The Lib Dems must not accept more welfare cuts in return for new taxes

Higher taxes on the rich will not protect the poorest if spending is slashed.

We may no longer be in recession, but the nation still faces a critical year ahead. Choices that the government makes over wealth taxes and welfare spending in particular will shape the political economy, not just for the year ahead but for decades to follow, and recent signs are not encouraging. Beginning with George Osborne’s Autumn Statement on 5 December and culminating with a short and probably bitter Spending Review, the next year or so is the political equivalent of Alex Ferguson's "squeaky bum time" – only with livelihoods, not football, at stake.

The Tory party’s re-toxification under Cameron has continued apace since their party conference, whether through atavistic evidence-free posturing on crime and punishment, employment law or on welfare cuts – the latter, in particular, would ruin any chance the government has of keeping its promise of not balancing the books on the backs of poor.

Osborne doggedly adheres to a macro-economic platform being shown day by day to be more broken and discredited than previously thought. His insistence that reducing the deficit takes precedence over balancing the economy distorts spending decisions, and leaves today’s government and those that follow with their hands seemingly tied to a dangerous spiral of ever-harsher spending cuts. An alarming report from the Social Market Foundation and the RSA shows that closing the deficit on a rigid timetable, primarily through cuts, with neither tax rises nor growth playing a larger role, leaves us facing an additional £48bn of austerity. The knock-on effects on both demand and the quality of public services, and hence prosperity, are unthinkable – there comes a point, when you’re in a hole, to stop digging, and that time is now.

The determination to bring the deficit down by cutting welfare spending stems from the fallacy that feckless workshy scroungers are raiding the Exchequer, when the evidence shows that 93 per cent of new housing benefit claims are from in-work households and that the main driver of higher welfare spending is that we live longer. It’s the failure of wages to keep pace with spiralling cost of living – housing and fuel in particular – that means so many require in-work support. The Tories should be arguing for a living wage and investment in green growth if they want to shrink state spending in the long run, not cutting support to those who lose out in a dysfunctional economy. Senior Liberal Democrats are realising that further welfare cuts are unjustified – the party must not just reject £10bn in welfare cuts but anything in that region should universal benefits for better-off pensioners remain untouched.

Coalition is of course about trade-offs and compromise, but only up to a point. If the government decides to cut yet more from the welfare budget – without fixing the dysfunctional markets in pay and housing that leave millions needing in-work benefits – then is some form of higher tax on property an adequate trade-off? Most Lib Dems would say not, and those who will suffer the most from such a deal would no doubt agree. Alternatives to slashing welfare spending for the poorest do exist, including some from CentreForum, which advocates reforms to tax breaks for the wealthy. Using a mix of such reforms targeted to those who can afford to pay, and further flexibility in the speed of deficit reduction, the poorest could be protected from bearing the brunt of austerity; if only we had a more politically aware Chancellor.

The country faces a crucial twelve months, and of course we need a government that shows coalition can work, a united government. The question is, for whom should government be made to work, the parties who constitute it or the people they serve? Behind which policies should we unite? The Tories clearly refuse to make it work for millions whose living standards have fallen and whose lives have become more insecure, as their refusal to tax wealth and insistence on further welfare cuts shows.

Now more than ever, Liberal Democrats need to do more than just show that coalition works, but that it works for people in real world who are bearing the brunt of our economic malaise. Acquiescing to Tory demands in the vain hope of benefiting from government unity is not enough. The party’s leadership needs to show that the value of having Liberal Democrats in government is more than diluting Tory regressive tendencies, by clearly setting out how they’ll navigate next 12 months, and what they will not countenance.

Prateek Buch is director of the Social Liberal Forum and serves on the Liberal Democrat Federal Policy Committee. He writes in a personal capacity.

Nick Clegg speaks at the Liberal Democrat conference in Brighton earlier this year. Photograph: Getty Images.

Prateek Buch is director of the Social Liberal Forum and serves on the Liberal Democrat Federal Policy Committee.

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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