Miliband doesn’t want to sack Balls – he just wants to steal the Treasury’s power

The Labour leader's plans for government can factor in the prospect of having Balls as his chancellor, but in a shrunken empire.

For three stagnant years, Labour failed to convince people that the country’s economic troubles were George Osborne’s fault. Now, Ed Miliband and Ed Balls want to persuade voters that the Chancellor has cooked up the wrong sort of recovery. The strength of this argument is that optimistic headlines belie household experiences of on­going hardship. The weakness is that Labour can’t prove that things would have been any better if it had been in charge. Opinion polls suggest that many think they would have been worse.

There is also a sound argument that the growth in Britain’s economy is uneven and unsustainable. The coalition promised a nationwide, export-driven manufacturing renaissance. Instead, we have a sugar rush of cheap credit, house-price inflation and consumer spending in the south-east. Again, that doesn’t help the opposition if it can’t be proved that Ed Balls would have presided over a higher-spec recovery.

Labour’s top team affects confidence that the coalition will be punished by the majority of people who will still feel worse off in 2015 than they did in 2010. But nerves are fraying. Privately, senior shadow cabinet ministers admit that the economy could hit a “sweet spot” for Osborne in time for the general election. The Tories don’t need voters to feel jubilant about their personal circumstances as long as they sense that things are moving in the right direction and think that it still feels a bit dicey to gamble on regime change.

Miliband is running out of time to persuade people that he knows how to secure a brighter tomorrow. The urgency breeds resentment in the leader’s office of time wasted by the shadow chancellor touting his “five-point plan for jobs and growth” – the abandoned recipe for a brighter yesterday.

That isn’t the only source of frustration with Ed Balls. He is resented by the left of the party for failing to hold the line against austerity. Activists smell treason in every move to reassure less partisan voters that an incoming Labour government wouldn’t go on a spending spree. Balls has accepted a public-sector pay freeze and a cap on social security spending. He has launched a “zero-based” spending review with an instruction to shadow ministers to identify cuts in their prospective departments. He has offered to have his plans vetted by the Office for Budget Responsibility. He has pledged to run a Budget surplus by 2020.

Balls gets little credit for those vows of frugality. The Tories are good at drowning out actual Labour policy with attacks on what they want the policy to be. And the opposition sounds its media horn louder when steering to the left: restoring the 50p tax rate or controlling energy prices. It also doesn’t help that Balls lacks friends in the corner of the party that was calling for more fiscal rigour back in 2010. This is the tribe that fashions itself as “Labour modernisers” since “Blairite” has become a term of abuse.

They want Labour to say more about failures of the state as the counterpart to Miliband’s attacks on failed markets. In that context, Balls is seen as a repository of risk-averse Treasury orthodoxy; an obstacle to public-sector reform. That perception fuels suspicion of the zero-based spending review. In theory, it is pro-reform, because it invites shadow ministers to consider innovative ways to deliver services without spending more money. Yet it gives Balls a licence to meddle in every nook of Labour’s agenda. Viewed from the leader’s office, this looks like empire-building. Enough Labour people see Balls as an encumbrance to sustain a constant level of chatter about his prospects of being sacked. It is a theme loved by Tories who like to imagine his relationship with the Labour leader as a B-list sequel to the blockbuster Blair-Brown schism.

It is no secret that Balls was not Miliband’s first choice. The appointment was made in January 2011, when the Labour leader’s authority was at a low ebb. Since then, he has shored up his position, managing rival factions, co-opting Balls’s old allies where necessary. Last October’s shadow cabinet promotions of Michael Dugher to a roving Cabinet Office brief and Vernon Coaker to the Defence portfolio are widely interpreted this way. The need to signal beyond doubt which of the Eds is in charge has been a routine preoccupation in the leader’s office.

No one who has closely observed the way Miliband operates doubts his capacity to be ruthless. Shadow cabinet ministers speculate that he would get rid of Balls without hesitation if he believed it was a condition of getting over the threshold of No 10. For the time being, the calculation must be that sacrificing the party’s most experienced political economist would signal panic and allow the Tories to boast that Labour’s capitulation to the Osborne plan was complete. Even shadow ministers who don’t much like Balls say his contributions are usually the most insightful in shadow cabinet meetings.

That doesn’t mean the Labour leader trusts his shadow chancellor to run the party’s economic policy. The case that Miliband wants to make flows from his conviction that insecurity and uneven reward are hard-wired into British capitalism. He wants to “rewrite the rules” – an ambition that ranges far beyond fiscal management to cover an interventionist industrial policy, corporate governance reform and devolution of power to local level. A notable feature of that agenda is how thoroughly it would dilute the dominance of the Treasury. In other words, Miliband’s plans for government can factor in the prospect of having Balls as his chancellor, but in a shrunken empire.

It has taken three years for Miliband to win the right to decide what Labour’s economic offer should be. It has taken skilful, subtle manoeuvring. Now control of the message is his. The challenge is getting anyone beyond the party to listen.
 

Ed Miliband and Ed Balls at the Labour conference in Brighton last year. Photograph: Getty Images.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 29 January 2014 issue of the New Statesman, The seven per cent problem

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue