The "people's bonus": which people, and at what cost?

Could George Osborne's "people's bonus" rescue the Conservatives' election prospects?

In an interview in today's Sunday Times -- a day before the taxpayer-owned RBS and Lloyds banks are set to announce £1.5bn of bonuses -- the Tory shadow chancellor, George Osborne, outlines a new policy:

The bankers have had their bonuses. We want a people's bank bonus for the people's money that was put into these organisations.

What it boils down to is the idea of offering cheap shares in the taxpayer-owned banks to ordinary families when the government's £70bn of shares are sold off. The Sunday Times interview frames it as a Tory attempt to seize back the election and give a positive edge to what has been an overwhelmingly negative election campaign.

Osborne couched his suggestion in diction that plays into public anger with the banks, speaking of the need to "recapitalise the poor". This certainly appears to be in keeping with the public mood. A YouGov poll for the think tank Compass, published today, showed the extent of public anger with the financial system. Three out of four people said they did not think that the banks had changed, and that they were still not being properly regulated, while 76 per cent of people wanted a cap on bonuses and 59 per cent supported a windfall bonus tax.

But although Osborne talks the talk -- the "people's bonus" suggesting a pleasing settling of scores -- is it really such a revolutionary move?

In fact, the proposal is a direct, and conscious, echo of Margaret Thatcher's privatisation of British Gas and British Telecom in the 1980s, when the number of British shareholders tripled. "It will be like the public offerings of shares such as the Tell Sid campaign of the mid-Eighties," said Osborne.

This was vote-winning for Thatcher, but the climate has changed: as the Compass poll shows, much of the current anger relates to the perceived injustice of banks going back to business as usual amid insufficient regulation, while the rest of society continues to suffer. Selling off cheap shares will do little to tackle the perception of a sector running out of control as jobs are lost elsewhere.

Labour and the Liberal Democrats have jumped to attack the plans. On the BBC's Andrew Marr Show this morning, the Business Secretary, Lord Mandelson, dismissed it as "a silly little gimmick" and "headline-grabbing incoherence". He argued that it contradicted the Tory emphasis on reducing the Budget deficit, asking: "What on earth are they doing giving away the shares at a knock-down price?"

The Lib Dem Treasury spokesman, Vince Cable, also criticised the plan, saying that it "beggars belief" to encourage the less well-off to invest in a volatile stock market. "The nationalised and semi-nationalised banks should be reprivatised when the conditions are right to maximise taxpayer return," he said. "Selling shares off at a discounted rate will not achieve this."

They have a point: if the focus is on reducing the Budget deficit and ensuring that the taxpayers' money is returned, it makes sense to sell off the shares at a time that will make maximum profit for the government. Moreover, the demographic of those investing in the stock market is unlikely to include the least well-off, who will nonetheless bear the brunt in the extra taxation that will be necessary if the government has not recovered all the bailout money.

Of the people's bonus, then, we must ask -- which people, and at what cost?

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Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

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Andy Burnham and Sadiq Khan are both slippery self-mythologisers – so why do we rate one more than the other?

Their obsessions with their childhoods have both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

Andy Burnham is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s widely seen as an unprincipled flip-flopper.

Sadiq Khan is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s the hugely popular mayor of London, the voice of those who’d be proud to think of themselves as the metropolitan liberal elite, and is even talked of as a possible future leader of the Labour party.

Oh, and also they were both born in 1970. So that’s a thing they have in common, too.

Why it is this approach to politics should have worked so much better for the mayor of London than the would-be mayor of Manchester is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. There are definite parallels between Burnham’s attempts to present himself as a normal northern bloke who likes normal things like football, and Sadiq’s endless reminders that he’s a sarf London geezer whose dad drove a bus. They’ve both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

And yes, Burnham apparent tendency to switch sides, on everything from NHS privatisation to the 2015 welfare vote to the leadership of Jeremy Corbyn, has given him a reputation for slipperiness. But Sadiq’s core campaign pledge was to freeze London transport fares; everyone said it was nonsense, and true to form it was, and you’d be hard pressed to find an observer who thought this an atypical lapse on the mayor’s part. (Khan, too, has switched sides on the matter of Jeremy Corbyn.)

 And yet, he seems to get away with this, in a way that Burnham doesn’t. His low-level duplicity is factored in, and it’s hard to judge him for it because, well, it’s just what he’s like, isn’t it? For a long time, the Tory leadership’s line on London’s last mayor was “Boris is Boris”, meaning, look, we don’t trust him either, but what you gonna do? Well: Sadiq is Sadiq.

Even the names we refer to them by suggest that one of these two guys is viewed very differently from the other. I’ve instinctively slipped into referring to the mayor of London by his first name: he’s always Sadiq, not Khan, just as his predecessors were Boris and Ken. But, despite Eoin Clarke’s brief attempt to promote his 2015 leadership campaign with a twitter feed called “Labour Andy”, Burnham is still Burnham: formal, not familiar. 

I’ve a few theories to explain all this, though I’ve no idea which is correct. For a while I’ve assumed it’s about sincerity. When Sadiq Khan mentions his dad’s bus for the 257th time in a day, he does it with a wink to the audience, making a crack about the fact he won’t stop going on about it. That way, the message gets through to the punters at home who are only half listening, but the bored lobby hacks who’ve heard this routine two dozen times before feel they’re in the joke.

Burnham, it seems to me, lacks this lightness of touch: when he won’t stop banging on about the fact he grew up in the north, it feels uncomfortably like he means it. And to take yourself seriously in politics is sometimes to invite others to make jokes at your expense.

Then again, perhaps the problem is that Burnham isn’t quite sincere enough. Sadiq Khan genuinely is the son of a bus-driving immigrant: he may keep going on about it, but it is at least true. Burnham’s “just a northern lad” narrative is true, too, but excludes some crucial facts: that he went to Cambridge, and was working in Parliament aged 24. Perhaps that shouldn’t change how we interpret his story; but I fear, nonetheless, it does.

Maybe that’s not it, though: maybe I’m just another London media snob. Because Burnham did grow up at the disadvantaged end of the country, a region where, for too many people, chasing opportunities means leaving. The idea London is a city where the son of a bus driver can become mayor flatters our metropolitan self-image; the idea that a northerner who wants to build a career in politics has to head south at the earliest opportunity does the opposite. 

So if we roll our eyes when Burnham talks about the north, perhaps that reflects badly on us, not him: the opposite of northern chippiness is southern snobbery.

There’s one last possibility for why we may rate Sadiq Khan more highly than Andy Burnham: Sadiq Khan won. We can titter a little at the jokes and the fibs but he is, nonetheless, mayor of London. Andy Burnham is just the bloke who lost two Labour leadership campaigns.

At least – for now. In six weeks time, he’s highly likely to the first mayor of Greater Manchester. Slipperiness is not the worst quality in a mayor; and so much of the job will be about banging the drum for the city, and the region, that Burnham’s tendency to wear his northernness on his sleeve will be a positive boon.

Sadiq Khan’s stature has grown because the fact he became London’s mayor seems to say something, about the kind of city London is and the kind we want it to be. Perhaps, after May, Andy Burnham can do the same for the north – and the north can do the same for Andy Burnham.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.