Heseltine's wisdom exposes Osborne's limits

The former Conservative deputy prime minister condemns the government's lack of a growth strategy.

When George Osborne commissioned Michael Heseltine to produce a review of economic policy, he must have known that the results would not be entirely favourable to the government. The former deputy prime minister, a one nation Tory, has long favoured the kind of state interventionism that is anathema to the modern Conservative Party. Even so, it would be surprising if Osborne wasn't having at least some regrets this morning. Heseltine's 228-page report (which must be the first to feature a cartoon of its author on the cover), entitled No Stone Unturned in Pursuit of Growth, is a searing indictment of the coalition's approach.

The above cartoon appears on the front of Michael Heseltine's report.

"The message I keep hearing is that the government is that the UK does not have a strategy for growth and wealth creation," Heseltine writes, and he appears to agree. In an attempt to fill this void, he urges the government to establish a Prime Minister-led National Growth Council (rather like the National Economic Council abolished by the coalition), to transfer £58bn in funding to Local Enterprise Partnerships, to review "regulations relating to immigration policy", to "clarify urgently" its solution to the problem of aviation capacity, to outline a "definitive and unambiguous energy policy" (not much sign of that), to block foreign takeovers if they damage national interests, to hand a legal role to chambers of commerce to encourage local support for businesses, and to continue to "promote the British interest in Europe" (Heseltine is a reminder of the days when Tory MPs were more pro-EU than their Labour counterparts). But with the Treasury already briefing against him last weekend, it remains to be seen how many (if any) of these proposals become government policy.

The recurring mantra of the report is that an interventionist state is an essential precondition for growth. Having once believed in "the simplest of notions of the role of government. Get off our backs, cut the red tape, deregulate, lower taxes", Heseltine has come round to the view that "there are some things that only government can do to drive growth". At a time when the Tory party is increasingly dominated by crude Thatcherites, it is profoundly refreshing to hear such words from a Conservative.

Elsewhere, in a welcome blast against the supply side fanatics, he writes: "I reject the notion that regulation in itself hinders growth. Good, well-designed regulation can stop the abuse of market power and improve the way markets work to the benefit of business employees and consumers." And he warns that tax cuts, the right's other favoured solution, will "have only a limited effect", "the principal void in today's investment climate is confidence".

Heseltine's report is a reminder both of his enduring wisdom and of the paucity of the government's economic vision. Osborne did the country, if not himself, a fine service in commissioning it.

Michael Heseltine said that he kept hearing that "the UK does not have a strategy for growth". Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

A pro-union march in 2014. Photo: Getty
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The legacy of sectarianism is still poisoning the air of Scotland

Ruth Davidson has reinstated two Stirling councillors who posted anti-Catholic and racist messages on social media. That this kind of cretinous guff still goes on in my hometown in 2017 raises my hackles.

Kenny Dalglish was a bluenose: as a boy in the mid-60s, he and his father would make the short journey to Ibrox to cheer on Rangers, then Scotland’s most successful team. With the football allegiance came a cultural one, too. Or, probably, the other way round.

Wee Kenny could play a bit, obviously, and dreamed that his beloved Gers would sign him up. But, as Richard T Kelly writes in Keegan and Dalglish, his enjoyable new double biography of the two footballing greats, "Rangers had a certain preference for big lads, or else lads with an obvious turn of pace; and Dalglish, despite his promise, had neither of those easy attributes."

Rangers’ loss was Celtic’s gain, but it took some effort. The former, writes Kelly, "was the club of the Queen, the Union, Scotland’s Protestant majority… founded by Freemasons and members of the Orange Order, strongly tied to the shipyards of Govan. Glasgow Celtic was the team of Irish Catholic patriots, revolutionary Fenians and Home Rulers, begun as a charitable organisation… a means to bolster the faith and keep the flock out of the clutches of Protestant soup kitchens. It was going to be a serious step across a threshold for Dalglish to accept the overtures of Celtic."

In the end, Jock Stein dispatched his number two, the unhelpfully named Sean Fallon, to meet the young starlet’s family. "Fallon entered a domestic environment he felt to be 'a bit tense' -  a Rangers house, a lion’s den, if you will. Fallon even picked up the sense that Bill [Dalglish’s father] might rather his son pursue [an] apprenticeship in joinery."

The deal was done ("My dream was to become a professional footballer – the location was just a detail," Dalglish would later say) and the most gifted player Scotland has ever produced went on to make his reputation kitted out in green and white stripes rather than royal blue -  a quirk of those difficult times for which those of us classed as Fenian bastards rather than Orange bastards will be forever grateful.

Growing up in west and central Scotland, it was hard to avoid being designated as one type of bastard or the other, even if you supported a team outwith the Old Firm or had no interest in football at all. Thanks to 19th century immigration, the terrible religio-political divide of Ulster was the dominant cultural force even in Stirling, the town around 25 miles from Glasgow where I grew up and where I now live again. If you went to the Catholic school, as I did, you were a Fenian; if you went to the Proddy (officially, non-demominational) school, you were a Hun. You mostly hung around with your own, and youthful animosity and occasional violence was largely directed across the religious barricades. We knew the IRA slogans and the words to the Irish rebel songs; they had the UVF and the Red Hand of Ulster. We went to the Cubs, they went to the Boys’ Brigade. We got used to the Orange Walks delivering an extra-loud thump on the drums as they passed the chapel inside which we were performing our obligatory Sunday observance.

At the time – around the early and mid 80s – such pursuit of identity might not have been much more than a juvenile game, but it was part of something more serious. It was still the case that Catholics were unemployable in significant Scottish industries – "which school did you got to, son?" was the killer interview question if your answer began with "Saint". This included the media: in the late 90s, when I joined the Daily Record – the "Daily Ranger" to Celtic fans (its Sunday sister, the Sunday Mail, was known to Rangers fans as the "Sunday Liam") – vestiges of this prejudice, and the anecdotes that proved it, were still in the air.

The climate is undoubtedly better now. Secularisation has played its part - my own daughters attend non-denominational schools – even if, as the sportswriter Simon Kuper has observed, many are "not about to give up their ancient traditions just because they no longer believe in God". The peace process in Northern Ireland and important gestures such as the late public friendship between Ian Paisley Sr and Martin McGuinness have made a difference. And I suppose the collapse of Rangers as a footballing force, amid financial corruption that saw them dumped into the bottom tier of Scottish football, helped.

But the sensitivity remains. The 2014 Scottish independence referendum broke down in part across tribal lines, with many Celtic supporters, once Labour, now SNP, loudly backing a Yes vote, while Rangers fans were on the No side. The prospect of Brexit creating a significant border between the north and south of Ireland, which could inflame recently and shallowly buried tensions, makes one shudder. And even locally, the old enmities continue to raise their grubby heads. Ruth Davidson, leader of the Scottish Tories, is currently taking flak for allowing the reinstatement of two Stirling councillors who had posted anti-Catholic and racist messages on social media prior to their election. The pair have apologised and agreed to take part in diversity training, but I confess that this kind of cretinous guff still goes on in my hometown in 2017 raises my hackles. The rawness remains.

That this is so was brought to me a few years ago when I filed a column containing the word ‘sectarianism’ to a Scottish newspaper. Though the context had nothing to do with Catholic/Protestant or Celtic/Rangers, the editor asked me to remove it. "It’ll be deliberately misunderstood by one side or the other, and probably both," he said. "It’s not worth the hassle. In Scotland I’m afraid it never is."

Chris Deerin is the New Statesman's contributing editor (Scotland).