Why the return of growth doesn't prove that Balls was wrong

The shadow chancellor never said that there would be no recovery, only that it would be painfully slow. And he was right.

When the GDP figures are published tomorrow morning at 9:30am, the cry will go up from the Tories and their media allies that Ed Balls's credibility has been destroyed. They might not like Ed Miliband, but they reserve a special animus for the shadow chancellor. For them, the return of growth proves that Balls's critique of George Osborne's austerity programme was fundamentally wrong; Labour will not be taken seriously until he is thrown overboard. 

If Balls is such a liability to his party, one wonders why so many Conservatives exert so much energy calling for his departure (the answer, as some privately acknowledge, is that he is one of Labour's greatest assets). But put this Machiavellian gamesmanship to one side, the claim that it is Osborne, not Balls, who has been vindicated doesn't bear scrutiny. 

Contrary to the right, Balls never said that there would be no recovery, only that it would be painfully slow. On this point he was entirely right. The return of growth after three years of stagnation is nothing to celebrate. As Balls writes today, "we would need 1.4 per cent growth in each and every quarter between now and the election simply to catch up all the ground lost since 2010." Even if we learn tomorrow that the economy grew by 1% in the third quarter, output will still be 2.3% below its pre-recession peak. In the US, by contrast, where the Obama administration maintained fiscal stimulus, the economy is 3.2% larger than in 2007. Growth of 1% in Q3 would mean that the economy has expanded by just 2.8% since autumn 2010, compared to the 7.7% forecast by the OBR. 

Not all of this can be blamed on Osborne. The continued fragility of the banking sector, the rise in global commodity prices and the eurozone crisis have all constrained growth. But it is precisely for these reasons that wise minds counselled the Chancellor against austerity. As Balls warned in his celebrated Bloomberg speech in 2010, Osborne was "ripping out the foundations of the house just as the hurricane is about to hit". Hippocrates’s injunction to "first, do no harm" should have been his watchword. Instead, with the private sector already contracting, he chose to tighten the squeeze. We are still paying the price today. The double-dip may have been revised away (growth was 0% in Q1 2012 rather than -0.1%; only an economic illiterate would celebrate that) but the austerians didn't only  promise that Britain would avoid another recession, they promised, in the words of Osborne's first Budget, "a steady and sustained economic recovery". What we got was the slowest recovery for more than 100 years. 

Then there is the claim that Labour is only now talking about living standards in a desperate attempt to distract attention from the macroeconomy. As Tim Montgomerie writes in today's Times, "The Opposition won’t acknowledge the recovery but it’s interesting to note what Labour politicians have stopped saying. Ed Balls isn’t talking about a double dip any more. Ed Miliband isn’t calling for the abandonment of Plan A. Labour has moved the goalposts and now talking about the cost of living crisis — a genuine challenge but a different one."

Yet it was on the day after his election as Labour leader that Ed Miliband first used the phrase "the squeezed middle" and it was in February 2011, a few weeks after being appointed as shadow chancellor, that Balls first spoke of a "cost of living crisis". Three months later, in a speech at the LSE, he argued: 

[T]he test for the Treasury isn't just whether they can post better growth rates - we all know the economy will return to stronger growth eventually - it's whether they can make up all this lost ground in jobs and living standards

It is precisely because the recovery has been so weak that real wages have fallen for the longest peirod since 1870. As Osborne himself noted in his conference speech, the cost of living cannot be detached from "the performance of the economy". Rising GDP is no longer a guarantee of rising wages (the point Labour is rightly emphasising) but the near-absence of growth for three years explains why British workers have suffered more than most. Since mid-2010, average hourly wages have fallen by 5.5%, a faster rate of decline than every EU country except Portugal, the Netherlands and Greece. For Osborne to now lecture others on the importance of growth to living standards takes chutzpah to a new level. Wages have fallen for 39 of the 40 months that Osborne has sat in the Treasury (the exception being April 2013 when deferred bonuses were paid out following the abolition of the 50p tax rate).

The living standards crisis wasn't an unavoidable coincidence of the lack of growth, but an inevitable consequence. Before the Tory spin machine whirls into action tomorrow, it's worth remembering this. 

Ed Balls and George Osborne attend the State Opening of Parliament, in the House of Lords at the Palace of Westminster in London May 8, 2013. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue