Alternatives to austerity

The inevitable "structural reforms" Italy faces won't drag the eurozone's third-largest economy out

Silvio Berlusconi's last few days as Prime Minister find him overseeing the introduction of extraordinary austerity measures, passed through the Italian Parliament yesterday on the back of wheedling promises made to EU leaders. Berlusconi's exit will doubtless come as a blessed relief to many millions of Italians. The clown is to be replaced - without, naturally, recourse to elections - by a European Commissioner, Mario Monti, hastily sworn in as senator-for-life. A new government of technocrats will oversee implementation of austerity, assisted by the IMF officials now taking up residence in Italy's finance ministry. Those austerity measures, in turn, will be backed up by the usual demands for "structural reforms" - deregulation and privatisation chief amongst them.

This will not end the crisis in Italy - and, with that failure, the prospect of a global slump is opened. Austerity across Europe has already driven economies deeper into the mire, Ireland and Greece chief amongst them. The mechanism is widely known: as government spending falls, it drags demand down still further. As demand falls, firms cut wages and make redundancies. A vicious circle kicks in. With Italian consumers and businesses keeping their wallets closed, and no real hope of a recovery in export markets, it is spending by government that could sustain economic activity. Yet the scorched-earth economics of austerity are now being forced onto Italy.

Deregulation and the loosening up of labour markets are the second leg of the EU and IMF plans. The hope is that by freeing capital to operate as it sees fit, it will recover its dynamism. But "structural reforms" have taken place in Italy over the last decade or more. On OECD measures, Italy's product and labour markets are now as deregulated as Germany. In conditions of stagnant demand, the chances of further assaults on employment and consumer protection prompting growth are slim.

Italy's economic malaise runs deeper. The rot set in decades ago. A post-war miracle, with growth rates averaging over 5 per cent from 1951-73, halted with sharp recession in the early 1970s. Growth never truly recovered, and for the last 15 years has averaged less than one per cent a year. Businesses and government acted in concert to casualise labour, promoting labour-intensive export industries at the expense of capital investment. Economic activity became increasingly concentrated in the centre and the north, leaving the south lagging still further. Rising public debt initially helped cover the costs of wider stagnation.

Recent governments have targeted that debt, at the expense of public spending - and those without Berlusconi at the helm most successfully. The burden fell from 120 per cent of GDP in 1996 to around 100 per cent by 2007. But the financial crisis of 2007-8 led to a sharp rebound. A decade of debt reduction was wiped out in two years. The combination of a seriously weak economy and sharply rising indebtedness is what has now panicked markets into pushing Italy's current borrowing costs above 7 per cent.

If there is a hope of recovery in the eurozone's third-largest economy, it cannot come through the standard IMF package of austerity measures and market-led reforms. Nor will it come through the erosion of democracy. Quite the opposite is required: supporting public expenditure to sustain demand; industrial transformation, led by public intervention; and an expansion of democracy against the rule of finance - including, ultimately, a recognition that odious and unpayable sovereign debts need not be honoured.

James Meadway is a senior economist at the New Economics Foundation

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If there’s no booze or naked women, what’s the point of being a footballer?

Peter Crouch came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

At a professional league ground near you, the following conversation will be taking place. After an excellent morning training session, in which the players all worked hard, and didn’t wind up the assistant coach they all hate, or cut the crotch out of the new trousers belonging to the reserve goalie, the captain or some senior player will go into the manager’s office.

“Hi, gaffer. Just thought I’d let you know that we’ve booked the Salvation Hall. They’ll leave the table-tennis tables in place, so we’ll probably have a few games, as it’s the players’ Christmas party, OK?”

“FECKING CHRISTMAS PARTY!? I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS PARTIES THIS YEAR. NOT AFTER LAST YEAR. GERROUT . . .”

So the captain has to cancel the booking – which was actually at the Salvation Go Go Gentlemen’s Club on the high street, plus the Saucy Sporty Strippers, who specialise in naked table tennis.

One of the attractions for youths, when they dream of being a footballer or a pop star, is not just imagining themselves number one in the Prem or number one in the hit parade, but all the girls who’ll be clambering for them. Young, thrusting politicians have similar fantasies. Alas, it doesn’t always work out.

Today, we have all these foreign managers and foreign players coming here, not pinching our women (they’re too busy for that), but bringing foreign customs about diet and drink and no sex at half-time. Rotters, ruining the simple pleasures of our brave British lads which they’ve enjoyed for over a century.

The tabloids recently went all pious when poor old Wayne Rooney was seen standing around drinking till the early hours at the England team hotel after their win over Scotland. He’d apparently been invited to a wedding that happened to be going on there. What I can’t understand is: why join a wedding party for total strangers? Nothing more boring than someone else’s wedding. Why didn’t he stay in the bar and get smashed?

Even odder was the behaviour of two other England stars, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson. They made a 220-mile round trip from their hotel in Hertfordshire to visit a strip club, For Your Eyes Only, in Bournemouth. Bournemouth! Don’t they have naked women in Herts? I thought one of the points of having all these millions – and a vast office staff employed by your agent – is that anything you want gets fixed for you. Why couldn’t dancing girls have been shuttled into another hotel down the road? Or even to the lads’ own hotel, dressed as French maids?

In the years when I travelled with the Spurs team, it was quite common in provincial towns, after a Saturday game, for players to pick up girls at a local club and share them out.

Like top pop stars, top clubs have fixers who can sort out most problems, and pleasures, as well as smart solicitors and willing police superintendents to clear up the mess afterwards.

The England players had a night off, so they weren’t breaking any rules, even though they were going to play Spain 48 hours later. It sounds like off-the-cuff, spontaneous, home-made fun. In Wayne’s case, he probably thought he was doing good, being approachable, as England captain.

Quite why the other two went to Bournemouth was eventually revealed by one of the tabloids. It is Lallana’s home town. He obviously said to Jordan Henderson, “Hey Hendo, I know a cool club. They always look after me. Quick, jump into my Bentley . . .”

They spent only two hours at the club. Henderson drank water. Lallana had a beer. Don’t call that much of a night out.

In the days of Jimmy Greaves, Tony Adams, Roy Keane, or Gazza in his pomp, they’d have been paralytic. It was common for players to arrive for training still drunk, not having been to bed.

Peter Crouch, the former England player, 6ft 7in, now on the fringes at Stoke, came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

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 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage