Defence spending will fall -- and rightly so

Britain, a warrior nation, will be forced to take a more pragmatic approach

All governments are reluctant to cut defence spending, or rather be seen to do so. With Britain's self-image as a warrior nation and its belief that its armed forces really are "the best in the world", no politician will freely admit to reducing the defence budget.

But it is increasingly clear that the next government will have to make cuts of roughly 10-15 per cent in real terms. Even the Tories, who still see themselves as the party of the armed forces, will have to slash the defence budget if they are to maintain their commitment to ringfence health and international development spending.

The latest report from the Royal United Services Institute shows how these cuts could shrink the armed forces by up to a fifth (see graph). Although we can expect no mainstream Labour or Tory figure to make it, there is a strong case, given the £178bn Budget deficit, for cutting defence spending.

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Data published by the Stockholm Peace Research Institute in 2009 placed the UK fourth in a table of the top ten military spenders in current US dollars. The US led the table, spending $607bn on defence, with China in second place, spending $84.9bn. France came in third place ($65.7bn) and the UK was just behind with $65.3bn. British defence spending as a percentage of GDP is 2.6 per cent.

Many will assume that Britain should fight to maintain its position in the international pecking order, but that ignores an alternative approach. Instead of struggling to project power abroad, we should focus on pursuing fairness at home. This means prioritising spending on education, health and anti-poverty measures.

In the post-recession world, this sceptred isle will be forced to become a more pragmatic and modest nation. The £20bn renewal of Trident, little more than a national virility symbol, must be cancelled. Military intervention abroad, humanitarian or otherwise, will become increasingly unthinkable.

It is a case that Labour should be prepared to make. As James Purnell wrote in his excellent Guardian article this week, by conceding that major spending cuts are needed in some areas, the government will be in a better position to argue that the deficit must not be cut at a rate that threatens economic recovery. Let's hope that Labour's "radical manifesto" reflects this truth.

 

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George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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I worked as a teacher – so I can tell you how regressive grammar schools are

The grammars and "comprehensives" of Kent make for an unequal system. So why does Theresa May consider the county a model for the future?

In 1959 my parents moved me from a Roman Catholic primary school to the junior branch of King Henry VIII, Coventry’s most high-profile grammar. The head teacher berated my mother for betraying the one true faith, but although she was born in Galway, my mum was as relaxed about her religion as she was about her native roots. Any strong feelings about the English Reformation had disappeared around the same time as her Irish accent. Her voice gave no clue to where she was from and – as a result of a wartime commission – the same was true of my father. Together, Mrs and Mr Smith embodied postwar Britain’s first-generation upwardly mobile middle class.

Their aspiration and ambition were so strong that my mother saw no problem in paying for me to attend a Protestant school. Why, you may ask, did my dad, a middle manager and by no means well off, agree to pay the fees? Quite simply, my parents were keen that I pass the eleven-plus.

King Henry VIII School benefited from the direct grant scheme, introduced after the Education Act 1944. In Coventry, the two direct grant schools were centuries old and were paid a fee by the government to educate the fifth or so of boys who passed the eleven-plus. When secondary education in Coventry became comprehensive in the mid-1970s, King Henry VIII went fully independent; today, it charges fees of more than £10,000 per year.

A few years ago, I returned to my old school for a memorial service. As I left, I saw a small group of smartly dressed men in their late seventies. They had strong Coventry accents and intended to “go down the club” after the service. It occurred to me that they represented the small number of working-class lads who, in the years immediately after the Second World War, were lucky enough to pass the eleven-plus and (no doubt with their parents making huge sacrifices) attend “the grammar”. But by the time I moved up to King Henry VIII’s senior school in 1963 there appeared to be no one in my A-stream class from a working-class background.

From the early 1950s, many of the newly affluent middle classes used their financial power to give their children an advantage in terms of selection. My parents paid for a privileged education that placed top importance on preparation for the eleven-plus. In my class, only one boy failed the life-determining test. Today, no less than 13 per cent of entrants to the 163 grammar schools still in the state system are privately educated. No wonder preparatory schools have responded enthusiastically to Theresa May’s plans to reverse the educational orthodoxy of the past five decades.

Nowhere has the rebranding of secondary moderns as “comprehensives” been more shameless than in Kent, where the Conservative-controlled council has zealously protected educational selection. Each secondary modern in east Kent, where I taught in the 1970s, has since been named and renamed in a fruitless attempt to convince students that failing to secure a place at grammar school makes no difference to their educational experience and prospects. That is a hard message to sell to the two-thirds of ten-year-olds who fail the Kent test.

Investment and academy status have transformed the teaching environment, which a generation ago was disgraceful (I recall the lower school of a secondary modern in Canterbury as almost literally Edwardian). Ofsted inspections confirm that teachers in non-grammar schools do an amazing job, against all the odds. Nevertheless, selection reinforces social deprivation and limited aspiration in the poorest parts of the south-east of England, notably Thanet and the north Kent coastline.

A third of children in Thanet live in poverty. According to local sources (including a cross-party report of Kent councillors in 2014), disadvantaged children make up less than 9 per cent of pupils in grammar schools but 30 per cent at secondary moderns. University admissions tutors confirm the low number of applications from areas such as Thanet relative to the UK average. Though many of Kent’s secondary moderns exceed expectations, the county has the most underperforming schools in the UK.

When I began my teaching career, I was appallingly ignorant of the harsh realities of a secondary education for children who are told at the age of 11 that they are failures. Spending the years from seven to 17 at King Henry VIII School had cocooned me. More than 40 years later, I can see how little has changed in Kent – and yet, perversely, the Prime Minister perceives the county’s education system as a model for the future.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times