Jeremy Hunt speaks at the Conservative conference in Manchester last month. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Hunt wants to do for the NHS what Gove did to schools. How should Labour respond?

In a closely fought battle, when hospital wards face closure in marginal seats, there will be irresistible temptation for Labour to make promises that can’t be kept.

There is one simple Labour answer to the question of what is wrong with the NHS: nothing, apart from its misfortune in having fallen into Tory hands. Most opposition MPs know that is less than the whole truth but there are clear incentives not to complicate the picture.

The British public reveres the idea of the NHS even when it is disappointed by the reality. Voters also trust Labour much more than the Tories to share that reverence. The collective national memory is hazy on detail but the foundation of a free health service under a Labour government, its deterioration under Margaret Thatcher and rehabilitation under Tony Blair are folkloric.

That is why David Cameron made vows of love for the NHS the centrepiece of his campaign to “modernise” his party and why he must rue his televised pledges not to subject it to “pointless top-down reorganisations.” Labour would happily broadcast those clips on a loop as evidence that the Prime Minister’s pledges are bunk.

The Tory defence is that a budget crisis made drastic reform unavoidable. Change hurts, but the status quo was unsustainable. In other words, true belief in the NHS means willingness to confront long-term challenges. What Labour depicts as duplicitous vandalism, the Conservatives call visionary courage. (Besides, add ministers, the health budget has been ring-fenced to shield it from the ravages of austerity.)

Those arguments, while comforting to Tory ideologues, dissolve on contact with political reality. Cameron is on film saying one thing before doing the opposite. The moment when Prime Minister threw his weight behind a vast and, for most people, incomprehensible reconfiguration of health services, he evacuated his entire stock of trust as a guardian of the NHS. As headlines about staff shortages and waiting times in accident and emergency wards start colonising the front pages, Cameron will struggle to disentangle the mess he says he inherited from the last government from the one he patently made for himself.

Downing Street is braced for a difficult winter. The cold season always produces a spike in demand for the health service and it is already struggling to cope. Meanwhile, Cameron gets conflicting advice about how to respond. Earlier in the year he appeared to share the view of Tory grandees, including veteran health ministers, who counselled that Labour cannot be beaten on the NHS and that a Conservative’s best bet is always to aim for de-politicisation. According to this view, the Prime Minister should treat a winter crisis as a force of nature, appealing to the country’s stoicism and praising the fortitude of hospital workers, as he might do in the event of an earthquake. Labour’s constant partisan attacks might then be made to look tribal and opportunist. Andy Burnham, shadow health secretary, already risks coming across as the NHS doom-monger-in-chief.

The more aggressive approach, preferred by Lynton Crosby, Cameron’s campaign chief, and adopted by the Prime Minister over the summer, is to target Labour’s record. The Tories feel they have won an argument about reckless spending by the last government and want to deploy some of that political capital to insulate themselves from blame for health service misery. The charge is that problems were ignored when the money was flowing and that Burnham, as Labour’s last health secretary, is therefore disqualified from the debate about what to do now that the money has run out.

Jeremy Hunt, the current Health Secretary, has a third way. He aims to position himself as the champion of patients against an unresponsive health bureaucracy. He takes as his model Michael Gove’s approach to local authority schools, casting himself as the raiser of standards and the scourge of complacency in a system that embraces mediocrity and is fixated on only ever doing things the way they have always been done. “Jeremy is always going on about what Michael is doing at Education,” says a senior Department of Health insider. That is the impulse behind calls for more Ofsted-style regulation of hospitals and for GPs to offer more appointments outside normal office hours. Hunt would like to present the problems in the NHS as justification for reform. Labour responds that he is cynically dumping responsibility for the fiasco onto beleaguered doctors and nurses.

The Health Secretary’s strategy cannot repair the damage done by Cameron’s broken promises, although he has found the line the Tories probably ought to have taken in the first place. It is fair to point out that the health service is unprepared to deal with an ageing population whose clinical needs are getting more expensive and whose expectations of care and convenience are conditioned by the service culture of a 21st Century consumer-oriented market economy. Today’s patients are less patient than their forebears. Nor is it controversial to say the NHS budget will struggle to cope with those demands, regardless of who is in power.

Burnham has recognised that conundrum. His answer is an ambitious integration of health, social care and mental health services. In theory, this “whole-person care” mission saves money by deploying resources more wisely, intervening early to prevent solvable problems becoming chronic. It is a sensible long-term agenda but tricky for Labour to sell since it costs money up-front to implement and looks like another dreaded reorganisation.

The easy option would be to bury reform in the manifesto and campaign as if the glory days can be restored simply by freeing the health service from Cameron’s clutches. Labour front benchers insist the message will be more realistic and more nuanced than that. “We are not going to do a rehash of ‘they’ll cut the NHS, we’ll save it,’” one shadow cabinet minister tells me.

That is easy to say now. In a closely fought battle, when hospital wards face closure in marginal seats, there will be irresistible temptation to make promises that can’t be kept. There is an old pattern, followed at various times by all parties, of campaigning as if the NHS can be left alone, realising in office that it must change and then having to confront the anger of voters who feel duped. The Tories have committed that blunder on a colossal scale. The opposition’s advantage is clear. Less obvious is how Labour exploits the situation without making the same mistake.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 13 November 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The New Exodus

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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.