Giving up the conservatory tax leaves the Green Deal in tatters

The government's flagship environmental policy is now tied to an unpopular measure – but they've got

We’ve had the granny tax, the pasty tax, and the caravan tax. This week the phrase "conservatory tax" was added to the lexicon of media uproar over Coalition plans.

The fuss, which started last week over an alleged attempt by the government to force honest homeowners to spend hard-earned cash on energy upgrades to their homes every time they get the builders in, has now been neutralised by heavy Downing Street briefing that Cameron will block the policy. 

However, the story of this debate about this previously obscure amendment to building regulations is particularly instructive as it goes to the heart of how the government has failed to fulfil Cameron’s pledge to be the "greenest government ever".

And furthermore, Cameron’s intervention may sound the death knell for the most genuinely progressive environmental policy from the Coalition, the Green Deal.

The story is complicated and has been widely misreported. Basically, it goes like this. In January Eric Pickles’ Communities department issued a consultation on changes to the part of building regulations that covers the energy performance of homes, called Part L. This contained a measure called, in Whitehall jargon "consequential improvements" – a policy twice considered by New Labour during its decade in office, and twice rejected by ministers as too controversial.

The policy says that whenever a homeowner makes a significant improvement to his or her home, then that home-owner also has to commit to making improvements to the energy efficiency of the rest of the house, to make it closer to the energy performance standards required in modern buildings.

Seen as vital by environmentalists, the policy makes a lot of sense in theory. More than a quarter of carbon emissions come from people’s homes. And while new houses are actually built to very high energy standards, only a very few homes are built each year, meaning the vast majority of the homes we’ll inhabit in 2050 have already been built. Therefore there is no chance of meeting the UK’s long-term carbon cutting targets without addressing the existing stock of leaky Victorian and Edwardian homes.

But clearly "consequential improvements" is politically tricky. The cost to home-owners – even more to home-improvers, the very definition of the aspirational middle class voters every politician wants to woo – is the exact reason Labour twice ditched similar plans. So why did Pickles think he could get away with it?

The answer is the Green Deal. This policy, due to come in to effect in October, will allow the upfront cost of work to increase the energy efficiency of homes to financed by the private sector. As a home owner, you then pay the cost back through your energy bills, but the scheme is designed so that the better energy efficiency of your home mean those bills will still be cheaper.

Vitally, the existence of the Green Deal meant "consequential improvements" – the so-called conservatory tax - could be introduced without triggering direct up-front costs to homeowners. Overall, quite a clever package. Together the two had the potential to be a genuinely game-changing move to make energy efficiency happen. 

But Cameron’s swift capitulation to the Daily Mail’s outrage (nevermind that your conservatory would have to be 30 sq metres to trigger the improvements), potentially leaves the Green Deal in tatters. 

The government itself predicts that without consequential improvements, the uptake of the Green Deal will be miserable. It’s estimates say that, as it coincides with the ending of the regime of utilities subsidising energy-efficiency measures, the number of loft and cavity wall insulation installations is set to plummet – by up to 93 per cent in the case of loft insulation.

The reason is that simply taking away the up-front cost of improving your home isn’t enough to get people to do it – given all the attendant hassle – even if it makes financial sense. Put simply, people just have better things to do with their time.

Consequential improvements had been seen as the one measure that could conquer this home-owner inertia. But, yet again, the Coalition seems to have shown itself unwilling to make the case for Green measures when under pressure. Consistently other priorities, notably those driven by theTreasury, win out.

As a result manufacturers of insulation fear their market being killed overnight. Meanwhile building contractors, 22 of whom signed up to deliver home-improvements under the Green Deal, are already starting to scale back their expectations of the work it will generate. The signals from the Department for Energy and Climate Change are that when October does arrive, the Green Deal roll out will be limited – essentially just a pilot.

For the industry, of course, it is not just the benefit of insulated homes that the Green Deal was expected to create, but a huge number of jobs – 65,000 was the government’s final estimate. This is now imperilled, with the inevitable impact upon economic growth (or lack of it).

Meanwhile, Tory sources seem to be briefing the Guardian that the whole thing is a mess created by the Lib Dems – even though the Green Deal was originally a Tory policy.

Unless urgent action is taken, the government’s flagship green policy in the built environment (one, incidentally, with almost total support from both greens and builders) will turn into a fiasco.

Two women speak in front of a conservatory. Photograph: Getty Images

Joey Gardiner is assistant editor at Building magazine

GETTY
Show Hide image

Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue