An economics lesson for David Cameron

Comparing the UK's finances to a maxed-out credit card betrays a poor understanding of basic account

Ed Balls seems to be on track, as he is clearly rattling the coalition's cage. He made an interesting speech today at the London School of Economics, where he called for a temporary reduction in VAT, which would help to boost spending. This seemed especially apposite on a day when the Office for National Statistics published retail sales numbers that were horrid. A VAT tax cut would have the added benefit that it would immediately lower the CPI, which jumped artificially in January when Slasher raised it.

David Cameron's response to the Balls speech today apparently suggested that he is against tax cuts as a way to boost the economy. Amazing. A Treasury spokesman even suggested that tax cuts would lead to bankruptcy. "Tax cuts" has traditionally been a right-wing mantra, so that was something of a surprise -- and unlikely to go down that well with his backbench MPs.

I am afraid it really is time that Cameron took some lessons in economics before he talks the British economy into the ground. He has been the most unpatriotic Prime Minister we have ever had, with his entirely false claims that the economy was bankrupt when it quite clearly was not (and never has been). He has done this for cheap political gain and it has contributed to a collapse in consumer confidence. He should be ashamed of himself -- his job is to boost confidence, not to destroy it.

But most astonishing of all is Cameron's repetition of Nick Clegg's idiotic claims that the UK had maxed out its credit card.

If you have maxed out your credit card, if you put off dealing with the problem, the problem gets worse.

Asinine nonsense. Cameron shows no understanding of basic accounting. I guess that isn't surprising for someone who has never run a business and had to file basic accounts. Folks with silver spoons don't need to do that. Let me explain. There is an asset side to the balance sheet and a liability side. The national debt is not analogous in any way to a credit card. The debt has been used to pay for the infrastructure, roads, schools, ports, the Houses of Parliament and even Downing Street.

A little example makes clear that Cameron knows not what he is talking about. Suppose an individual receives a bequest from a long-lost uncle and is told it consists of a house with a mortgage on it of £200,000 and the house itself is worth £20m. Cameron would no doubt claim that it would be outrageous for the nephew to accept the gift because he would have to take on a mortgage of £200,000 on it. But that is absurd and the nephew is delighted at his good fortune and happily accepts the gift. The right question for the nephew would be: "How much is the asset (the house) worth, compared to the size of the liability (the mortgage)?"

The next generation will receive not only the debt but also the assets. The nephew and the Prime Minister need to compare the scale of the assets to any liabilities. Only a fool would focus solely on the liabilities.

Cameron is an economic simpleton. Yet everyone from Cameron's aunt to the family's pet fish, Eric, and the Conservative deputy, Michael Fallon, agree with Dave's credit-card anology. Sensible people cringe.

David Blanchflower is economics editor of the New Statesman and professor of economics at Dartmouth College, New Hampshire

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Meet the ex-footballers launching a support network for victims of sexual abuse in the sport

The Offside Trust is set up after hundreds have come forward, and 55 football clubs have been linked to allegations of abuse.

In a sumptuous room inside a luxurious hotel in the centre of Manchester, the country’s media anxiously await the arrival of a man whose story has rocked English football to its very foundations.

Since Andy Woodward went public with allegations that he experienced sexual abuse as a young footballer in the 1980s, the nation’s favourite sport has been left in crisis and, in the process, forced to do some soul-searching.

Following Woodward’s story, a number of his peers have also come forward with tales of unimaginable suffering.

This week, some of those men have joined together to launch the Offside Trust, an independently-run body aiming to provide support to players and the families of those who have suffered sexual abuse in football and other sports.

According to Woodward and his colleagues, the Trust won’t just be a way to help those who have been abused while playing the sport they love, but also represents a direct response to institutions that, in their view, have failed to protect them.

“A number of people who have come forward have indicated that they don’t have trust in the establishment,” says Edward Smethurst from Prosperity Law LLP, a Manchester law firm in charge of administering the trust.

“We are not here to criticise any of the establishment bodies, but we do have to respect the sensibilities and the opinions of the victims.” 

Wearing a crisp blue suit, hair combed neatly into place, Woodward’s composed demeanour masks the tremendous emotional stress he has revealed to the world he had to endure for decades, in silence until now.

Hearing him retell his story time and again, it is evident that, although exhausting, this process of letting the world know the horrors he says he experienced as a boy is both cathartic and a way to help others.

“I’m totally overwhelmed, the emotions are just unreal,” he says. “I can’t believe how many [people] have come forward, but I just encourage more and more [people] to have that strength and have that belief to do it.”

Sitting beside Woodward is Steve Walters – a former football prodigy whose career was cut short due to a blood disorder – who says he fell prey to the same serial child molester as Woodard. The person in question can no longer be named for legal reasons.

Walters tells me how his story has affected every aspect of his life. “It has ruined marriages, the relationship with my children, flashbacks, lack of sleep, panic attacks,” he tells me.

Walters speaks of “injustices” done to him for the past 20 years by those in charge of the sport he once loved. But he also knows how he would like to start turning the page and move on with his life.

“An apology [from Crewe Football Club] would be a start,” he says. “For them to not even put out one small apology, it does hurt.”

Since Woodward’s allegations were first made public on 16 November, 18 police forces across the country are now investigating claims of historic sexual abuse in football.

Every player I speak to at the Offside Trust launch in Manchester describes this as an epidemic, and that, in modern Britain, some children are still at the mercy of paedophiles operating within the sport. 

“I do believe it’s happening,” says Jason Dunford, who also claims to have been abused at Crewe Alexandra. “I believe it’s happening on a lower scale than when we were children, but as a father of a young boy who is around the football industry at the moment, I still have worries.”

Woodward coming forward has had worldwide implications. Walters and Dunford tell me they have been contacted by players as far-flung as South America and Australia who say they have been through the same ordeal as young footballers. The men are adamant this is not a UK problem, but a football one – wherever the game is played.

Woodward is mentally drained. Prior to the interview, he repeatedly tells me how the whirlwind of the last few weeks has affected his health. But he knows that this is his chance, perhaps the only one he’ll get, to help those like him.

“The closure will be when I feel like I’m satisfied that I have done everything I can to help as many people out there as possible,” he says. “People with children in football need protecting.” 

Felipe Araujo is a freelance journalist based in London. He writes about race, culture and sports. He covered the Rio Olympics and Paralympics on the ground for the New Statesman. He tweets @felipethejourno.