Balls set for revenge as Osborne faces new failure on the deficit and debt

The Chancellor will be forced to announce that the deficit will be higher this year and that the debt won't fall until 2018.

When George Osborne delivered his first Budget in June 2010, he declared: "Unless we deal with our debts, there will be no growth." But the Chancellor has learned that the reverse is true – unless you stimulate growth, you can't deal with your debts. In last year's Autumn Statement, he abandoned his target of reducing debt as a proportion of GDP by 2015-16, extending it until 2016-17. Today's FT reports that the Budget will see this ambition further delayed until 2017-18 as the OBR downgrades its growth forecasts for the fifth time since it was created. Growth in 2013 is now expected to be just half of the 1.2 per cent predicted in December. 

But worse for Osborne, as I've previously reported, is that he will be forced to announce, for the first time since entering the Treasury, that borrowing is expected to be higher this year than last. Until now, even as growth has disappeared, the Chancellor has been able to boast that the deficit "is falling" and "will continue to fall each and every year". But no more. Even with the addition of £2.3bn from the auction of the 4G mobile spectrum, borrowing will still be greater than last year. With just two months' worth of figures to go (the figures for February will be published on Thursday), the deficit is currently £5.3bn higher than in 2012. To ensure it falls, Osborne would need to borrow £23.4bn or less in February and March, compared to £28.6bn last year. As the OBR noted last month, "to meet our autumn forecast would now require much stronger growth in tax receipts in the last two months of the year than we have seen since December, or much lower-than-forecast expenditure by central or local government". Ed Balls, who was wrongfooted last year when Osborne unexpectedly announced that the deficit would continue to fall (it later became clear that the Chancellor had mischievously bagged the 4G receipts early), will have his revenge.

The combination of a shrinking economy and a rising deficit will add force to Labour's charge that austerity is "hurting but not working". Even Conservative MPs are beginning to ask what all the pain has been for if the national debt won't begin to fall until 2018. Osborne is expected to meet his fiscal mandate to eliminate the structural deficit but since this is "a rolling five year" target that aim also won't be achieved until 2017-18. The Tories, however, are confident that they can turn this failure to their advantage. First, they can argue that Labour's response would be to "borrow even more". Following Vince Cable's recent intervention in the New Statesman, which saw the Business Secretary urge the government to borrow to invest, Balls is more confident about making the case for deficit-financed stimulus but Osborne believes that the public won't accept the argument that you can "borrow more to borrow less". Keynes's paradox of thrift is just too paradoxical. 

Second, if the next election is again fought over austerity, the Tories will argue that they, not Labour, are the best choice to "finish the job". While polls show that voters believe the government is cutting "too far and too fast", Cameron and Osborne continue to be rated above Balls and Miliband for economic competence. With further deficit reduction required, the Tories' hope is that voters will turn to the original axemen. It's for this reason that Miliband is determined to define the election as a contest between two competing visions of society and the economy, rather than as a narrow contest over austerity. How successful he is in doing so will do much to determine its outcome. 

George Osborne leaves 11 Downing Street on February 27, 2013 in London. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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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