Balls exploits the Tories' normality deficit

Calling for cheaper prices is an attempt to portray Cameron and Osborne as out of touch.

The big news line from Ed Balls's speech at the London School of Economics this morning is the call for an emergency tax cut. George Osborne's Plan A for the economy isn't working, the shadow chancellor argued. Again. The economy needs a jump start of fiscal loosening in the form of a temporary VAT reduction. Balls made a pretty robust case for cutting sales taxes -- it can be implemented immediately; it releases cash directly to consumers and company bottom lines. He also argued that the VAT cut introduced by Alistair Darling in the 2008 pre-budget report worked, citing an Institute for Fiscal Studies analysis for corroboration.

Labour got rough ride over that decision. In fact, it was widely ridiculed with jibes along the lines: "how does shaving a few pennies off the price of a new TV save the economy from crisis?" But that was before inflation had become an urgent concern for squeezed consumers and the government. When challenged on the effectiveness of the proposed cut in the Q&A after the speech, Balls had a deft political parry: Tory critics might not notice a VAT holiday (the implication being that they can afford higher prices) but ordinary folk would.

Both Labour and Tory private polling shows the public are wary of David Cameron and George Osborne as "not like ordinary people" -- distant, aloof. Balls and Miliband haven't yet found a way of really capitalising on the Conservatives' normality deficit, but calling for cheaper prices at the checkout is a try.

This was billed as a lecture rather than a speech -- a forensic critique of the government's macroeconomic strategy and not just another blast of political rhetoric.

But this is Ed Balls, we're talking about; the man who was once described to me by a senior Labour party strategist as "someone who wakes up every morning asking himself how he can destroy the Tories." The economic argument around the deficit was pretty familiar -- a rococo riff on the established theme of "too far, too fast". The political angle shone through in repeated references to the Tories' shambolic exit from the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM) in 1992. The argument is that George Osborne's single-minded determination to stick with fiscal Plan A is starting to resemble Norman Lamont's predicament, sticking with a fixed exchange rate as evidence mounted that it was an unsustainable arrangement. Whereas Lamont was institutionally locked into the ERM, Balls argues, Osborne could change course. There are alternatives. Lamont's hands were tied; Osborne's are not. That makes the rigidity all the more perverse and the Chancellor more culpable if things go wrong.

I counted ten references to the ERM. It was the unifying theme of the speech. Of course it was. The ERM exit -- Black Wednesday -- was famously the moment the Tories lost credibility on the economy. David Cameron was an advisor to Lamont at the time. No wonder Balls wants the analogy to stick.

An aside: Balls had a relatively contrite line about Labour's fiscal record. "Of course we didn't spend all of the money wisely. No government does." When I asked him to specify where there had been a lack of wisdom he cited Labour's multiple and wasteful reorganisations in healthcare, in particular the fiddling around with the structure of Primary Care Trusts. It's a good one to own up to, for pretty obvious reasons.

The spending line was one of a few very last minute additions to the speech, tacked on this morning, apparently; recognition perhaps that Labour needs to sound a little more penitent about the past before it can be trusted to talk about the future?

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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The deafening killer - why noise will be the next great pollution scandal

A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too. 

Our cities are being poisoned by a toxin that surrounds us day and night. It eats away at our brains, hurts our hearts, clutches at our sleep, and gnaws at the quality of our daily lives.

Hardly a silent killer, it gets short shrift compared to the well-publicised terrors of air pollution and sugars food. It is the dull, thumping, stultifying drum-beat of perpetual noise.

The score that accompanies city life is brutal and constant. It disrupts the everyday: The coffee break ruined by the screech of a line of double decker buses braking at the lights. The lawyer’s conference call broken by drilling as she makes her way to the office. The writer’s struggle to find a quiet corner to pen his latest article.

For city-dwellers, it’s all-consuming and impossible to avoid. Construction, traffic, the whirring of machinery, the neighbour’s stereo. Even at home, the beeps and buzzes made by washing machines, fridges, and phones all serve to distract and unsettle.

But the never-ending noisiness of city life is far more than a problem of aesthetics. A growing body of evidence shows that noise can have serious health impacts too. Recent studies have linked noise pollution to hearing loss, sleep deprivation, hypertension, heart disease, brain development, and even increased risk of dementia.

One research team compared families living on different stories of the same building in Manhattan to isolate the impact of noise on health and education. They found children in lower, noisier floors were worse at reading than their higher-up peers, an effect that was most pronounced for children who had lived in the building for longest.

Those studies have been replicated for the impact of aircraft noise with similar results. Not only does noise cause higher blood pressure and worsens quality of sleep, it also stymies pupils trying to concentrate in class.

As with many forms of pollution, the poorest are typically the hardest hit. The worst-off in any city often live by busy roads in poorly-insulated houses or flats, cheek by jowl with packed-in neighbours.

The US Department of Transport recently mapped road and aircraft noise across the United States. Predictably, the loudest areas overlapped with some of the country’s most deprived. Those included the south side of Atlanta and the lowest-income areas of LA and Seattle.

Yet as noise pollution grows in line with road and air traffic and rising urban density, public policy has turned a blind eye.

Council noise response services, formally a 24-hour defence against neighbourly disputes, have fallen victim to local government cuts. Decisions on airport expansion and road development pay scant regard to their audible impact. Political platforms remain silent on the loudest poison.

This is odd at a time when we have never had more tools at our disposal to deal with the issue. Electric Vehicles are practically noise-less, yet noise rarely features in the arguments for their adoption. Just replacing today’s bus fleet would transform city centres; doing the same for taxis and trucks would amount to a revolution.

Vehicles are just the start. Millions were spent on a programme of “Warm Homes”; what about “Quiet Homes”? How did we value the noise impact in the decision to build a third runway at Heathrow, and how do we compensate people now that it’s going ahead?

Construction is a major driver of decibels. Should builders compensate “noise victims” for over-drilling? Or could regulation push equipment manufacturers to find new ways to dampen the sound of their kit?

Of course, none of this addresses the noise pollution we impose on ourselves. The bars and clubs we choose to visit or the music we stick in our ears. Whether pumping dance tracks in spin classes or indie rock in trendy coffee shops, people’s desire to compensate for bad noise out there by playing louder noise in here is hard to control for.

The Clean Air Act of 1956 heralded a new era of city life, one where smog and grime gave way to clear skies and clearer lungs. That fight still goes on today.

But some day, we will turn our attention to our clogged-up airwaves. The decibels will fall. #Twitter will give way to twitter. And every now and again, as we step from our homes into city life, we may just hear the sweetest sound of all. Silence.

Adam Swersky is a councillor in Harrow and is cabinet member for finance. He writes in a personal capacity.