How the left can be radical without spending money

Balls's speech made way for a new agenda that is profoundly exciting.

Balls's speech made way for a new agenda that is profoundly exciting.{C}

Ever noticed how shutting one door can open another? This week Labour's staunchest champion of growing our way out of the deficit acknowledged that he could well be making cuts in 2015. The left, personified by Owen Jones and Len McCluskey, were up in arms. They think we've lost the possibility of being radical. I say we've opened it up.

The modern left frequently makes one mistake. They assume that the most significant means government has of transforming lives is through taxing and spending, traditionally known as the "demand" side of the economy. They have left the supply side - the rules that govern the price of labour and capital - to the right.

But what if, at a time of pressure to reduce government spending, the left could develop an agenda for the supply side of the economy that delivered meaningful change?

It's not surprising we're sceptical. Because the right have dominated such policy in the past, such an agenda is associated with smashing unions to decrease the cost of labour, deregulating capital to enrich the fortunate or privatising at the expense of quality.

But supply side policy doesn't have to be regressive. It's just a tool that's been used in the wrong way. Most recently, Ed Miliband has been talking about a number of supply side policies that are courageous, imaginative and proudly consistent with the values of the left.

The most high profile example is his attack on certain energy and transport companies. We know that these markets are sown up, so increasing competition and regulation will deliver a fairer result. The living wage is another example. Government contracts that build in apprenticeships and local investment is another. The High Pay Commission's work on wage transparency and shareholder representation on boards is another. Cutting down on corporate tax havens as Miliband just outlined is another. Breaking up the banks takes this one step further.

Although it needs sexier branding, these supply side policies are all part of what Miliband calls "responsible capitalism". It's why Blue Labour is interesting.

These policies have three big advantages. First, they don't cost anything. Second, they make people's lives better. Third, they are much closer to where the public is at. I appreciate the arguments made by Owen Jones, but I don't think he has appreciated the scale of anger there is about a perceived waste of public money by Labour in the good times.

As someone who remembers what it was like to not have enough chairs in their classroom, I'm never going to apologise for investing in schools, and you'll never hear me say that government spending isn't essential and necessary. But waste on IT contracts, PFI and middle managers? I'm happy to apologise for some of that.

And as Ed Balls said this week, a true Keynesian is sometimes a hawk. If you genuinely believe we should be running a programme of increased spending now, then you have to acknowledge that we should have spent less when the economy was booming. The idea that Keynesians believe in high spending throughout the cycle misses the point completely.

So let's not get confused - Labour is still saying that we should cut less fast and less deep now, but with the OBR estimating we'll be 18 per cent poorer as a result of the recession, the state will be smaller once we're out of this mess. And that means a progressive supply side agenda.

If we do that, then Ball's speech wasn't a sign of giving up and following the Tories slowly back to the middle ground. It was a necessary part of gaining credibility with the public to make way for a new agenda that is profoundly exciting. Interestingly, it's one that Miliband is leading, not the shadow chancellor. The left shouldn't abandon ship, it should get on board.

Rowenna Davis is Labour PPC for Southampton Itchen and a councillor for Peckham

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Martin McGuinness's long game: why a united Ireland is now increasingly likely

McGuinness died with his ultimate goal of a united Ireland arguably closer to realisation than at any other time since the island’s partition in 1921.

In late 2011 Martin McGuinness stood as Sinn Fein’s candidate in Ireland’s presidential election, raising all sorts of intriguing possibilities.

Raised in a tiny terraced house in the Bogside, Derry, he would have ended up living in a 92-room presidential mansion in Dublin had he won. A former IRA commander, he would have become supreme commander of Ireland’s defence forces. Once banned from Britain under the Prevention of Terrorism Acts, he would have received the credentials of the next British ambassador to Dublin. Were he invited to pay a state visit to London, a man who had spent much of his youth shooting or bombing British soldiers would have found himself inspecting a guard of honour at Buckingham Palace.

McGuinness would certainly have shaken the hands of the English team before the Ireland-England rugby match at the Aviva Stadium in Dublin every other year. “I’d have no problem with that,” he told me, grinning, as he campaigned in the border county of Cavan one day that autumn. Though a staunch republican, he enjoyed the “Protestant” sports of rugby and cricket, just as he supported Manchester United and enjoyed BBC nature programmes and Last of the Summer Wine. He wrote poetry and loved fly-fishing, too. Unlike Gerry Adams, the coldest of cold fish, McGuinness was hard to dislike – provided you overlooked his brutal past.

In the event, McGuinness, weighed down by IRA baggage, came a distant third in that election but his story was astonishing enough in any case. He was the 15-year-old butcher’s assistant who rose to become the IRA chief of staff, responsible for numerous atrocities including Lord Mountbatten’s assassination and the Warrenpoint slaughter of 18 British soldiers in 1979.

Then, in 1981, an IRA prisoner named Bobby Sands won a parliamentary by-election while starving himself to death in the Maze Prison. McGuinness and Adams saw the mileage in pursuing a united Ireland via the ballot box as well as the bullet. Their long and tortuous conversion to democratic politics led to the Good Friday accord of 1998, with McGuinness using his stature and “street cred” to keep the provisional’s hard men on board. He became Northern Ireland’s improbable new education minister, and later served as its deputy first minister for a decade.

His journey from paramilitary pariah to peacemaker was punctuated by any number of astounding tableaux – visits to Downing Street and Chequers; the forging of a relationship with Ian Paisley, his erstwhile arch-enemy, so strong that they were dubbed the “Chuckle Brothers”; his denunciation of dissident republican militants as “traitors to the island of Ireland”; talks at the White House with Presidents Clinton, George W Bush and Obama; and, most remarkable of all, two meetings with the Queen as well as a state banquet at Windsor Castle at which he joined in the toast to the British head of state.

Following his death on 21 March, McGuinness received tributes from London that would have been unthinkable 20 years ago. Tony Blair said peace would not have happened “without Martin’s leadership, courage and quiet insistence that the past should not define the future”. Theresa May praised his “essential and historic contribution to the extraordinary journey of Northern Ireland from conflict to peace”.

What few noted was that McGuinness died with his ultimate goal of a united Ireland arguably closer to realisation – albeit by peaceful methods – than at any other time since the island’s partition in 1921.

The Brexit vote last June has changed political dynamics in Northern Ireland. The province voted by 56 per cent to 44 in favour of remaining in the European Union, and may suffer badly when Britain leaves. It fears the return of a “hard border” with the Republic of Ireland, and could lose £330m in EU subsidies.

Dismay at the Brexit vote helped to boost Sinn Fein’s performance in this month’s Stormont Assembly elections. The party came within 1,200 votes of overtaking the Democratic Unionist Party, which not only campaigned for Leave but used a legal loophole to funnel £425,000 in undeclared funds to the broader UK campaign. For the first time in Northern Ireland’s history, the combined unionist parties no longer have an overall majority. “The notion of a perpetual unionist majority has been demolished,” Gerry Adams declared.

Other factors are also working in Sinn Fein’s favour. The party is refusing to enter a new power-sharing agreement at Stormont unless the DUP agrees to terms more favourable to the Irish nationalists. Sinn Fein will win if the DUP agrees to this, but it will also win if there is no deal – and London further inflames nationalist sentiment by imposing direct rule.

McGuinness’s recent replacement as Sinn Fein’s leader in Northern Ireland by Michelle O’Neill, a personable, socially progressive 40-year-old unsullied by the Troubles, marks another significant step in the party’s move towards respectability. As Patrick Maguire recently wrote in the New Statesman, “the age of the IRA old boys at the top is over”.

More broadly, Scottish independence would make the notion of Northern Ireland leaving the UK seem less radical. The Irish republic’s economic recovery and the decline of the Roman Catholic Church have rendered the idea of Irish unity a little less anathema to moderate unionists. And all the time, the province’s Protestant majority is shrinking: just 48 per cent of the population identified itself as Protestant in the 2011 census and 45 per cent Catholic.

The Good Friday Agreement provides for a referendum if a majority appears to favour Irish unity. Sinn Fein is beginning to agitate for exactly that. When Adams and McGuinness turned from violence to constitutional politics back in the 1980s they opted for the long game. Unfortunately for McGuinness, it proved too long for him to see Irish nationalism victorious, but it is no longer inconceivable that his four grown-up children might. 

This article first appeared in the 23 March 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump's permanent revolution