Cameron's aim is to make it ever harder to challenge unfair cuts

The implications of the PM's plan to abolish equality impact assessments and restrict judicial review.

What lies behind David Cameron's latest bonfire of the regulations? One of the main, if largely unspoken, aims is to allow the government to introduce unfair spending cuts - and to ensure that they can't be challenged. Under equality law, the government is currently required to assess "the likely or actual effects of policies or services on people in respect of disability, gender and racial equality". But in his speech to the CBI's annual conference, Cameron announced that equality impact assessments, established after the Macpherson report into the murder of Stephen Lawrence, would be scrapped on the grounds that since there are "smart people in Whitehall who consider equalities issues while they’re making the policy", we don't need "all this extra tick-box stuff." Thus, ministers will no longer have to prove that they have taken into account the effect of policies on the disabled, women, and ethnic minorities - you'll just have to take their word for it.

In some respects, Cameron's announcement is merely a formalisation of existing practice. Since coming to power, the government has regularly flouted equality law and refused to carry out impact assessments. In August 2010, the Fawcett Society brought a legal challenge against George Osborne's emergency Budget after the government failed to assess whether its measures would increase inequality between women and men. Of the £8bn of cuts announced in the Budget, £5.8bn fell on women.

Earlier this year, the Equality and Human Rights Commission criticised the government for not considering the impact the benefits cap would have on women, the impact cuts to bus fare subsidies would have on disabled people, and the impact the abolition of the Education Maintenance Allowance would have on ethnic minorities (almost half of children from ethnic minorities live in low-income households).

At present, any groups disproportionately effected by government cuts, are able to seek a judicial review (as the Fawcett Society did). But Cameron intends to make it ever harder for them to do so. In his speech today, the PM announced that he would reduce the time limit for people to bring cases, charge more for reviews, and halve the number of possible appeals from four to two.

So, not only has Cameron increased the scope for discriminatory cuts, he has acted pre-emptively to ensure that there's even less we can do about it. As ever, one wonders, where are the Lib Dems?

smart people in Whitehall who consider equalities issues while they're making the policy. We don't need all this extra tick-box stuff.

Read more: http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/uk/cameron-pledge-on-equality-rules-16239455.html#ixzz2CfZZKGdo

smart people in Whitehall who consider equalities issues while they're making the policy. We don't need all this extra tick-box stuff.

Read more: http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/uk/cameron-pledge-on-equality-rules-16239455.html#ixzz2CfZS2EHh

smart people in Whitehall who consider equalities issues while they're making the policy. We don't need all this extra tick-box stuff.

Read more: http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/news/local-national/uk/cameron-pledge-on-equality-rules-16239455.html#ixzz2CfZS2EHh

David Cameron addresses delegates at the annual Confederation of British Industry (CBI) conference. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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As the strangers approach the bed, I wonder if this could be a moment of great gentleness

I don’t know what to do. In my old T-shirt and M&S pants, I don’t know what to do.

It’s 1.13am on an autumn morning some time towards the end of the 20th century and I’m awake in a vast hotel bed in a small town in the east of England. The mysterious east, with its horizons that seem to stretch further than they should be allowed to stretch by law. I can’t sleep. My asthma is bad and I’m wheezing. The clock I bought for £3 many years earlier ticks my life away with its long, slow music. The street light outside makes the room glow and shimmer.

I can hear footsteps coming down the corridor – some returning drunks, I guess, wrecked on the reef of a night on the town. I gaze at the ceiling, waiting for the footsteps to pass.

They don’t pass. They stop outside my door. I can hear whispering and suppressed laughter. My clock ticks. I hear a key card being presented, then withdrawn. The door opens slowly, creaking like a door on a Radio 4 play might. The whispering susurrates like leaves on a tree.

It’s an odd intrusion, this, as though somebody is clambering into your shirt, taking their time. A hotel room is your space, your personal kingdom. I’ve thrown my socks on the floor and my toothbrush is almost bald in the bathroom even though there’s a new one in my bag because I thought I would be alone in my intimacy.

Two figures enter. A man and a woman make their way towards the bed. In the half-dark, I can recognise the man as the one who checked me in earlier. He says, “It’s all right, there’s nobody in here,” and the woman laughs like he has just told her a joke.

This is a moment. I feel like I’m in a film. It’s not like being burgled because this isn’t my house and I’m sure they don’t mean me any harm. In fact, they mean each other the opposite.

Surely they can hear my clock dripping seconds? Surely they can hear me wheezing?

They approach, closer and closer, towards the bed. The room isn’t huge but it seems to be taking them ages to cross it. I don’t know what to do. In my old T-shirt and M&S pants, I don’t know what to do. I should speak. I should say with authority, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” But I don’t.

I could just lie here, as still as a book, and let them get in. It could be a moment of great gentleness, a moment between strangers. I would be like a chubby, wheezing Yorkshire pillow between them. I could be a metaphor for something timeless and unspoken.

They get closer. The woman reaches her hand across the bed and she touches the man’s hand in a gesture of tenderness so fragile that it almost makes me sob.

I sit up and shout, “Bugger off!” and they turn and run, almost knocking my clock from the bedside table. The door crashes shut shakily and the room seems to reverberate.

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge