What did we learn today? Osborne will defend the banks. Again.

The Chancellor's Autumn Statement shows a commitment to backing the unregulated and reckless financi

Forget the bluster, the spin, the deflection of blame. Forget the bleat that "there is no money". Forget the "fake metrics". Forget "the plan to ensure we keep Britain safe from the sovereign debt crisis".

This Autumn Statement represents a welcome, if still inadequate, u-turn.

Underlying all the carrots and sticks is the Treasury's frank admission of error, the Bank of England's £75 billion (with a promise of more to come), and a frantic volte-face.

Of course, the Chancellor has had to disguise his about-turn by dressing it up as austerity, but he has dramatically relaxed fiscal consolidation -- even though public finances are, by his own admission, in far worse condition than they were just six months ago.

The Autumn Statement goes some way to acknowledging the cause of the rise in government debt and of turmoil in markets, noting that there was in the UK "the greatest expansion in debt of all the world's major economies over the last decade" and that "the full scale and persistence of that impact is slowly becoming clearer."

But while Treasury orthodoxy is finally "becoming clearer" about the scale of the crisis -- one deepened by synchronised austerity -- the Chancellor seems unable to learn the lessons and fully reverse course. While acknowledging that "the financial sector has acted as a drag on growth," the Chancellor today promised to ensure Britain "remains the home of global banks and that London is the world's pre-eminent financial centre".

In other words, the government is committed to subsidising, bailing out and rewarding the City of London -- at grave cost to public sector workers, pensioners and private firms. Their analysis, reactions and policies to this crisis remain profoundly inadequate.

For make no mistake, we stand at a pivotal moment in world history, and today our politicians and economic authorities are revealed to be disgracefully ill-prepared for it.

We remind them again: Britain is not facing a sovereign debt crisis. This is not a eurozone crisis. It is a private banking crisis: the catastrophic unravelling of the private, liberalised financial system. Governments, including our own, are not the cause of turmoil: they are victims of the turmoil in private financial markets -- in the City of London, "home to global banks".

The unregulated financial sector has lent recklessly and expensively for some thirty years to itself, to firms and to households. As a result, private indebtedness -- as both the Autumn Statement and the McKinsey Global Institute carefully document -- is at its highest as a share of income ever in history.

The unfolding and related crisis of sovereign debt is a consequence; the result of four years of futile attempts by western governments to maintain, compensate and support this bankrupt system. Osborne, in his statement today, persists in his backing of this failed order.

As rising unemployment, falling incomes and despair begins to crush western societies; as "indignants" in Britain, Europe and the US lead protests against more cuts in pay and pensions and are brutally assaulted by police for their pains, we are confronted by a frightening reality.

Our leaders and their advisers simply cannot absorb the lessons of the crisis. As a result they have abrogated any responsibility to lead. Instead, they struggle manfully to maintain and uphold the old, catastrophic financial system -- and are incapable of constructing a new, global order.

The resulting policy vacuum is frightening. No wonder the Polish foreign minister warns of "a crisis of apocalyptic proportions".

Ann Pettifor is executive director of Advocacy International and a fellow of the New Economics Foundation

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue