GMB head feigns innocence over £1m Labour funding cut

Paul Kenny claims he's just doing what Miliband wants but his move was an unambiguous vote of no confidence in the Labour leader's reforms.

GMB general secretary Paul Kenny chose to feign innocence when he arrived at Portcullis House for his meeting with Ed Miliband earlier today, the day after his union announced that it was cutting its affiliation fees to Labour from £1.2m to £150,000. "What's all the fuss over? All we're doing, if you like, is going towards what Ed says he wants," he remarked

But as Kenny knows, the objection is that he has pre-emptively disaffiliated 88% of the union's political levy-payers from Labour, rather than trying to persuade more to sign up once an opt-in system is introduced. It was an unambiguous vote of no confidence in Miliband's reforms.

In its statement yesterday, the GMB, the third-largest union, also warned of "further reductions in spending on Labour party campaigns and initiatives". For Labour, which relies on large one-off donations from the unions to fund its general election campaigns, it was an ominous threat. 

Privately, however, some in the party are more sanguine. They regard Kenny's move as a negotiating tactic designed to deter Miliband from reducing the unions' voting power in leadership elections and at party conferences. The GMB is not due to implement the funding cut until January, leaving Miliband wtih time to reach an agreement. But the dilemma is already becoming clear: does Miliband pursue comprehensive change and risk losing even more funding, or does he compromise and risk being accused of bottling reform? 

 

A GMB member protests outside parliament over cuts to public sector pensions. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Photo: André Spicer
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“It’s scary to do it again”: the five-year-old fined £150 for running a lemonade stand

Enforcement officers penalised a child selling home-made lemonade in the street. Her father tells the full story. 

It was a lively Saturday afternoon in east London’s Mile End. Groups of people streamed through residential streets on their way to a music festival in the local park; booming bass could be heard from the surrounding houses.

One five-year-old girl who lived in the area had an idea. She had been to her school’s summer fête recently and looked longingly at the stalls. She loved the idea of setting up her own stall, and today was a good day for it.

“She eventually came round to the idea of selling lemonade,” her father André Spicer tells me. So he and his daughter went to their local shop to buy some lemons. They mixed a few jugs of lemonade, the girl made a fetching A4 sign with some lemons drawn on it – 50p for a small cup, £1 for a large – and they carried a table from home to the end of their road. 

“People suddenly started coming up and buying stuff, pretty quickly, and they were very happy,” Spicer recalls. “People looked overjoyed at this cute little girl on the side of the road – community feel and all that sort of stuff.”

But the heart-warming scene was soon interrupted. After about half an hour of what Spicer describes as “brisk” trade – his daughter’s recipe secret was some mint and a little bit of cucumber, for a “bit of a British touch” – four enforcement officers came striding up to the stand.

Three were in uniform, and one was in plain clothes. One uniformed officer turned the camera on his vest on, and began reciting a legal script at the weeping five-year-old.

“You’re trading without a licence, pursuant to x, y, z act and blah dah dah dah, really going through a script,” Spicer tells me, saying they showed no compassion for his daughter. “This is my job, I’m doing it and that’s it, basically.”

The girl burst into tears the moment they arrived.

“Officials have some degree of intimidation. I’m a grown adult, so I wasn’t super intimidated, but I was a bit shocked,” says Spicer. “But my daughter was intimidated. She started crying straight away.”

As they continued to recite their legalese, her father picked her up to try to comfort her – but that didn’t stop the officers giving her stall a £150 fine and handing them a penalty notice. “TRADING WITHOUT LICENCE,” it screamed.


Picture: André Spicer

“She was crying and repeating, ‘I’ve done a bad thing’,” says Spicer. “As we walked home, I had to try and convince her that it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her who had done something bad.”

She cried all the way home, and it wasn’t until she watched her favourite film, Brave, that she calmed down. It was then that Spicer suggested next time they would “do it all correctly”, get a permit, and set up another stand.

“No, I don’t want to, it’s a bit scary to do it again,” she replied. Her father hopes that “she’ll be able to get over it”, and that her enterprising spirit will return.

The Council has since apologised and cancelled the fine, and called on its officials to “show common sense and to use their powers sensibly”.

But Spicer felt “there’s a bigger principle here”, and wrote a piece for the Telegraph arguing that children in modern Britain are too restricted.

He would “absolutely” encourage his daughter to set up another stall, and “I’d encourage other people to go and do it as well. It’s a great way to spend a bit of time with the kids in the holidays, and they might learn something.”

A fitting reminder of the great life lesson: when life gives you a fixed penalty notice, make lemonade.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.