After Osborne's spin, it's time to bring parliament and the public into the spending process

Institutional reforms can reduce the extent to which short-term tactics trump long-term thinking.

As with most spending rounds in recent history, George Osborne’s announcements last week were as much about politics as economics. It was, as the BBC’s Iain Watson noted, a nakedly political exercise, intended to define the battlegrounds for the next general election. In addition to electorally popular protection for schools, pensions and the NHS, the Chancellor attempted to lay a series of traps for Ed Miliband and Ed Balls on social security. It shouldn’t be a surprise to any of us that spending rounds are conducted like this, but it should be a disappointment.

The British economy is still very far from healthy and the government that wins the election in 2015 will still face incredibly grave fiscal challenges. We cannot afford for sound economic policy to be subordinate to the desire for soundbites and election tactics. That’s why parliament and the public have to be brought back into the spending process.

Consider the 2010 Spending Review. It was probably the most important political event of the parliament but it was the result of a rushed and secretive process and was subject to the bare minimum of scrutiny, with the Treasury select committee carrying out a one month inquiry on its content. The Fabian Society Commission on Future Spending Choices today publishes its first report, Spending Wisely, and calls for a comprehensive package of reforms to strengthen the ability of parliament and the public to hold the chancellor to account for the spending decisions he makes.

We think the public should have access to much better information about public spending, so they know where their money goes. One option would be a Citizen’s Tax Statement, which we think would reassure many people that most government money is spent on priorities people share.

Next we recommend that future governments set out 'draft' plans for consultation in advance of major spending decisions. Pre-announcement leaks to friendly journalists and running commentaries on cabinet negotiations just aren’t good enough. If we want proper scrutiny of spending decisions it is vital that parliament, policy experts and the media are given the chance to comment on relative priorities, review the evidence and rationale informing decisions and highlight unforeseen consequences. In fact, ministers ought to welcome this change as it would give them the freedom to change their minds without being accused of a humiliating climb-down.

Alongside this draft  we also propose a new long-term spending statement, which would require the government to explain its thinking on the direction of public spending over 10 or 20 years. Subsequent year-by-year decisions would then need to relate to this multi-decade perspective, or minsters would need to explain why not.

The commission suggests that the Office for Budget Responsibility should become a servant of parliament, charged with giving MPs the firepower to hold the chancellor and ministers to account. The OBR emerged in 2010 from a Conservative election manifesto promise and has transformed how fiscal policy is debated. But it focuses on the announced policies of the government of the day, so is unable to aid parliamentarians in weighing up the merits of alternative approaches. For the sake of good governance, its remit could be expanded, so that it is more like the US Congressional Budget Office. Finally parliamentary scrutiny might be strengthened by the creation of a separate Budgetary Committee, easing the burden on the chronically overworked Treasury select committee.

But simply scrutinising the spending allocations is not enough. The commission also calls for a new institution to advise on how to get more out of public spending. We propose the creation of an independent Office of Public Performance to police the quality of public spending and to help build public trust and understanding. Its aim would be to ensure that when decisions are made, as much attention is focused on what they are intended to achieve, as what they cost.

Politicians won’t stop being politicians. But institutional reforms can reduce the extent to which short-term tactics trump sound, long-term thinking. The public need to have confidence that decisions are being taken for the right reasons and the only way for that to happen is to shine more light on the murky process of setting budgets. 

George Osborne leaves 11 Downing Street in London on 19 June 2013. Photograph: Getty Images.

Andrew Harrop is general secretary of the Fabian Society.

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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism