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.

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The real question about George Osborne and the Evening Standard? Why he'd even want the job

The week in the media, from Osborne’s irrelevant editorship to the unrepentant McGuinness and Vera Lynn’s stirring ballads.

The big puzzle about George Osborne’s appointment as the editor of the London Evening Standard is why he wanted the job. The Standard is now just a local freesheet, a pale shadow of its old self. In Tube carriages, discarded copies far exceed those being read. Its columnists are lightweight [Ed: as an occasional columnist myself, thanks, Peter] and its news stale, mostly written the previous day. Critics of Osborne’s appointment describe the Standard as “a major newspaper”. It is no such thing. The idea that the editorship will allow the former chancellor to propel himself towards the London mayoralty is laughable. In last year’s election for mayor, the Standard, according to University of London research, ran twice as many positive headlines about the Tories’ Zac Goldsmith as it did about Labour’s Sadiq Khan. The latter won comfortably. The paper was so supportive of Khan’s predecessor, Boris Johnson, that it became known as “the Daily Boris”. But Johnson, with a high profile from television, hardly needed its backing to beat a tired and largely discredited Ken Livingstone.

If Osborne believes that the Standard offers him a significant political platform, it is just further proof that he belongs to an ignorant elite.

 

Violent legacy

More than anyone else, Martin McGuinness, who has died aged 66, represented how the IRA-Sinn Fein combined uncompromising violence with negotiating charm to achieve its aims. Unlike Gerry Adams, McGuinness admitted openly and proudly that he was a senior IRA commander. In Londonderry on Bloody Sunday in 1972 he carried a sub-machine gun, but apparently without using it. Later that year, he was among a delegation that held secret talks with British ministers and officials. The following year, he was arrested near a car containing prodigious quantities of explosives and ammunition.

Like many who recall the IRA’s campaign in mainland Britain – three huge bombs detonated less than half a mile from me – I could never quite accept McGuinness as a government minister and man of peace. Whatever he said, he did not renounce ­violence. He just had no further use for it, a decision that was reversible.

 

A peace of sorts

When I hear politicians saying they could never contemplate talks with al-Qaeda, I smile. They said the same about the IRA. The idea of negotiation, John Major said, “turns my stomach”. A month later, news leaked of secret talks that would lead to a ceasefire. You can call it hypocrisy but politicians have no practical alternative. Significant terrorist campaigns rarely end without deals of some sort. Even then, dishonesty is necessary. The parties to the Good Friday Agreement with Sinn Fein in 1998 never admitted the true terms, perhaps even to themselves. In return for a role in government, the IRA ceased attacks on the British mainland, army, governing classes and commercial interests. It remained in control of working-class Catholic enclaves in Northern Ireland, where it continued to murder, inflict punishment beatings and run protection rackets. Not a pretty bargain, but it brought peace of a sort.

 

Real war anthems

“We’ll Meet Again” and “The White Cliffs of Dover”, sung by Dame Vera Lynn, who has just celebrated her 100th birthday, are the songs most closely associated with the Second World War. This, when you think about it, is peculiar. Most wars are associated with stirring, patriotic anthems, not sentimental ballads. Even the First World War’s “Keep the Home Fires Burning”, before it mentions hearts yearning for home, stresses the noble, manly instincts that drove soldiers to fight: “They were summoned from the hillside/They were called in from the glen,/And the country found them ready/At the stirring call for men.” Lynn’s songs had only the wistful sadnesses of parting and reassurances that nothing would change.

Their “slushy” tone troubled the BBC. It feared they would weaken the troops’ fighting spirit. Despite Lynn’s high ratings among listeners at home and service personnel overseas, her radio series was dropped in favour of more virile programmes featuring marching songs. Unable to sing to her forces fans over the airwaves, Lynn bravely travelled to the army camps in Burma. A BBC centenary tribute showed veterans of the war against Japan weeping as her songs were played back.

The wartime role of this unassuming plumber’s daughter makes me – and, I suspect, millions of others – feel prouder to be British than any military anthem could.

 

Ham-fisted attempt

After his failed attempt to increase National Insurance contributions for the self-employed, Philip Hammond, it is said, will have a £2bn hole in his budget. It will be more than that. Thanks to the publicity, tens of thousands more workers in regular employment will be aware of the tax advantages of self-employed status and hasten to rearrange their affairs. Likewise, newspaper accountants of old, after circulating memos imploring journalists to reduce lavish claims for “subsistence” while covering stories away from the office, would find a sharp rise in claims from hacks previously unaware that such a perk existed.

 

Battle of Hastings

My fellow journalist Max Hastings, attending a West End play, was once dragged on stage by the comedian James Corden, told to help move a heavy trunk and slapped on the bottom. Ever since, I have approached plays starring comedians warily. I dropped my guard, however, when I bought tickets for a contemporary adaptation of Molière’s The Miser starring Griff Rhys Jones, and found myself drenched when Jones spilled (deliberately) what purported to be fine wine. It was of course only water and, unlike
Hastings, I shall not demand a refund.

Peter Wilby was editor of the Independent on Sunday from 1995 to 1996 and of the New Statesman from 1998 to 2005. He writes the weekly First Thoughts column for the NS.

This article first appeared in the 23 March 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump's permanent revolution