Today’s judgments won't derail HS2 - but serious questions remain

High court rules on compensation over HS2.

The Department for Transport will, once again, be in the spotlight today as the High Court gets set to rule on whether the government followed proper procedures before approving its HS2 rail project. Given the recent lamentable procedural failures over rail franchising, tension within the Department will likely be running high.

From the government’s point of view the best outcome is obviously a green light from the court. Not only will this save blushes at the Department, it will allow the coalition to push, full steam ahead – if that is the correct idiom for a project that will not bear fruit until 2033 – with what has become one of its flagship projects.

However, even if the judicial review does come down in favour of the protest groups it is unlikely that HS2 will be halted completely: in rail terms it will receive an amber light rather than a red one.

The protestors no doubt hope that any legal setback to the project will open the way for further challenges which will pull HS2 into a quagmire of reviews and disputes which could carry on until the government finally loses interest or, at least, until the next election is called.

This hope is probably in vain. Given the number of recent setbacks and U-turns the government will be in no mood, or position, to compromise over a scheme it has so solidly thrown its weight behind. Just like the weary commuter, waiting for the train back home after a long day at work, the government will likely accept the delay with resigned determination. This is doubtless helped by the fact that there is widespread support across the political spectrum for HS2. For many on the left it is one of those big infrastructure projects which not only creates jobs and opportunities but also helps to narrow geographical disparities between London and part of the country.

What the outcome of the judicial review will not do is resolve, conclusively, whether HS2 is a sensible idea. Here, so many questions remain unanswered.

There is the argument that the benefits of the spending should be spread more widely. For example, despite commitments on electrification, parts of the rail network in the South West remain chronically deprived of investment. Certainly, dividing the pot of HS2 money up more equally between the regions would produce a less dramatic, less visible end result. However, smaller incremental rail improvements across the country may yield a much greater economic benefit than one big, budget-busting project.

In many ways this is an argument about the need for speed. HS2 will certainly reduce journey times between London and the midlands and parts of the north, however, given the lofty sums of money involved the improvements are marginal at best. Moreover, given the fact that many people use their time on the train fairly productively – whether working or relaxing – there is a real question mark over whether a faster journey accrues genuine economic benefits. The debate is further complicated by the point that without improving regional transport connections – those roads and public transport services which feed into the stations HS2 serves – a reduction of time spent on the train probably becomes pretty pointless.

The one thing HS2 will certainly do is help improve capacity; something much needed on a rail network that is now bursting at the seams. However, HS2 is an expensive solution to this issue and there are simpler ways of increasing capacity. Adjusting the existing infrastructure to accommodate double-decker and longer trains, for example, would cost a fraction of HS2.

The answer to all of these points – and many more – will simply not come from the outcome of today’s review. Nor have they come from government, which has presented a less than compelling case for its policy. Only time and hindsight, it seems, will help us form a view of whether HS2 is a sound scheme. For now, the jury is still out.

The Department for Transport will, once again, be in the spotlight. Photograph: Getty Images

 Managing Director of Conlumino

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism