It’s rare that the quiet part is said out loud in British politics: the thing that arrives in a chilling soundbite a politician has let slip, or in correspondence leaked many years after those who wrote it leave power. If you have ever, for example, scoffed at the idea that the rightwing press has a hold on British politics, particularly over the Labour party, then an incident that took place 20 years ago may still your rolling eyes. Last week we learned that after Stephen Lawrence’s murder Tony Blair‘s Downing Street initially opposed an inquiry into police relations with minority ethnic communities. The arguments for the government’s objection formed a checklist of the hesitations, prevarications and cynical cautions that still stalk efforts to confront institutional racism today. In his initial note recommending an inquiry, Jack Straw, then the home secretary, wrote: “There is clear disquiet, not least within the black community, about the issues raised by this case. I believe that the best way to address these, and draw something positive from this tragic case, would be to launch a broader inquiry into police relationships with ethnic minority communities generally.” Then he hedged, preempting what an uncomfortable proposition that was for Downing Street. “I am concerned,” he said, “that this should not be perceived as undermining the police but as an opportunity to identify and promote good practice.” But even that was not enough to reassure jittery colleagues. In the margins, an official whose identity was unknown addressed Blair’s policy adviser, Liz Lloyd, asking, “Is this sensible?” “No,” replied Lloyd. Others weighed in, saying “an inquiry would raise expectations” that would be hard to achieve, and “even with good presentation” the inquiry would “look like an attack on the police”. You will notice that all these concerns were about the optics rather than the substance of the issue, and the priority was protecting the police and not the Lawrence family or the ethnic minorities whose concerns they represented. Still, perhaps there is nothing that surprising about a government trying to tread carefully when it comes to something as profoundly unsettling as an investigation into police bias towards ethnic minorities. Perhaps there is nothing surprising in government officials defaulting to cost-benefit analyses; you hardly expect the ranks of advisers to be staffed with racial justice warriors instead of steely reputation managers. And Sir William Macpherson’s inquiry did eventually go ahead, such was the undeniable stench of it all and the pressure the Lawrence family wielded. But there is a kicker to the story, and in it we see how the cynicism of self-preservation prevailed at the expense of doing something long-term and substantive about race relations. Shortly before Macpherson published his report, Straw proposed a follow-up – an ambitious strategy that would prioritise race equality considerations in policymaking across government bodies. Yet taking on racial justice in such a direct manner was just too risky, too destabilising to the government. “A regulation nightmare,” said Blair. Angus Lapsley, an official in Blair’s private office, decided not to back a proposal that racist police officers should be dismissed (government was “cool” towards this suggestion, he said), not because the policy would be wrong, but because of how rightwing papers would react to it. Here is where the decibel level rises. “This could easily become a ‘Telegraph cause celebre’ if taken too far,” said Lapsley. Blair agreed, saying: “We do not want to go OTT on this.” The proposal was killed. There is a sort of sickening relief in seeing those sentiments – expressed behind closed doors – spelled out so matter of factly; in knowing for certain that concerns about racial injustice aren’t taken seriously not because they’re not believed but because they rock the boat. Indeed, the smothering of a broad, progressive race policy 20 years ago tells us much about where we are today, with a government proudly hostile to interrogating the true state of race relations. On ethnic minority matters, there is far more continuity between the Labour party and the Conservatives than there are material differences. Both parties share a notion that matters of race are merely a government liability and not something for which the government should take direct responsibility. Last year, that notion was manifest in the shape of the widely discredited report by the Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities chaired by Tony Sewell. The denial and dishonesty in that document about the extent of the country’s institutional racism was just one step away from Blair’s timidity in front of the rightwing gallery. He passively did not want to upset the Telegraph and its reactionary contingent; today’s Tories actively want to please it. But what Labour and Tory leaderships have both exhibited is deference to a status quo that preserves racial hierarchies and refuses by default to acknowledge any criticism that might challenge Britain’s moral sense of self. Such is the slippery slope of “moderation”. An unquestioned assumption has developed that the left can prosper in this country only if it sheds “radical” notions of social justice and redistribution that are unrealistic and extreme – that are, in Blair’s words, “OTT”. The best we can hope for is that the good guys go about pursuing change incrementally and surreptitiously. This is an abdication of responsibility, but ultimately it’s worse than that. Lost opportunities to achieve racial equality don’t just throw ethnic minorities under the bus: they are also missed chances to shape the values of the country. Labour’s realpolitik on race may have saved a few fights and stabilised careers in the short term, but in the medium term it also has tilted the ground in favour of the right. And it has sent all of us, marginalised minorities and resentful majorities, hurtling down that slope towards an ever more fractious future. Nesrine Malik is a Guardian columnist