How cancelling 'made-up' debt could help the UK meet aid targets

Treating debt relief for Sudan as charity will allow aid targets to be met at no cost.

"The UK will not balance its books on the backs of the poorest," David Cameron told the G8 summit in May, reiterating his pledge to spend 0.7 per cent of national income on international aid by 2013. The International Development Secretary Andrew Mitchell has echoed this sentiment, saying it is "absolutely clear that we stand by this commitment". That may be -- but some political sleight of hand could help to meet this target.

Back in the 1970s, the UK government backed loans to Sudan to buy British exports. These commercial loans were given by the little known department UK Export Finance (formerly ECGD) winning business for Britain, and keeping Sudan on side during the Cold War.

However, floods and droughts in the 1980s, along with rising US interest rates, led to the country defaulting on its repayments to the western world. The bill outstanding to the UK was £173 million.

Over 25 years later, the claimed debt has now risen to £678 million, and is increasing by £20 million a year. This huge increase is due to notional interest rates of 10-12 per cent being charged every year on the original debt.

The debt claimed from Sudan is effectively made-up money. Yet it could help the UK meet aid targets in the years ahead.

In June, South Sudan gained its independence. The north of Sudan has agreed to keep all the debt, so long as it is allowed to enter an international debt relief scheme within two years.

If and when Sudan achieves debt relief, the UK will "cancel" the debt. Given no repayments have been received for a quarter-of-a-century, this will cost nothing. The government then intends to treat this cancelled debt as aid, and count £678 million -- or whatever figure has been reached by then -- as a contribution to meeting the target to spend 0.7 per cent of national income on aid.

Counting debt relief as aid is nothing new. In the years following the invasion of Iraq, the UK cancelled 80 per cent of the debt inherited by Iraqi people from Saddam Hussain. The cancellation was counted as aid even though the UK loans had included money for Saddam to buy weapons and parts for a chemical weapons factory.

However, the reduction in Iraq's debt, as well as that of Nigeria, did not count towards meeting aid targets. Under current plans, any debt reduction for Sudan will too.

The UK's approach reinforces a narrative that all debts have to be paid, and it is an act of great charity and benevolence on the part of creditors to cancel them. But questions need to be asked about the origin of loans, and responsibilities of lenders as well as borrowers.

In Sudan's case, the UK government says it does not even know what the original loans to dictator Gaafar Nimeiry were for. The government could learn the lessons of past failed lending by implementing Liberal Democrat policy to audit all debts, something Vince Cable, the minister responsible, has so far not been minded to do.

But in Sudan's case, we know the loans from UK Export Finance were driven by Britain's own commercial interest to win contracts and strategic interest in the Cold War. The repayments then became too high because of drought, flood and global economic crisis. The debt was too big in the 1980s and as with all debts that are too big, needed to be repudiated, cancelled or reduced. Instead the debt was kept on the books and inflated by ridiculous interest rates.

In total, Sudan is said to owe $12 billion to western governments. Mostly due to the same high interest rates charged by the UK. If and when this is formally cancelled, if it is all used to meet aid targets, it could knock 12 per cent off official aid for one year.

Treating debt relief as charity will allow aid targets to be met at no cost. It will also sweep under the carpet a history of bad lending, allowing the same mistakes to be made again.

Tim Jones is policy officer at the Jubilee Debt Campaign

Tim Jones is policy officer at Jubilee Debt Campaign. Jubilee Debt Campaign is part of a global movement demanding freedom from the slavery of unjust debts and a new financial system that puts people first.

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

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 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times