It seems like several centuries ago now – but around the time that Gordon Brown took over Labour's leadership, there was a lot of talk about an end to the clique-based warfare at the top of the party. "No more Blairites, no more Brownites" said the eternally optimistic Hazel Blears. "We're all Labour."

But look what's just happened. No sooner had the Damian McBride story taken over the headlines than such hardened Tony-followers as Alan Milburn and Steven Byers were queuing to get on the radio and TV, and seize the opportunity to have a pop at their old enemies. Morale among these people is palpably on the up: come Brown's increasingly inevitable defeat at the next election, there will be a drive to get back to the certainties of the pre-Gordon era. It speaks volumes that, give or take renewed zeal, for supposed public service "reform", this won't be about any seismic ideological shifts; the key point is to secure the succession of the right faces: James Purnell, say, rather than Ed Balls.

Meanwhile, debate about the state of the Labour party has become so dried-up and rancorous that you cannot shine light on one faction without a chorus of accusations claiming you're only doing so at the behest of the other. Criticise supposed Blairites, and it's axiomatic that you have a Brownite axe to grind; have a pop at the prime minister and his allies, and you're doing the work of the restorationists.

It's happened to me this week. In Wednesday's paper, I wrote a piece centred on the selection contest in the South London seat of Erith and Thamesmead, and what it says about Labour's tin ear for the public mood. Since then, the odd blog, article and email has offered the opinion that to express unease about what's been happening there is essentially to do the bidding of Brown's old henchman Charlie Whelan, so as to secure his favoured candidate the job and thus see off his Blairite enemies.

In this reading of events, you are essentially either on the side of the angels, or an ally-cum-dupe of people with the same brutal mindset as Damian McBride, and the Erith and Thamesmead story is simply just another Blairite/Brownite tussle, with the former cast in the role of victims.

This is so much nonsense. The piece I wrote centred on 1) stories surrounding the use and alleged abuse of postal votes, and 2) the damage that may be done to Labour if the job goes to Georgia Gould, the 22 year-old daughter of the New Labour high-up Philip Gould. Not that the point has been reflected in some of the subsequent comment, but the nub of the latter argument was simple enough: even if you're a paid-up believer that the Blair premiership represented a shining progressive age, such an apparently nepotistic move – let alone trying to sell a 22-year-old with a flimsy CV as a credible candidate for parliament – may well cause Labour electoral problems it can ill afford. While we're here, it's worth noting that the BNP is very active in that part of outer London, peddling the idea that Labour is now run by a distant metropolitan elite with no understanding of life at the blunt end. They are, I'm sure, watching the Erith and Thamesmead story, and drooling.

Moreover, subsequent developments have proved that unease about what's going on defies any attempt to characterise it as orchestrated mischief. John Austin, the sitting MP, is no Brownite bag-carrier or Whelan-stooge, and he's just announced that he's writing to Labour's general secretary to demand an official investigation into the postal-vote allegations, as well as registering a complaint about a local appearance by Tessa Jowell. Neither do I count the Daily Telegraph as a slavish mouthpiece of the Brownites and their allies in the trade unions, but they've run stories this week on both Erith and Thamesmead, and allegedly rum doings in the Northern seat of Calder Valley.

But here's the really crucial point. Back in the mid 1990s, both sides of New Labour's broken marriage co-operated in the capture of the Labour party, and its subsequent running along the most emasculated lines. They both briefed for England – and if the Brown camp's whispers seemed more poisonous, that was at least partly because they were usually on the back foot (there again, remember the once-ubiquitous charge that Brown was "psychologically flawed"). As proved by such well-worn stories as the pre-2005 fiasco in the Welsh seat of Blaenau Gwent, both sides are well-versed in the art of stitch-ups, which go on – and are arguably getting worse.

Take note: in very varied parts of the country and in settings that run much wider than selection contests, there are current allegations of Labour fixes that seem to point up one thing in particular: that as their power ebbs away, both high-up cliques are getting very panicky indeed. As ever, what remains of the Labour membership – let alone what academics call civil society – remains something to be feared and held in check; what matters is the preservation of power in the hands of people who number no more than a few hundred.

If the Labour party is going to revive itself – indeed, if it's to survive – to imagine that a switch-back from one arrogant cabal to another is the key to its future is essentially to seal its fate. To paraphrase the old Socialist Workers party strap-line, what Labour needs now is neither Brownism nor Blairism, but what used to be called (and this may seem quaint, but what the hell) democratic socialism, with renewed emphasis on the 'd' word. Remember that?