I joined the SDP as a founder member a few days after my 18th

Host: The rain drizzled against the fogged window of a small London café, its neon lights flickering like restless memories. Evening pressed gently against the glass, muffling the hum of the city beyond. Inside, steam curled from cups of coffee, and the faint sound of an old piano from a nearby radio traced a nostalgic melody through the air.

Jack sat near the corner, his hands clasped around a chipped mug, eyes steady, thoughtful. His suit looked slightly worn, but sharp, the kind a man wears who’s used to defending principles he’s no longer sure he believes in.

Across from him, Jeeny sat with her coat still damp, her dark hair clinging to her cheeks. Her eyes shimmered not with sadness, but with the quiet fire of conviction — the kind that refuses to fade, even in disappointment.

The clock above them ticked slowly, as though measuring the weight of their shared silence.

Jeeny: “You know, I read something today. Andrew Adonis — said he joined the SDP when he was just eighteen. Stayed loyal for years, moved to Labour when Blair changed the rules, abolished the old Clause IV. It struck me… how much faith it takes to keep changing your beliefs without losing your soul.”

Jack: (smirking faintly) “Faith? Or strategy? I’d call it adaptation, Jeeny. The man saw the tide turn and stepped onto a sturdier boat. That’s not faith — that’s survival.”

Host: A small laugh escaped her, soft and brittle, like the crack of ice underfoot.

Jeeny: “You make it sound like loyalty’s just another currency, Jack. But there’s something noble in believing in an idea, even when it evolves. Isn’t that what progress is — learning to grow?”

Jack: “Progress isn’t about belief. It’s about results. Look — politics isn’t poetry. When Adonis left the SDP, he didn’t do it because he suddenly saw the light; he did it because Blair made Labour electable. Clause IV was dead weight — nationalisation, old socialist dreams. Outdated. He moved because he understood that idealism without practicality is just self-indulgence.”

Host: The light flickered, casting long shadows across the table, as if each word drew a sharper division between them.

Jeeny: “And what’s wrong with a dream, Jack? If no one had ever believed in the impossible, there wouldn’t be suffrage, or civil rights, or —”

Jack: (interrupting) “— or wars fought over ideology, revolutions that devoured their own believers. Don’t pretend idealism is innocent. The SDP was born because people thought they could reconcile morality and governance, conscience and power. But power isn’t moral, Jeeny. It’s just... functional.”

Jeeny: “You say that like it’s something to admire. But even function serves someone’s morality — or lack of it.”

Host: She leaned forward, her eyes catching the glow of the café’s low lamps, voice trembling with quiet fervor.

Jeeny: “When Blair removed Clause IV, he didn’t just modernize Labour — he redefined what ‘Labour’ meant. No longer about collective ownership, but about shared opportunity. You can call that political maneuvering, but I call it evolution — faith in change.”

Jack: (with a dry chuckle) “Faith in spin, more like. He didn’t redefine it; he repackaged it. ‘New Labour’ — shiny slogan, same machine underneath. And people like Adonis jumped ship not out of hope, but out of convenience. Because they wanted to be part of something that could win. You know it.”

Host: The sound of a passing train rumbled through the streets, shaking the windowpanes lightly. Both fell silent for a moment, their reflections trembling in the glass.

Jeeny: “You think every conviction ends with compromise. But tell me, Jack — what’s left of you when you’ve compromised everything?”

Jack: (looking away) “What’s left? A man who’s still standing. Look around — history’s full of dreamers who died with perfect ideals and empty hands. I’d rather be flawed and effective than pure and powerless.”

Jeeny: “You mean safe. Not effective — just safe. Adonis could’ve stayed comfortable where he was, but he took a risk, aligned himself with a movement that had lost before it even began to win. Maybe that’s the point — sometimes you have to lose something to keep your faith alive.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. The faint hum of conversation from nearby tables faded, as though the air itself held its breath.

Jack: “Faith doesn’t feed people, Jeeny. It doesn’t build hospitals or keep lights on. You know what does? Policy, execution, control. Blair understood that — he turned sentiment into structure. And Adonis — he just followed the architecture of opportunity.”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Maybe. But architecture still begins with a vision.”

Host: The rain eased, leaving the streets glistening like sheets of molten glass.

Jeeny: “Tell me something, Jack — why does it bother you so much? You talk like belief is naïve, but there’s something bitter in your tone. Did you ever believe in anything?”

Host: Jack looked up sharply, but his eyes softened almost instantly. He took a slow sip of his coffee, his fingers trembling slightly.

Jack: “Once. I believed the world could be reasoned with. That people acted from logic, not illusions. I joined a movement once too — thought I could make it cleaner, fairer. But I learned that politics isn’t a place for faith. It’s a machine that grinds idealists until they fit the gears.”

Jeeny: “So you stopped trying?”

Jack: (bitterly) “I adapted.”

Host: Silence. Only the faint tick of the clock remained, like a heartbeat in an empty room.

Jeeny: “That’s what he meant, Jack. That’s what Adonis meant — adapting without surrendering. He didn’t abandon his beliefs; he carried them forward, reshaped them for a new time. That’s not betrayal — it’s courage.”

Jack: “Courage? Or delusion dressed as loyalty? You can justify anything if you call it evolution. Blair scrapped nationalisation, but did he fix inequality? Did the markets heal the working class? Sometimes evolution just means forgetting where you came from.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes lowered, the weight of his words pressing into her. But her voice rose again, soft but fierce.

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s not about remembering where you came from — maybe it’s about remembering why you began. Clause IV wasn’t the soul of Labour, it was its shell. When it cracked, people like Adonis didn’t run away; they made something new from the fragments.”

Jack: “Fragments don’t hold a nation together, Jeeny.”

Jeeny: “No — but neither do walls made of nostalgia.”

Host: The tension broke then, not with anger, but with something deeper — recognition. The café lights dimmed slightly as the barista turned the sign to “closing soon.” Outside, the pavement gleamed under the streetlights, each drop of water like a tiny mirror of the city’s restless heart.

Jeeny: “You talk about function like it’s everything. But people need something more than policy — they need meaning. Even Blair knew that. He didn’t just sell modernization; he sold belief in renewal.”

Jack: “And belief fades, Jeeny. That’s the problem. The same way Adonis went from radical to reformer, from idealist to bureaucrat. That’s what happens when time gets its hands on belief — it wears it down.”

Jeeny: (gently) “Or it refines it.”

Host: Her words lingered, floating between them like smoke. Jack’s shoulders eased slightly, the edge of his voice blunted by thought.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe change isn’t the death of belief — just its evolution. But damn it, Jeeny, sometimes I miss the certainty. The fire people used to have.”

Jeeny: “We all do. But maybe certainty’s a young man’s comfort. The older we get, the more we understand — truth isn’t fixed; it moves, like politics, like love.”

Host: Outside, a bus hissed to a stop, and a gust of wind carried the scent of wet stone through the door.

Jack: “So you think Adonis didn’t betray anything?”

Jeeny: “No. He did what we all do when the world shifts — he learned to walk on moving ground. That’s not betrayal. That’s humanity.”

Host: For a moment, neither spoke. The café had grown quiet, the only sound the slow drip of rain from the awning outside.

Jack: (half-smiling) “Maybe I’ve been too hard on the man. Maybe adaptation isn’t cowardice. Maybe it’s just another kind of endurance.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The kind that keeps ideals alive, even when they have to change shape to survive.”

Host: They sat there, both staring out the window, where the rain had turned into a fine mist, silver under the streetlights. For a fleeting moment, there was peace — not agreement, but understanding.

The camera would linger there, on two faces softened by the dim light, both touched by the same truth: that belief and pragmatism, faith and function, are not enemies but twins, born of the same human need — to make meaning in a changing world.

Host: The clock struck nine. The barista dimmed the lights. Jack finished his coffee, Jeeny pulled her coat tighter.

As they stepped out into the night, the city breathed — restless, alive, full of contradictions — just like them.