Clegg helps Cameron change the subject

Lib Dem MPs have felt the power of trade union money on the ground and resent it just as much as the

There are few sights in politics less edifying than the House of Commons roused into a state of confected fury. (Actually, it is the sound more than the sight that is off-putting -- the braying roar of hundreds of MPs hurling theatrical fury at one another does not obviously signal constructive debate.) Parliament was at its noisy, shouty worst for yesterday's statement by Cabinet Office Minister Francis Maude on the "cash for access" scandal. In fairness, Maude himself started off pretty sedate, while Labour MPs went berserk. Ed Miliband was fairly even-tempered too but by then berserk was established as the backbench theme of the occasion and the Tories embraced it.

The arguments were predictable. Miliband insisted that the issue in question was David Cameron's judgement and demanded an independent public inquiry into the specific allegations that high-rolling donors have secured intimate soirees in Downing Street with their lavish contributions to party coffers. Maude hit back with scattergun blasts at Labour's failure in office to reform party funding and its current dependence on trade unions. This is pretty much how the argument will proceed from now on. Miliband wants to keep the focus as narrow as possible, ideally so some mud sticks to the Prime Minister; the Tories want to widen it out as quickly and as far as possible so the whole scandal is seen as somehow intrinsic to politics in general with no one party better or worse than the others.

Ultimately, I suspect the Tories will win this particular tug-of-war for two reasons.

First, much though Labour would like people to connect the current scandal to Tory sleaze of bygone days - the mid-Nineties, cash-for-questions etc. - the public are just as likely to recall Labour sleaze - cash for honours - which is more recent. As with the expenses scandal, the default judgement will be that "they're all the same".

Second, the Liberal Democrats will pull hard in the direction of generalising the issue rather than keeping the focus specifically on Cameron and Tory donors. Although the junior coalition party has an interest in keeping the Conservative brand toxic (so as to appear all the more vital as a moderating influence) , the real prize for Clegg and friends from all of this is serious progress on funding reform. The junior coalition party is broke and does not have a safety net of reliable donors in the way that the Tories can tap up their pet tycoons and Labour can fall back on the unions. Levelling the playing field is a matter of financial survival for the Lib Dems.

Also, crucially, although the left-leaning wing of the Lib Dems might be more appalled by the idea of fat cats wining and dining the Camerons, the party's MPs are much more focused on union money. At the last election, it was trade union war chests that funded a lot of vicious trench warfare in Labour-Lib Dem contests. That power is felt at least as keenly as the money that Lord Aschcroft feeds into Conservative target marginals, if not more so. The Lib Dems will gladly encourage the idea of equivalence between rich Tory financiers and the unions because, when it comes to being outspent in campaigns on the ground, there is ample resentment to go around.

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

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Why relations between Theresa May and Philip Hammond became tense so quickly

The political imperative of controlling immigration is clashing with the economic imperative of maintaining growth. 

There is no relationship in government more important than that between the prime minister and the chancellor. When Theresa May entered No.10, she chose Philip Hammond, a dependable technocrat and long-standing ally who she had known since Oxford University. 

But relations between the pair have proved far tenser than anticipated. On Wednesday, Hammond suggested that students could be excluded from the net migration target. "We are having conversations within government about the most appropriate way to record and address net migration," he told the Treasury select committee. The Chancellor, in common with many others, has long regarded the inclusion of students as an obstacle to growth. 

The following day Hammond was publicly rebuked by No.10. "Our position on who is included in the figures has not changed, and we are categorically not reviewing whether or not students are included," a spokesman said (as I reported in advance, May believes that the public would see this move as "a fix"). 

This is not the only clash in May's first 100 days. Hammond was aggrieved by the Prime Minister's criticisms of loose monetary policy (which forced No.10 to state that it "respects the independence of the Bank of England") and is resisting tougher controls on foreign takeovers. The Chancellor has also struck a more sceptical tone on the UK's economic prospects. "It is clear to me that the British people did not vote on June 23 to become poorer," he declared in his conference speech, a signal that national prosperity must come before control of immigration. 

May and Hammond's relationship was never going to match the remarkable bond between David Cameron and George Osborne. But should relations worsen it risks becoming closer to that beween Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling. Like Hammond, Darling entered the Treasury as a calm technocrat and an ally of the PM. But the extraordinary circumstances of the financial crisis transformed him into a far more assertive figure.

In times of turmoil, there is an inevitable clash between political and economic priorities. As prime minister, Brown resisted talk of cuts for fear of the electoral consequences. But as chancellor, Darling was more concerned with the bottom line (backing a rise in VAT). By analogy, May is focused on the political imperative of controlling immigration, while Hammond is focused on the economic imperative of maintaining growth. If their relationship is to endure far tougher times they will soon need to find a middle way. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.