For me, this is not about rejecting everything I once admired in any political tradition. It is, in some ways, an attempt to hold on to the best of several: the reforming optimism of modern social democracy, the social responsibility of one-nation conservatism, and the liberal commitment to freedom, pluralism, internationalism and human rights.
The centre has sometimes been caricatured as a place for people who cannot make up their minds. I see it differently. The centre I believe in is demanding. It asks us to hold competing truths together. That enterprise matters, and so does welfare. That freedom matters, and so does belonging. That aspiration matters, and so does protection. That government must be ambitious, but also humble. That reform must be bold, but rooted in people’s real lives.
That is where I find myself politically. Not tribal. Not nostalgic. Not easily captured by old labels. No longer a party member, and perhaps rather more comfortable for that. But liberal, reforming, socially responsible, internationalist, comfortable with diversity, and profoundly committed to the idea that politics should make life better, especially for those whose voices are too often unheard.
As an aside, I asked AI to come up with an image that encapsulates the ideas in this piece: community, diversity, conversation, belonging and the search for common ground. Apart from not having a very impressive understanding of Oxford’s geography, I think it did pretty well.
In an age of noise, certainty and division, I still believe there is value in the liberal centre. Not as a refuge from conviction, but as an expression of it.
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