How seven years of cuts will transform the political landscape

The notion that a Labour government in 2015 would itself be a cutting government has yet to sink in.

When it comes to big political set pieces, like yesterday's Autumn Statement, the predictable somehow still manages to surprise. Everyone knew it would be bad; and we all knew it would raise big challenges for all three parties. Yet today, everyone is caught off-guard.

In part, it's because the unprecedented duration of the cuts -- until 2017 -- is now abundantly clear and longer than many had appreciated. Think back to 2004, when the economy was booming; a rising star of the Conservative Party, David Cameron, had risen to the lofty position of opposition spokesperson on local government; Nick Clegg had just stepped down from the European Parliament; and a young Treasury advisor by the name of Ed Miliband had just returned from a sabbatical at Harvard. Seven years really is a very long time in politics. That's how long we're going to be talking about cuts for, so we'd better get used to it. We also know that the pain on public sector pay will extend to 2015 (and probably longer). Household living standards won't start to tick up until at least 2014. The wages of the typical worker are unlikely to surpass their pre-recession levels until at least 2020. The roll call of long-term economic misery goes on and on.

Which is why all parties woke up today still trying to come to terms with what it all means for their central political purpose and pitch. For the Conservatives, who currently have a clearer account of how to traverse this new terrain than any other party, it is the final confirmation, if any were needed, that they are ditching their previous modernisation strategy. Turn the clock back just a few years and think about the core elements of Cameron's one-nation argument -- a strategy which was clear, politically potent, and created the space for the formation of the coalition. Demonstrate progressive credentials via a new Tory commitment to child poverty that was supposed to warm the heart of the likes of Polly Toynbee. Create a new base of political support within the public sector. Make headway in the north of England. Reach out to new and younger voters through a "vote blue, go green" message. Convert the Conservative party into a 21st century home for hard-pressed working women. Most of these claims are now in shreds; all are severely tarnished. In their place is a very big bet that they can win on economic leadership in tough times -- a bet that may still prove right -- but one that leaves the modernisation agenda as a relic of a bygone era.

For the Liberal Democrats, perhaps more than any other party, yesterday may turn out to be seismic. It will certainly be viewed by many of their members as the moment when a bunch of Treasury civil servants, together with Danny Alexander, blew a hole in their next manifesto. The central proposition of the coalition -- coming together in the national interest to tackle the deficit within the life of the current parliament -- is no more. Now the time-span of the shared central commitment to cuts has been cast forward into the latter part of the decade. And the Liberal Democrat leadership has pledged the coalition will undertake a spending review itemising cuts beyond the next election -- presumably cuts that will therefore have to figure in both the Liberal Democrat and Conservative manifestos (so much for the much heralded "differentiation" strategy). And all this without a trace of internal party discussion -- unless, that is, someone is going to tell us that Simon Hughes and Tim Farron happened to be sitting in on the Treasury's forecasting meetings. All of which poses a few questions: the balance between tax-rises and spending reductions? The political viability of seven years of austerity for an already weakened party, many of whose members self-identify as being on the centre left? But no need to debate these trifling issues, or so it seems.

And the implications are barely less far-reaching for Labour. Above all, the worse the economic news, the higher the stakes become -- and the louder the ticking of the clock as people wait for the party's polling numbers on economic competence to turn upwards. If that doesn't start to happen soon, more and more people will wonder quite what George Osborne would have to announce about the dire state of the economy before Labour starts to take a lead on these issues.

Last week in a speech Ed Miliband rightly struck a slightly different and more accommodating tone, seeking to persuade a largely unconvinced public that his party's economic argument was right for our times. He also went out of his way to stress that if elected he will embrace the challenge of governing under austerity, though in a different way to the coalition. That sentiment is now either going to be reversed (if the leadership decides it can't stomach the gritty reality of talking about cuts in the next parliament, which would raise huge questions about Labour's fiscal credibility) or, far more likely, it will have to become mainstreamed and echoed right across the party. And that means entering the day-to-day politics and vernacular of every shadow cabinet member. The notion that a Labour government in 2015, inheriting a greatly diminished public sector, will itself be a cutting government is yet to sink in. To put it mildly, it is quite a mind shift.

Make no mistake: even though yesterday sort of went as predicted, it also changed everything.

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

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Why hasn’t British Asian entertainment built on the Goodness Gracious Me golden age?

It is 20 years since the original radio series of Goodness Gracious Me aired. Over two decades, the UK media portrayal of Asians hasn’t used its success to evolve.

Save for a handful of special one-off episodes, Goodness Gracious Me hasn’t occupied a primetime TV slot for nearly two decades. Yet still it remains the measuring stick for British Asian comedy.

The sketch show, which transitioned seamlessly from radio to screen (it started as a BBC Radio 4 series in 1996), has stood the test of time and is as much a staple of modern British Asian culture as Tupperware or turning up an hour late.

What Goodness Gracious Me did so expertly was to take a set of serious issues facing first, second and now, I suppose, third generation migrants, and turn them on their heads. 

In making light of the pressures of academic expectation or family drama, Goodness Gracious Me wasn’t playing down the poignancy of such concerns; it was raising awareness and combatting their uglier side with humour.

It offered resonance and reassurance in equal measure; it was ok to have an embarrassing uncle who insisted he could get you anything much cheaper, including a new kidney, because other people like you did too.

That Goodness Gracious Me was broadcast on a mainstream channel was also a victory for minorities; it made us feel integrated and, perhaps more importantly, accepted. Against the backdrop of Brexit, what wouldn’t we give for that treatment now?

Really, though, the jewel in Goodness Gracious Me’s crown was its willingness to recognise diversity within diversity. It is a relic of a departed era when discourse on TV around Asians was different, when the broad church of that term was truly represented, rather than reduced to one catchall perception of British Muslims.

Goodness Gracious Me offered insight into the experiences and idiosyncrasies – religious or otherwise – of Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Sri Lankans and even English people. It’s what made it so accessible and, in answering why subsequent programmes have failed to reach similar heights, this is a good starting point.

Without the flexible sketch format, the modern Asian sitcom Citizen Khan has struggled to cover multiple topics, and, by being specifically about a Muslim family, it leaves many non-Muslim Asians wondering: where’s ours?

I hasten to add that I feel plenty of sympathy for the British Muslim community, hounded by tabloid headlines that attack their faith, but it would be disingenuous to suggest that non-Muslim Asians are sitting pretty in 2016 and don’t need a similar level of support in terms of positive public perception.

The current volume of British Asian media products is fairly good. The BBC has its dedicated network, The Good Immigrant essay collection was one of the outstanding reads of the year, and we still have champions of comedy in Romesh Ranganathan and Nish Kumar.

But I think ultimately it comes down to the broadness of appeal, rather than the quantity of products. Goodness Gracious Me was not only able to engage the full spectrum of British Asia; it transcended its target audience and was on terrestrial TV.

The British Asian media on offer now is up against it, released as the country’s attitude towards foreigners completes a full circle back to the same suspicion my grandfather encountered in the Sixties.

Fewer outlets are willing to explore the stretch of what it means to be Asian, either by denying it due consideration in mainstream shows or by peddling their own monolithic observations. The BBC Asian Network, for example, is laudable in its existence, but does little to engage the young Asians who aren’t into techno spliced with Bhangra.

The mainstream representations of Asians in Western film and television that are commissioned, meanwhile, are irritatingly limited and sometimes inaccurate. In an article for the Guardian last year, Sara Abassi lamented the disproportionate appetite for “gritty post-9/11 films about conservative Pakistani families”, and that the researchers of American series Homeland failed to realise that the national language of Pakistan isn’t Arabic.

When I interviewed the actor Himesh Patel for the No Country for Brown Men podcast, he suggested that the answer to re-establishing Asians in mainstream media, both here and in America, was three-fold. The first challenge to overcome was for outlets to acknowledge that not all Asians fit the same religious or cultural profile; the second was to be open to placing Asians in non-Asian specific products to better reflect their presence in society.

Patel, who is best known for his portrayal of Tamwar Masood in the soap opera EastEnders, made his third recommendation based on this role. He felt that characters should be written with only their personality in mind, making the ethnicity of the actor who plays them incidental. Tamwar’s awkwardness but underlying kindness, Patel said, was what defined him – not his skin colour.

Goodness Gracious Me, though a primarily Asian show and a comedy at that, actually taught some salient lessons about representation. It succeeded in providing a window into a multiplicity of cultures, but at the same time wasn’t a total slave to the politics of identity – several of the 100-plus characters needn’t have been Asian at all. It was reflexive to the times we lived in and a perfect advertisement for empathy. That is why we still talk about it today.

Rohan Banerjee is a Special Projects Writer at the New Statesman. He co-hosts the No Country For Brown Men podcast.