Haven't I seen this revolution before?

David Cameron's public service reforms suffer from a serious zeitgeist problem.

Buried under the detritus of the escalating News International scandal is the government's long awaited public services white paper. Assuming you missed it, it's all about the need for "narrative" and to demonstrate a coherent governing project.

Senior politicians, and the commentators they talk to, obsess about this. Strange though it may seem to much of the public, the need to produce these wide ranging plans on public services can feel all-consuming to those working in No.10. On this front, the current administration is no different to its predecessors.

Generally these occasions tend to leave the public undisturbed. During the Labour years, in all the conversations I had with nurses, teachers and social workers -- many of whom begrudgingly supported much of what the government was doing -- there was almost no awareness of our "big public service argument", as it used to be termed.

The few who registered these efforts at all tended to view them as little more than a vanity exercise for the PM of the day.

Nor are these exercises popular across Whitehall. "I'm from the Cabinet Office White Paper team and I'd like to talk to you about our new public service reform narrative" must be one of the worst lines in government. Once uttered, departmental doors close, conversations dry up, and policy ideas get hidden away.

Hence these exercises are never easy. And this white paper, with its troubled gestation, will have been harder than most. The recent NHS debacle has both overshadowed it and undercut its ambitions. Being convincing about your radical intent on public services is hard going when you've spent the last few months submerged in the politics of U-turn, compromise and painstaking public reassurance.

So what's new? For all the effort to make it sound like a departure into a brave new era of personal "choice and control" the White Paper is characterised far more by continuity with the past than the coalition, or many on the Labour side, would like to recognise. "A right for anyone with a chronic condition to receive a personal budget." "Every hospital to become a Foundation Trust". "Takeovers and mergers to create a new generation of a not-for-profit chains of schools." A "default assumption" that all government data will be open source.

Sounds like strong stuff. Except all of these lines are from Labour's 2010 Manifesto -- and all have a clear echo in yesterday's publication.

Where the white paper seeks to go further is in relation to the role of the private sector and charities in running any public service. The early press briefings, which suggested a far-reaching right for the private sector to takeover services, will no doubt have generated grave concerns from those fearing the widespread privatisation of core services.

Personally, I think they can relax, at least on the basis of what's actually in the white paper. It's hard to see what new in it would force any of this to happen.

Similarly, the main proposal for securing individual choice across public services appears to be a byzantine plan to consult with various Ombudsmen on how they might be able to offer some type of (as yet unspecified) redress to citizens who feel dissatisfied. If you are scratching your head about what this means, and how this bureaucratic sounding procedure might work then, rest assured, you are not alone. Suffice to say that I gather it was not the most rigorously thought through part of the document.

Government strategies like these, which are supposed to demonstrate governing coherence, always involve a concerted effort to conceal the contradictions that necessarily plague any administration. What is right for policing is very unlikely to work for schools. But for Cameron there is a deeper tension between the part of him that wants to be a visionary - even reckless - reformer willing to tear up all manner of existing institutions, and the other Cameron - the cautious Burkean conservative - who recoils from blue-prints and grand schemes.

Sometimes the cracks show. Look at schools policy, the alleged exemplar of the new agenda. The most telling thing that Michael Gove has said over recent months is his commitment to all schools achieving 50 per cent 5 A- Cs at GCSE, including English and Maths, by the end of the Parliament (which build on Labour's previous 30 per cent ambition).

Just in case you missed it, this is a "top-down target" -- you know, the sort coalition is supposed to shun, that Labour were so keen on.

Personally, I broadly support Gove on this ambition - it is right that the centre of government has a sharp focus on under-performing schools. But this would necessitate a far more balanced approach to school improvement then Gove's existing agenda. In this, as in other areas, the Coalition's own goals will crash into their self-declared model of statecraft - a point that has been commented upon before on these pages.

Above all, today's report suffers from a serious zeitgeist problem. If an argument about public service reform is to have any prospect of resonating beyond the world of Westminster it needs to somehow chime with the times we are living in.

At his best, Tony Blair pulled this off. His mission to extend individual choice in public services - whether you liked it or not - connected with the post millennium era of rising prosperity, increased consumerism, and fast-growing use of the internet as a source of empowerment in our daily lives. These currents are of course still relevant: the popular demand for a good local school or hospital is just as keenly felt as ever. But the prevailing public mood is now darker - characterised by economic insecurity, falling living standards, and the desire to protect work.

It is possible to provide an account of how reformed public services can help speak to these challenges. We have some of the most expensive childcare in the world and it is highly inflexible, jarring with the working patterns of many parents. Reform is badly needed. Equally, millions of older workers will need support to help them stay in work, not least as the pension age rises. Again, existing services need to change.

But these are not questions that today's white paper attempts to answer. The events at News International are not the only reason that today's report, like many of its predecessors, is likely to be lost without a trace.

 

Gavin Kelly is chief executive of the Resolution Foundation.

 

 

Gavin Kelly is a former adviser to Downing Street and the Treasury. He tweets @GavinJKelly1.

Getty
Show Hide image

How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism