Memo to Ed and Ed: ignore the call to embrace austerity

The New-Labour, me-too approach on cuts is a political and economic dead end.

Jim Murphy, long regarded as the leading Blairite in Ed Miliband's shadow cabinet, has attracted a handful of headlines today with his Guardian interview, in which he says Labour must have "genuine credibility" on the economy and reveals that he would accept £5bn of Tory defence cuts.

The shadow defence secretary tells Nick Watt:

It is important to be both credible and popular when it comes to defence investment and the economics of defence. There is a difference between populism and popularity. Credibility is the bridge away from populism and towards popularity. It is difficult to sustain popularity without genuine credibility. At a time on defence when the government is neither credible nor popular it is compulsory that Labour is both.

"Genuine credibility". A phrase right up there with Paul Krugman's "Very Serious People". Don't get me wrong. I support cuts to the UK's defence budget. And, of course, credibility is self-evidently important. But Murphy and his fellow Labour deficit hawks have outsourced the definition of credibility to the Tory party, the right-wing press and neoclassical economists. After all, is "genuine credibility" secured through growth of 0.5 per cent? Or unemployment at 2.6 million? Yet, bizarrely, despite the economy tanking, and Osborne's deficit-reduction plans falling apart, an increasing number of New Labour figures are buying into the Tory narrative on the deficit and embracing their right-wing opponents' monomaniacal obsession with deficit reduction over economic growth and job creation.

As Watt notes:

The timing of Murphy's intervention is significant in domestic and international terms. On the domestic front it comes just as key Labour figures express doubts about the party's economic strategy. These concerns were highlighted in a pamphlet by Lord Mandelson's Policy Network think tank last month which criticised the "vagueness" of Labour's deficit reduction plans.

But embracing austerity is bad politics and bad economics. It is a strategy (if one can call it that despite the fact that I have yet to hear how it will help Labour present a convincing and appealing alternative (yes, alternative!) to the Tories' failed austerity agenda) premised on a myth: that Labour went into the last general election opposed to cuts and committed to higher levels of public spending. This is nonsense. Alistair Darling's plan to halve the deficit over four years was enshrined in the Labour manifesto - to the irritation of some on the centre-left (like Polly Toynbee, David Blanchflower and, er, me!) In fact, Darling went as far as to claim that Labour planned to make "deeper and tougher" cuts than Margaret Thatcher made in the eighties. It's a fiscal strategy that was then adopted by the two Eds, Balls and Miliband, despite the fact that it muddied the ideological and policy water between the Conservatives and Labour and has since enabled coalition ministers to defend their draconian austerity measures with a version of: "Well, Labour's own figures show they would have had to cut almost as much as we are."

If the two Eds, egged on by the likes of Murphy, now truly believe Labour can win the economic argument with a "we want cuts too, but not just yet and not as many", and by going beyond Darling, they are living in a fantasy world. Politically, austerity-lite won't cut it with the voters. Economically, it won't work in spurring much-needed growth (see here, here, here and here). It is time, as a wise man once said, for Labour to say that deficits aren't "immoral" and make the argument that "sometimes deficits are necessary to serve the society you live in". (Interestingly, the wise man in question was David, not Ed, Miliband, during the Labour leadership contest of 2010).

In fact, in today's Guardian panel on "what Ed needs to do now", columnist Zoe Williams hits the nail on the head:

The problem with Ed Miliband's opposition is not that they won't admit their past mistakes but that they don't articulate properly either their mea culpas or their triumphs. A simple graph, rendered in word form (preferably spoken by Miliband himself, rather than Balls) would demonstrate that there was no systemic deficit problem before the crash, and the upkick that made the spending look dangerous was due to the banking crisis. Then they could legitimately apologise for failing to regulate banking; point out that the coalition hasn't regulated it either and we're still subject to the same risks; and mention, furthermore, that Gordon Brown averted disaster over that period. . . If they won't make that case, they are just left tugging at the threads of the austerity drive, which comes across as unconstructive and watery.

To abandon opposition to cuts, as those cuts begin to bite, as voters back a slowdown in the deficit-reduction programme and as more and more data shows that austerity is killing the British economy, is just madness. The New-Labour, me-too approach on cuts is a political and economic dead end and, in my view, best ignored.

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

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Wrists, knees, terrible rages – I felt overwhelmed when Barry came to see me

I teach my registrars to be aware how a consultation is making them feel: that can give valuable clues to the patient’s own emotional state.

To begin with, it seemed that Barry’s wrists were the problem. He told me about the pain he was experiencing, the pins and needles that came and went in his hands. I started to examine him. His palms were calloused, his fingers thick and stubby, veterans of the heavy work he’d undertaken throughout his 57 years. Even as I assessed this first problem, he mentioned his knees. I moved on to look at those. Then it was his back. I couldn’t get to grips with one thing before he veered to the next.

I teach my registrars to be aware how a consultation is making them feel: that can give valuable clues to the patient’s own emotional state. Barry was making me feel overwhelmed, the more so as I learned that he’d been experiencing all these problems for years.

“Why are you coming to see me about them now,” I asked, “rather than six months ago – or in six months’ time?”

“I need some time off, doc.”

There was something about the way he wouldn’t meet my gaze. And again, that feeling of being overwhelmed.

“What’s going on at work?” I asked him.

His tone hardened as he told me how he’d lost his temper a couple of days earlier. How one of the others had been winding him up, and something inside him had snapped, and he’d taken a swing at his workmate and landed a punch.

Barry had walked out and hadn’t been back. I tried to find out if he’d heard from his boss about the incident, if he knew what was likely to happen next.

He told me he didn’t care.

We talked some more. I learned that he’d been uncharacteristically short-tempered for months; his partner was fed up with being shouted at. Sleep had gone to pot, and Barry had taken to drinking heavily to knock himself out at night. He was smoking twice his usual amount. Men like Barry often don’t experience depression as classic low mood and tearfulness; they become filled with rage and turn in on themselves, repelling those closest to them in the process.

Depression is a complex condition, with roots that can frequently be traced right back to childhood experiences, but bouts are often precipitated by problems with relationships, work, money, or health. In Barry’s case, the main factor turned out to be his job. He’d been an HGV driver but at the start of the year his company had lost its operator’s licence. To keep the business afloat, his boss had diversified. Barry hated what he now had to do. He was now a “catcher”.

I didn’t know what that meant. Getting up at the crack of dawn, he told me, driving to some factory farm somewhere, entering huge sheds and spending hours catching chickens, thousands upon thousands of them, shoving them into crates, stashing the crates on a lorry, working under relentless pressure to get the sheds cleared and the birds off to the next stage of the food production chain.

“It’s a young man’s game,” he told me. “It’s crippling me, all that bending and catching.”

It wasn’t really his joints, though. Men like Barry can find it hard to talk about difficult emotion, but it was there in his eyes. I had a sudden understanding: Barry, capturing bird after panicking bird, stuffing them into the transport containers, the air full of alarmed clucking and dislodged feathers. Hour after hour of it. It was traumatising him, but he couldn’t admit anything so poncey.

“I just want to get back to driving.”

That would mean landing a new job, and he doubted he would be able to do so, not at his age. He couldn’t take just any old work, either: he had to earn a decent wage to keep up with a still sizeable mortgage.

We talked about how antidepressants might improve his symptoms, and made a plan to tackle the alcohol. I signed him off to give him some respite and a chance to look for new work – the one thing that was going to resolve his depression. But in the meantime, he felt as trapped as the chickens that he cornered, day after soul-destroying day.

Phil Whitaker’s novel “Sister Sebastian’s Library” will be published by Salt in September

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt