This wasn't the speech Clegg needed

The Lib Dem leader offered little to reassure his anxious party.

Addressing a party that has lost more than half of its support since the election, a quarter of its membership and hundreds of its councillors, perhaps it's not surprising that Nick Clegg felt the need to reassure the Lib Dems that they would, at least, still exist by the time of the next election. "If we secure our country's future, we will secure our own," he cried, suggesting that extinction was not an unthinkable outcome.

The big policy announcement was that he would block any reduction in the 45p tax rate. While he "conceded" the cut from 50p to 45p, Clegg declared that all future tax cuts must pass "one clear test": "do they help people on low and middle incomes get by and get on?" The problem with this argument is that it applies equally well to the original cut. Why is it only now, after the government has handed 14,000 millionaires a £40,000 tax cut, that Clegg discovers his progressive soul and insists any measures must benefit lower earners? With the exception of one token reference to taxing "unearned wealth", we also heard nothing about the new "wealth tax" he had previously spoken of.

For much of the speech, which was short by recent standards, it was what Clegg didn't say that was most notable. There was no mention of the NHS (perhaps understandably), nothing on constitutional reform (the Alternative Vote and House of Lords reform having been defeated) and nothing on welfare. It is some indication of Clegg's standing in the party that the biggest cheer came when he announced that a former leader, Paddy Ashdown, would chair the party's 2015 election campaign.

Today, Clegg needed to reassure anxious activists that he has a plan to avoid a disastrous defeat at that election. In that task, he singularly failed. His voice rising with anger, the Deputy PM declared that "it was Labour who plunged us into austerity and it is we, the Liberal Democrats, who will get us out." But the failure of the coalition's strategy to deliver growth (indeed, its success in delivering recession) means there is no end in sight for austerity. "Let's go for it!," he rather limply ended. But few, one sensed, were prepared to follow him.

Nick Clegg gives his keynote speech to the Liberal Democrat conference in Brighton. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Getty
Show Hide image

Inside a shaken city: "I just want to be anywhere that’s not Manchester”

The morning after the bombing of the Manchester Arena has left the city's residents jumpy.

On Tuesday morning, the streets in Manchester city centre were eerily silent.

The commuter hub of Victoria Station - which backs onto the arena - was closed as police combed the area for clues, and despite Mayor Andy Burnham’s line of "business as usual", it looked like people were staying away.

Manchester Arena is the second largest indoor concert venue in Europe. With a capacity crowd of 18,000, on Monday night the venue was packed with young people from around the country - at least 22 of whom will never come home. At around 10.33pm, a suicide bomber detonated his device near the exit. Among the dead was an eight-year-old girl. Many more victims remain in hospital. 

Those Mancunians who were not alerted by the sirens woke to the news of their city's worst terrorist attack. Still, as the day went on, the city’s hubbub soon returned and, by lunchtime, there were shoppers and workers milling around Exchange Square and the town hall.

Tourists snapped images of the Albert Square building in the sunshine, and some even asked police for photographs like any other day.

But throughout the morning there were rumours and speculation about further incidents - the Arndale Centre was closed for a period after 11.40am while swathes of police descended, shutting off the main city centre thoroughfare of Market Street.

Corporation Street - closed off at Exchange Square - was at the centre of the city’s IRA blast. A postbox which survived the 1996 bombing stood in the foreground while officers stood guard, police tape fluttering around cordoned-off spaces.

It’s true that the streets of Manchester have known horror before, but not like this.

I spoke to students Beth and Melissa who were in the bustling centre when they saw people running from two different directions.

They vanished and ducked into River Island, when an alert came over the tannoy, and a staff member herded them through the back door onto the street.

“There were so many police stood outside the Arndale, it was so frightening,” Melissa told me.

“We thought it will be fine, it’ll be safe after last night. There were police everywhere walking in, and we felt like it would be fine.”

Beth said that they had planned a day of shopping, and weren’t put off by the attack.

“We heard about the arena this morning but we decided to come into the city, we were watching it all these morning, but you can’t let this stop you.”

They remembered the 1996 Arndale bombing, but added: “we were too young to really understand”.

And even now they’re older, they still did not really understand what had happened to the city.

“Theres nowhere to go, where’s safe? I just want to go home,” Melissa said. “I just want to be anywhere that’s not Manchester.”

Manchester has seen this sort of thing before - but so long ago that the stunned city dwellers are at a loss. In a city which feels under siege, no one is quite sure how anyone can keep us safe from an unknown threat

“We saw armed police on the streets - there were loads just then," Melissa said. "I trust them to keep us safe.”

But other observers were less comforted by the sign of firearms.

Ben, who I encountered standing outside an office block on Corporation Street watching the police, was not too forthcoming, except to say “They don’t know what they’re looking for, do they?” as I passed.

The spirit of the city is often invoked, and ahead of a vigil tonight in Albert Square, there will be solidarity and strength from the capital of the North.

But the community values which Mancunians hold dear are shaken to the core by what has happened here.

0800 7318496