Osborne's crown slips

The Tories are jumpy. The budget was meant to be unapologetically pro-business, instead it was a bun

What precisely is the mistake George Osborne has made with yesterday's Budget? Clearly something went wrong. Even if the Chancellor anticipated a rough ride for cutting income tax for the very rich, I doubt he imagined a barrage of brutal headlines like these.

The newspapers this morning are full of commentary about who won, who lost and who is better off, with a justifiable emphasis on the rather sneaky tax-free allowance raid on people who are about to retire. (Only by really testing the elasticity of the metaphor is it a "Granny Tax" and yet the label has a deadly resonance for the government.)

Osborne could have got away with this had he prepared the ground with arguments about generational distribution. There are plenty of politicians and commentators who might have been coaxed into reluctant recognition that, yes, pensioners have been spared much of the pain of austerity so far and, alright, the baby boom cohort that is about to retire can on aggregate afford it. That still doesn't avoid the fact that plenty can't. (Most MPs will concede privately that too many rich pensioners get universal benefits - winter fuel, bus pass etc - but that the politics of taking something away from the most diligent voters in the land are just too grim to contemplate.) The point is that the measure was a difficult sell, not an impossible one.

Osborne's mistake wasn't in freezing the pensioner allowance, it was in not realising it would be the story of the day - and the Treasury accidentally made sure it was the story of the day by leaking the rest of the Budget in advance. That had two awkward consequences. First, it gave Ed Miliband ample time to prepare a feisty response. Second, it hyped up journalists' expectations that there would be something extra - some really pyrotechnic surprise. Or, put another way, the Lobby was all fired up rifling through the Chancellor's hat looking for a rabbit and the one they found had been skinned and turned into a pair of fur-lined gloves for higher rate taxpayers. Oops.

Even then, a day of bad headlines doesn't kill a Chancellor. He can mobilise his troops - Osborne has a phalanx of loyal MPs who will take to the studios in his defence. If need be, he can u-turn. This was a tactical cock-up, not a strategic blunder. But I think it hints at something that really might be a longer term problem. The underlying argument in the Budget - the one the government thought it would spend the ensuing hours and days thrashing out - was that the rich should pay their way and that it just so happens that high rates of income tax are a rubbish means to that end.

It is an old argument and one in which ministers can be sure of finding moral and intellectual support throughout the Conservative party and much of the press. Osborne was quite prepared to have it out in public on those terms, mobilising in his defence the claim that rich people were being made to pay in other ways. (Stamp duty, anti-avoidance measures etc.) The pensioner allowance freeze muddies that debate. It risks looking like a uniquely sadistic kind of redistribution from old to opulent, frail to the flashman.

A big part of the government's problem is that the pre-Budget spin actively encouraged that kind of analysis. The Treasury and the Lib Dems set the day up as a test of how effectively the rich would be made to cough up for austerity. It is much harder to retreat from that moral imperative than it is to u-turn on individual policies.

That is one reason why Conservatives are feeling jumpy this morning. Can they really go through the rest of this parliament advertising their policies in terms of how effectively they heap the burden on the top tier of earners? Is that why they came into politics? Will it be credible even if they try? This is why, as one government advisor said to me today, "George Osborne's strategic crown has slipped a bit." Many Tories are asking themselves where this wilful tycoon-phobia is taking them. Cutting the 50p rate was meant to be a bold, unashamedly conservative move, signalling support for enterprise and wealth generation. It has ended up looking like a bungled apology for the fact that the rich are hard to tax.

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

Getty
Show Hide image

The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era