Osborne called out for holding "two Budgets" a year

The Autumn Statement was never meant to become a "second Budget" but Osborne has made it one. And the Treasury Select Committee is right to say so.

It's easy now to forget that George Osborne scrapped the pre-Budget report (introduced by Gordon Brown in 1997) in the belief that major decisions on tax and spending should be reserved for the Budget itself. The new slimmed-down Autumn Statement was designed to include little more than the OBR's latest forecasts on growth, borrowing and jobs. But confronted by the failure of his economic plan, Osborne has turned it into a second Budget in all but name. His most recent statement, for instance, included a freeze in fuel duty, an increase in the personal allowance to £9,440, a cut in corporation tax, a reduction in the tax-free pension allowance and the abolition of national pay bargaining for teachers.

So it's good to see the Treasury Select Committee calling the Chancellor out on his U-turn. In its report on the 2012 Autumn Statement, the committeee, which is chaired by Conservative MP Andew Tyrie, notes:

The OBR is required by statute to issue two economic and fiscal forecasts a year. The Chancellor’s own Autumn Statement, however, has now grown to be virtually a second Budget. There are good reasons for having a single substantial annual review of  the fiscal and economic state of the country, not least to enable the subsequent  presentation to Parliament of proposed tax measures and of Estimates of expenditure.  The Treasury should  re-establish the annual Budget as the main  focus of fiscal and economic policy making.

Tyrie said: "The autumn statement is not, nor should it be, a second budget. In recent years it has come to read like one.

"The case for two budgets is weak. An additional one can create uncertainty and carries an economic cost. Only in an emergency would it be likely to carry long-term benefit. The primacy of the budget as the main focus of fiscal and economic policy making should be re-established."

OBR forecasts "biased to over-optimism"

Another concern raised by the committee is that the OBR's forecasts so far have been "biased to over-optimism". It states: "This would not be a cause for concern but for the fact that the OBR’s forecasts have implications for decisions on public policy. This is because the fiscal mandate is defined with direct reference to a forecast, and because the OBR’s is at present the only official forecast against which the fiscal mandate can be measured."

Osborne reliant on "uncertain" 4G and Swiss tax windfalls

MPs also criticise Osborne for placing so much reliance on the anticipated windfall from the sale of the 4G  mobile spectrum and Swiss tax repatriation to meet his borrowing forecasts. 

The sums expected from the sale of the 4G spectrum and Swiss tax repatriation represent the majority of the additional receipts the Treasury intends to offset against the tax reductions and investment announced in the Autumn Statement for 2012–13 and 2013–14. Both are subject to uncertainty. In the case of the tax repatriation from Switzerland, the proceeds may not meet expectations if assumptions about the potential tax liabilities and expected behaviour of those affected prove not to be valid. 
As I noted at the time of the last Autumn Statement, it was only Osborne's inclusion of the expected £3.5bn receipts from the 4G auction that allowed him to claim that borrowing would fall this year, rather than rise (the boast that famously threw Ed Balls). If we strip out the £3.5bn, the forecast deficit for this year is £123bn, £1.4bn higher than last year.
 
And with borrowing currently £7.2bn (7.3 per cent) higher than at the same point last year, it's no surprise that Osborne was so keen to bag the 4G receipts early.
George Osborne poses for photographers outside 11 Downing Street before presenting his annual budget to Parliament on March 21, 2012. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

GARY WATERS
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In defence of expertise: it’s time to take the heart out of “passionate” politics

What we need is cool logic.

We are living through a bonfire of the experts. During the EU referendum campaign, Michael Gove explained that people had had enough of them. A few weeks later, his fellow Tory MPs took him at his word and chose a relative ingénue to run against Theresa May.

After declaring for Andrea Leadsom in the Tory leadership race, Michael Howard was asked whether it might be a problem that she had never held a position higher than junior minister. Howard, whose long career includes stints as home secretary and opposition leader, demurred: “I don’t think experience is hugely important.”

Even in this jaw-dropping season, that comment caused significant mandibular dislocation. I thought: the next Tory leader will become prime minister at a time of national crisis, faced with some of the UK’s most complex problems since the Second World War. If experience doesn’t matter now, it never does. What does that imply about the job?

Leadsom’s supporters contended that her 25 years in the City were just as valuable as years spent at Westminster. Let’s leave aside the disputed question of whether Leadsom was ever a senior decision-maker (rather than a glorified marketing manager) and ask if success in one field makes it more likely that a person will succeed in another.

Consider Ben Carson, who, despite never having held elected office, contested the Republican presidential nomination. He declared that Obamacare was the worst thing to happen to the United States since slavery and that Hitler may have been stopped if the German public had been armed. Yet Carson is not stupid. He is an admired neurosurgeon who pioneered a method of separating conjoined twins.

Carson is a lesson in the first rule of expertise: it does not transfer from one field to another. This is why, outside their domain, the most brilliant people can be complete dolts. Nevertheless, we – and they – often assume otherwise. People are all too ready to believe that successful generals or entrepreneurs will be good at governing, even though, more often than not, they turn out to be painfully inept.

The psychologist Ellen Langer had her subjects play a betting game. Cards were drawn at random and the players had to bet on whose card was higher. Each played against a well-dressed, self-assured “dapper” and a shabby, awkward “schnook”. The participants knew that it was a game of chance but they took more risks against the schnook. High confidence in one area (“I’m more socially adept than the schnook”) irrationally spilled over into another (“I’ll draw better cards”).

The experiment points us to another reason why we make poor judgements about competence. We place too much faith in social cues – in what we can see. As voters, we assume that because someone is good at giving a speech or taking part in a debate, they will be good at governing. But public performance is an unreliable indicator of how they would cope with running meetings, reading policy briefs and taking decisions in private. Call it the Boris principle.

This overrating of the visible extends beyond politics. Decades of evidence show that the job interview is a poor predictor of how someone will do in the job. Organisations make better decisions when they rely on objective data such as qualifications, track record and test scores. Interviewers are often swayed by qualities that can be performed.

MPs on the Commons education select committee rejected Amanda Spielman, the government’s choice for the next head of Ofsted, after her appearance before them. The committee didn’t reject her because she was deficient in accomplishments or her grasp of education policy, but because she lacked “passion”. Her answers to the committee were thoughtful and evidence-based. Yet a Labour MP told her she wasn’t sufficiently “evangelical” about school improvement; a Tory asked her to stop using the word “data” so often. Apparently, there is little point in being an expert if you cannot emote.

England’s football team is perennially berated in the media for not being passionate enough. But what it lacks is technique. Shortly before Wales played England in the European Championship, the Welsh striker Gareth Bale suggested that England’s players lacked passion. He knew exactly what he was doing. In the tunnel before kick-off, TV cameras caught the English goalkeeper Joe Hart in a vessel-busting frenzy. On the pitch, Hart allowed Bale to score from an absurdly long range because he was incapable of thinking straight.

I wish there were less passion in politics and more cool logic; less evangelism and more data. Unthinking passion has brought the Labour Party to its knees and threatens to do the same to the country. I find myself hungering for dry analyses and thirsting for bloodless lucidity. I admire, more than ever, those with obscure technical knowledge and the hard-won skills needed to make progress, rather than merely promise it.

Political leadership is not brain surgery but it is a rich and deep domain. An effective political leader needs to be an expert in policy, diplomacy, legislative process and how not to screw up an interview. That is why it’s so hard to do the job well when you have spent most of your time in boardrooms or at anti-war rallies.

If democratic politicians display contempt for expertise, including their own, they can hardly complain if those they aspire to govern decide to do without the lot of them. 

Ian Leslie is a writer, author of CURIOUS: The Desire to Know and Why Your Future Depends On It, and writer/presenter of BBC R4's Before They Were Famous.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt