Labour needs to go much further on fiscal responsibility

The party should publish a series of potential fiscal rules for discussion and replace the VAT cut with a stimulus based on growth-raising capital investment.

Labour has made a start on re-establishing its fiscal credibility but it now must go further than any opposition has done previously – and soon. Recent announcements on fiscal responsibility and welfare reform were pivotal. Having accepted that it can’t simply oppose, Labour is now free to advocate a political approach that is genuinely different to that of the Tories – placing the pursuit of social justice, greater employment, pay and growth at the heart of a fiscally responsible agenda.

When a paper called In the Black Labour was published by Policy Network at the end of December 2011, there was a storm in the Labour teacup. The party started to move towards a fiscally conservative stance but that was soon reversed under some political pressure. Many critics accused the paper of adopting George Osborne’s fiscal and economic stance. This was strange given that Osborne’s strategy of austerity before growth wasn’t fiscal conservatism, but fiscal-self harm which has led to a series of missed deficit targets.

Having resumed the path to a fiscally responsible policy 18 months later, Labour now needs to go further. To ensure fiscal responsibility, while preserving counter-cyclical flexibility, Labour should publish a series of potential fiscal rules for discussion in the expert community, identify preferred public expenditure pathways under different growth scenarios and have these tested independently. Any stimulus would need to be focused on growth-raising capital spend. Therefore, questions should be asked about a stimulus based on a VAT cut, even if temporary in nature. Labour should consider dropping this policy – and soon.

In government, these choices should be monitored by a strengthened Office for Budget Responsibility, or Fiscal Council, who would assess whether government is likely to deliver on its fiscal rules, and to make recommendations if the targets are missed. These proposals mean Labour opening its plans to greater scrutiny at an early stage than any opposition has done before, while still allowing room for manoeuvre should growth hasten or slow. Such scrutiny will make it clear how little money there is, so spare resources must be focused on generating growth through capital investment, helping the unemployed into work, encouraging business investment, and promoting science, education and skills.

Shifting from short-term expenditure to long-term investment and developing sound fiscal rules to ensure sustainable debt levels will be useful tools to help deliver a reduction in debt. However, these measures alone will not be enough to advance social justice in an era of limited budgets.

It also poses questions for welfare policy. Housing has attracted particular attention but the challenge of containing housing benefit budgets is far wider. Yes, more houses are needed but incomes for the most vulnerable, in-work support for those with disabilities and high impact job brokerage, like that seen in Newham, are also required. It is in providing all these supports and services that welfare spending should be focused. None of this will be revolutionary but it will make a measurable difference – the politics of austerity are harder. Spending elsewhere, for example on support for the better off and on above-inflation pension commitments, will have to be reduced.

This also raises the question of tax revenue. From a purely fiscally conservative perspective, the mixture of tax rises and spending cuts is broadly irrelevant (despite fervent academic debates about this issue), so long as deficits are reduced. From the point of view of social justice, however, trying to deliver 80 per cent of deficit reduction from cuts would involve an unacceptable breach of our national social fabric and would, in all likelihood, prove counter-productive. If people are therefore going to be asked to pay more tax it becomes even more important to be open about constraints and choices at an early stage – consent must be earned. The radical realisation among the more savvy on the centre-left is that spending is no longer the shortcut to social justice that it once seemed.

The state still has significant levers. For example, we live in an economy populated by almost 5 million businesses – a 40 per cent increase in only a decade and a six-fold increase since the 1970s. The vast majority of these businesses are sole traders or micro-enterprises. Many are challenging the way big businesses operate with innovative approaches; many bring benefits to their communities that many larger operations struggle to emulate,  not least keeping the wealth they generate local. Yet big business enjoys all sorts of advantages over smaller business, including access to legal action, patent restrictions, expensive regulatory constraints, access to prime space, favour by government procurement and planning law.

Challenging the bias in favour of big business would help release the spirit of entrepreneurial activity in communities across the UK that would not just drive growth and innovation but allow a fairer distribution of wealth.

Labour could place itself firmly on the side of these millions of worker-businesses committed to creating as level a playing field as possible through planning reform, tax changes, access to intellectual property, finance, international markets and marketing support.

If Labour aims to focus resources on supporting growth, putting the economy on a sustainable long term footing and fulfilling the left’s mission of being on the side of the many, not the few, then social justice, economic efficiency and, indeed, fiscal conservatism will go hand-in-hand. The choices are hard, the solutions tougher, but that is the nature of pursuing social justice in fiscally and economically constrained times. It’s better to start early. Labour has now done that but it’s only a start.

Hopi Sen and Anthony Painter have co-written Moving Labour into the Black published by Policy Network with Adam Lent

Ed Miliband and Ed Balls at the Labour conference in Manchester last year. Photograph: Getty Images.

Hopi Sen is a former head of campaigns at the Parliamentary Labour Party and blogs at www.hopisen.com

Anthony Painter is a political writer, commentator and researcher. His new book Left Without A Future? is published in July

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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