Ed Balls rails against cuts to manufacturing

“Curtailing ambition”.

Ed Balls used his address to yesterday’s EEF Manufacturing Conference, perhaps unsurprisingly, as a platform to rail against spending cuts in advance of the delivery of the budget in two weeks’ time.

Playing straight to his manufacturer audience’s fear of Britain sliding into industrial obscurity, he warned that the government’s obsession with deficit reduction at the expense of long-term investment would “curtail ambition” in business and “militate against” the UK’s ability to compete with Europe (read, Germany).

His appearance at the conference coincided with the publication today of a labour-commissioned report by Sir George Cox, Overcoming short-termism within British business, which argues for executive pay to reflect success over longer cycles, tax changes to favour equity markets, and a mechanism to make infrastructure investment decisions independent of political cycles.

Despite a fantastically awkward bit of audience Q&A, in which Balls avoided verbally signing his party up to Sir George’s proposals even though the report author was sitting just feet away in the front row, the rhetoric seemed to go over well with delegates.

But in terms of a demonstration of long term-thinking, the Sturm & Drang over the budget’s treatment of British business paled in comparison to the day’s opening presentation, delivered by Jim “BRICs” O’Neill, Goldman Sachs’ chairman of asset management.

As one might expect from the man who coined the now ubiquitous acronym for emerging markets, O’Neill had very little to say directly about the state of British industry, and even the UK’s fortunes in the context of the Eurozone crisis.

Instead he spoke frankly, and backed by some very big statistics, about the overwhelming importance of emerging markets, particularly China, to both the UK and world economies over the decades to come.

Professing himself to be an optimist, O’Neill predicted the world economy would grow close to 4 per cent in the current decade, largely thanks to China which, he reminded us in words notoriously borrowed by David Cameron, grows the equivalent of Greek GDP every twelve and a half weeks. To underscore the point, O’Neill mentioned in passing that China had, since the end of 2010, grown by approximately the current size of the Indian economy.

He said that if the US and China could partially reverse their traditional roles with regard to production and consumption, so that China ended up “spending more and producing less” and the US vice versa, “it would be a very good sign – and this appears to be happening.”

In response to audience anxiety over the Eurozone, he acknowledged that while Europe was still the single most important export region for the UK, the percentage of UK exports going to the Eurozone had fallen from 55 per cent to 45 per cent over the last decade, and would likely fall further to 39 per cent by 2020.

By the same point time, he argued, 17 per cent of UK exports will likely be destined for the BRICs, while Germany will probably be exporting twice as much to China as to France. If we had known that in the early 1990s, he posited, there might never have been a Eurozone in the first place.

When drawn by session chair Krishnan Guru-Murthy on what he would do if he were chancellor in two weeks, his answer said more through understatement than Balls did through twenty minutes on the soapbox:

“Those nations with more emphasis on long-term fiscal consolidation rather than a "cut debt now" mentality tend to be recovering better… It’s entirely understandable to want to lower debt and to shrink [the financial services] sector… but trying to do both at once? It could be very difficult, and I think I’ll leave it at that”.

Ed Balls. Photograph: Getty Images

By day, Fred Crawley is editor of Credit Today and Insolvency Today. By night, he reviews graphic novels for the New Statesman.

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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