Axing quangos is really about political capital

As the spending review approaches, a leaked list of doomed quangos suggests that these cuts are about political gains more than financial savings.

A list leaked to the Telegraph reveals the 177 quangos that are allegedly to be the first on to David Cameron's "bonfire of the quangos".

The full list includes a dazzling array of bodies, with examples as varied and esoteric as the Agricultural Dwelling House Committees (comprising 16 bodies), the Public Guardian Board and the Teachers TV Board.

It's easy to react with bemused horror to the array of obscure-sounding titles. But the list does demand slightly closer scrutiny -- also marked for burning are the Audit Commission, British Waterways, the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority, and the Women's National Commission, to name just a few. Baroness Deech has already gone on the offensive this morning's Today programme to point out that much of the £5m budget for the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority comes from patients, not taxpayers, and that axing it thus achieves very little in budgetary terms.

As we get closer to October's Comprehensive Spending Review, the debate surrounding the future of these bodies and others is obviously going to intensify. Other high-profile examples, such as the BBC World Service, the British Council, the Office of Fair Trading and the Carbon Trust, are still under review.

But while these bodies await their fate, I thought I'd share a small insight into one of the bodies that is reportedly going to be axed: the Government Hospitality Advisory Committee for the Purchase of Wine. A while ago, consumed with curiosity as to what this committee was actually up to and how much of taxpayers' money it was spending on wine, I put in a Freedom of Information request, and discovered the following:

  • The government calculates that it will use around £90,00-£100,000 worth of stock (wines, spirits, beers, etc) a year for "high-level events".
  • Government Hospitality, the department within the Foreign and Commonwealth Office that administers the committee, spends roughly one-eighth of its £800,000 annual budget on restocking the wine cellar.
  • The committee has five members, who meet four times a year and are not paid for their time (apart from travel expenses). It is chaired by Sir David Wright, the former British ambassador to Japan.
  • According to minutes, tastings take place during meetings. Recommendations are then made about purchases.

None of this is of anything other than passing interest. But it does provide a small amount of background to one of the entries on the baffling list of soon-to-be-extinct quangos. It also raises a bigger point about the motivation behind the coalition's war on quangos.

Wines will still need to be purchased, so it is unlikely that major savings will be made there, and the existence of the committee itself costs almost nothing, so "burning" this quango achieves very little in the way of saving costs. Without having investigated them all, I still would wager that a significant portion of the rest of the list falls into the same category -- fulfilling functions that will go on being necessary, at relatively small cost.

A senior Whitehall source told the Telegraph that "these reforms represent the most significant rolling back of bureaucracy and the state for decades. Our starting point has been that every quango must not only justify its existence but its reliance on public money."

This connection between abolishing quangos and "rolling back bureaucracy" is the real story here. Getting rid of these quangos isn't going to eliminate the Budget deficit, but it will give the coalition political ammunition once more against the "bloated bureaucracy" instituted by Labour, and put the government on the offensive as public support for the spending cuts wanes and the spending review itself approaches.

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman. She writes a weekly podcast column.

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It’s obvious why Thais can’t resist our English footballers. But they want our schools, too

The only explanation is . . . our footer must be great and exciting to watch.

At Bangkok airport, sitting in the Club lounge, as I am a toff, I spotted a copy of Thailand Tatler, a publication I did not know existed. Flicking through, I came across a whole page advert announcing that RUGBY SCHOOL IS COMING TO THAILAND.

In September, Rugby will open a prep and pre-prep department, and then, in 2018, full boarding for ages up to 17. How exciting – yet another English public school sets up a satellite in Thailand.

But I was confused. Just as I was confused all week by the Thai passion for our football.

How has it happened that English public schools and English football have become so popular in Thailand? There is no colonial or historical connection between the UK and Thailand. English is not the Thais’ first language, unlike in other parts of the world such as India and Hong Kong. Usually that explains the continuation of British traditions, culture and games long after independence.

When I go to foreign parts, I always take a large wodge of Beatles and football postcards. I find deprived persons all over the world are jolly grateful for these modern versions of shiny beads – and it saves tipping the hotel staff. No young Thai locals were interested in my Beatles bits, but boy, my footer rubbish had them frothing.

I took a stash of seven-year-old postcards of Andy Carroll in his Newcastle strip, part of a set given away free in Barclays banks when they sponsored the Premier League. I assumed no one in Thailand would know who the hell Andy Carroll was, but blow me, every hotel waiter and taxi driver recognised him, knew about his various clubs and endless injuries. And they all seemed to watch every Premiership game live.

I have long been cynical about the boasts that our Prem League is the most watched, the most popular in the world, with 200 countries taking our TV coverage every week. I was once in Turkey and went into the hotel lounge to watch the live footer. It was chocka with Turks watching a local game, shouting and screaming. When it finished, the lounge emptied: yet the next game was our FA Cup live. So I watched it on my own. Ever since, I’ve suspected that while Sky might sell rights everywhere, it doesn’t mean many other folk are watching.

But in Thailand I could see their passion, though most of them have no experience of England. So the only explanation is . . . our footer must be great and exciting to watch. Hurrah for us.

Explaining the passion for English public schools is a bit harder. At present in Thailand, there are about 14 boarding schools based on the English public-school system.

Rugby is only the latest arrival. Harrow has had a sister school there since 1998. So do Shrewsbury, Bromsgrove and Dulwich College (recently renamed British International School, Phuket).

But then I met Anthony Lark, the general manager of the beautiful resort where I was staying in the north of the island. He’s Australian, been out there for thirty years, married to a Thai. All three of his sons went to the Phuket school when it was still Dulwich International College.

His explanations for the popularity of all these British-style schools included the fact that Thailand is the gateway to Asia, easy to get to from India and China; that it’s relatively safe; economically prosperous, with lots of rich people; and, of course, it’s stunningly beautiful, with lovely weather.

There are 200,000 British expats in Thailand but they are in the minority in most of these British-style public schools – only about 20 per cent of the intake. Most pupils are the children of Thais, or from the surrounding nations.

Many of the teachers, though, are from English-speaking nations. Anthony estimated there must be about five thousand of them, so the schools must provide a lot of work. And presumably a lot of income. And, of course, pride.

Well, I found my little chest swelling at the thought that two of our oldest national institutions should be so awfully popular, so awfully far away from home . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Cool Britannia 20 Years On

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