Why did the Lib Dems really U-turn on spending cuts in 2010?

Andrew Adonis's 5 Days in May offers new evidence of the party's disastrous economic misjudgement.

The Lib Dems have received no shortage of criticism for their failure to keep their tuition fees pledge (prompting that infamous apology from Nick Clegg) but there's been surprisingly little scrutiny of a far more significant U-turn, that over spending cuts. 

Although it's now hard to recall, the party ran on an anti-austerity platform at the general election, opposing any in-year spending cuts. In March, for instance, Clegg declared that "merrily slashing now is an act of economic masochism", adding that he would not compromise on this point in any coalition negotiations. "If anyone had to rely on our support, and we were involved in government, of course we would say no." On 1 May, less than a week before polling day, he reaffirmed his position: "My eight-year-old ought to be able to work this out -- you shouldn't start slamming on the brakes when the economy is barely growing. If you do that you create more joblessness, you create heavier costs on the state, the deficit goes up even further and the pain with dealing with it is even greater. So it is completely irrational."

Yet once the results were in and parliament was "hung", the Lib Dems made no attempt to keep their pledge to oppose immediate cuts, abandoning it even before they entered coalition negotiations with the Tories. Nor was this merely a pre-emptive attempt to appease Cameron and Osborne in the hope of concessions elsewhere. As Andrew Adonis's excellent 5 Days In May (which I have reviewed for this week's NS) reveals, the Lib Dems insisted in their talks with Labour that "there could and should be immediate in-year spending cuts for 2010/11 and 'further and faster' spending cuts than Labour's plans thereafter."

When challenged a month later to explain his Damascene conversion to austerity, Clegg cited "the complete belly-up implosion in Greece" and "a long conversation a day or two after the government was formed" with Mervyn King. The claim that the Greek crisis proved the need for cuts was odd coming from a man who had earlier warned that premature austerity would lead to "Greek-style unrest" and, as for King, Chuka Umunna has previously noted on The Staggers that the Bank of England governor told him during a Treasury select committee hearing that "he had given Clegg no new information on the debt situation during their chat". (Clegg, never a stickler for consistency, later confessed that he had changed his mind before the election.) 

But Adonis's invaluable account has revealed a new justification. He writes that during the talks between the two parties, Chris Huhne argued that "immediate cuts were now possible without jeopardising the recovery because the depreciation of sterling in recent weeks 'has provided a large, real, extra stimulus to the economy.'" This claim was repeated in a later meeting by David Laws, who argued that "the fall in the value of sterling made immediate cuts possible without an impact on the recovery." 

This, to put it mildly, is not a judgement that has aged well. After the coalition entered power and imposed £6bn of immediate spending cuts, including to infrastructure programmes such as Building Schools for the Future, the recovery that had begun under Labour ended and Britain fell into a double-dip recession. Those, like Ed Balls and Martin Wolf, who warned that tightening fiscal policy was the last thing a government should do during a slump were entirely right, and those, like Huhne and Laws, who argued that the economy was robust enough to bear early austerity were entirely wrong. As the UK endures the slowest recovery for more than 100 years, the Lib Dems do not to deserve to avoid their share of responsibility for this dismal outcome. 

Chris Huhne, Danny Alexander and David Laws leave the Cabinet Office following talks with the Conservatives on 9 May 2010. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Andy Burnham and Sadiq Khan are both slippery self-mythologisers – so why do we rate one more than the other?

Their obsessions with their childhoods have both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

Andy Burnham is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s widely seen as an unprincipled flip-flopper.

Sadiq Khan is a man whose policies and opinions seem to owe more to political expediency than they do to belief. He bangs on to the point of tedium about his own class, background and interests. As a result he’s the hugely popular mayor of London, the voice of those who’d be proud to think of themselves as the metropolitan liberal elite, and is even talked of as a possible future leader of the Labour party.

Oh, and also they were both born in 1970. So that’s a thing they have in common, too.

Why it is this approach to politics should have worked so much better for the mayor of London than the would-be mayor of Manchester is something I’ve been trying to work out for a while. There are definite parallels between Burnham’s attempts to present himself as a normal northern bloke who likes normal things like football, and Sadiq’s endless reminders that he’s a sarf London geezer whose dad drove a bus. They’ve both become punchlines; but one of these jokes, it feels to me, is told with a lot more affection than the other.

And yes, Burnham apparent tendency to switch sides, on everything from NHS privatisation to the 2015 welfare vote to the leadership of Jeremy Corbyn, has given him a reputation for slipperiness. But Sadiq’s core campaign pledge was to freeze London transport fares; everyone said it was nonsense, and true to form it was, and you’d be hard pressed to find an observer who thought this an atypical lapse on the mayor’s part. (Khan, too, has switched sides on the matter of Jeremy Corbyn.)

 And yet, he seems to get away with this, in a way that Burnham doesn’t. His low-level duplicity is factored in, and it’s hard to judge him for it because, well, it’s just what he’s like, isn’t it? For a long time, the Tory leadership’s line on London’s last mayor was “Boris is Boris”, meaning, look, we don’t trust him either, but what you gonna do? Well: Sadiq is Sadiq.

Even the names we refer to them by suggest that one of these two guys is viewed very differently from the other. I’ve instinctively slipped into referring to the mayor of London by his first name: he’s always Sadiq, not Khan, just as his predecessors were Boris and Ken. But, despite Eoin Clarke’s brief attempt to promote his 2015 leadership campaign with a twitter feed called “Labour Andy”, Burnham is still Burnham: formal, not familiar. 

I’ve a few theories to explain all this, though I’ve no idea which is correct. For a while I’ve assumed it’s about sincerity. When Sadiq Khan mentions his dad’s bus for the 257th time in a day, he does it with a wink to the audience, making a crack about the fact he won’t stop going on about it. That way, the message gets through to the punters at home who are only half listening, but the bored lobby hacks who’ve heard this routine two dozen times before feel they’re in the joke.

Burnham, it seems to me, lacks this lightness of touch: when he won’t stop banging on about the fact he grew up in the north, it feels uncomfortably like he means it. And to take yourself seriously in politics is sometimes to invite others to make jokes at your expense.

Then again, perhaps the problem is that Burnham isn’t quite sincere enough. Sadiq Khan genuinely is the son of a bus-driving immigrant: he may keep going on about it, but it is at least true. Burnham’s “just a northern lad” narrative is true, too, but excludes some crucial facts: that he went to Cambridge, and was working in Parliament aged 24. Perhaps that shouldn’t change how we interpret his story; but I fear, nonetheless, it does.

Maybe that’s not it, though: maybe I’m just another London media snob. Because Burnham did grow up at the disadvantaged end of the country, a region where, for too many people, chasing opportunities means leaving. The idea London is a city where the son of a bus driver can become mayor flatters our metropolitan self-image; the idea that a northerner who wants to build a career in politics has to head south at the earliest opportunity does the opposite. 

So if we roll our eyes when Burnham talks about the north, perhaps that reflects badly on us, not him: the opposite of northern chippiness is southern snobbery.

There’s one last possibility for why we may rate Sadiq Khan more highly than Andy Burnham: Sadiq Khan won. We can titter a little at the jokes and the fibs but he is, nonetheless, mayor of London. Andy Burnham is just the bloke who lost two Labour leadership campaigns.

At least – for now. In six weeks time, he’s highly likely to the first mayor of Greater Manchester. Slipperiness is not the worst quality in a mayor; and so much of the job will be about banging the drum for the city, and the region, that Burnham’s tendency to wear his northernness on his sleeve will be a positive boon.

Sadiq Khan’s stature has grown because the fact he became London’s mayor seems to say something, about the kind of city London is and the kind we want it to be. Perhaps, after May, Andy Burnham can do the same for the north – and the north can do the same for Andy Burnham.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.