The Tories need a better message than "don't let Labour back in"

If the spectre of Gordon Brown alone were sufficient to propel the electorate into Cameron’s arms, he would now be governing with a majority.

There was a period towards the end of 2013, when the Opposition controlled the terms of economic debate. The question to which politics was supposed to have the answer was how the burden of a rising cost of living might be eased (starting with gas and electricity bills).

George Osborne hoped that his Autumn Statement on 5 December would mark the end of that phase. He wants a general return to the topic he prefers and on which he dwells in a speech today – fiscal discipline as the foundation of economic and political credibility.

The message is not new but that’s the point. The Chancellor recognises that his greatest political success this parliament has been persuading enough people that austerity is a necessary consequence of Labour misrule. He now wants to convert that retrospective rhetorical success into a forward-looking campaign. If Labour’s spending habits are the poison, he argues, the antidote cannot possibly be more Labour government. The current plan is working, says Osborne, but more time is needed to finish the job. (This assertion is reinforced with repeated attacks on Labour as the party that lavishes your money on benefit-guzzling foreigners.)

It has been clear that this would be the central argument of a Tory election pitch ever since the Chancellor was forced to abandon his original debt management target in 2012. That was the point at which the "long hard road" metaphor entered Osborne’s lexicon when previously he had hoped to administer a short sharp fiscal shock.

The Tory high command is now pinning its hopes on enduring public reluctance to trust Labour with the nation’s purse. David Cameron is supposed to be the experienced project manager with a reliable plan for economic renovation, while Ed Miliband is the peddler of rickety economic bodges. Central to this proposition is the idea that everything so far has gone according to plan, which is only true if you exclude the first two years of the coalition’s time in government from the reckoning.

Luckily for the Chancellor, there are plenty of conservative commentators who seem content to do just that and Labour’s efforts to pin those long months of stagnation around the government’s neck have failed. Osborne slipped the noose. Another necessary condition for the Conservative strategy to work is that enough voters see a growing economy as compensation for the lean years and so a cause to reward the wisdom incumbent in the Treasury. The Labour view is that they will not. As Ed Miliband’s allies like to point out, a recovery on paper that doesn’t feel like prosperity to most people could reinforce the suspicion that Tories are primarily in the business of helping their rich chums.

Mindful of that hazard, the Chancellor has steered away from the triumphal Tory tone that accompanied the return to positive GDP numbers last year. Today’s speech is all about the need for enduring hardship with a view to long-term salvation. The current advantages of having a Conservative government are posited as stability and incremental improvement. The best is apparently yet to come.

Although this is probably the strongest available line for Osborne, there is a simple contradiction at its heart. If the plan is working, rewards should be imminent. If reward can only be secured by electing a Tory government in 2015, the plan so far can’t have worked. In other words, the Tories want to fight on their record but they also want to defer evaluation of the record until after they have had another term in office. Why should voters grant them that extension? The Conservative answer is that Labour are disqualified by their own recent past. But if the spectre of Gordon Brown alone were sufficient to propel the electorate into Cameron’s arms, he would now be governing with a majority.

The Tories are pretty good at explaining why they think Labour should not be in power but not so good at explaining why Conservatives are the natural and desirable alternative. This is the most consistent weakness of David Cameron’s leadership and I suspect it flows, in part, from a deep-rooted sense of entitlement. It is the expression of the cultural assumption that faute de mieux Britain elects Tory governments; that Prime Ministers such as Cameron are the national default setting. That may have been true for much of the 20th Century but for all manner of reasons – demographic, cultural, economic – I doubt it is true any longer. It wasn’t true in 2010. That is why the Tories only won a partial mandate and are stuck in coalition. That is why they will need a better offer in 2015 than "mission half-accomplished."

George Osborne and Michael Gove at the Conservative conference in Manchester last year. Photograph: Getty Images.

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

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France is changing: an army stalks the streets and Boris Johnson wanders the Tuileries

Will Self on the militarisation of France, and Boris Johnson at the Foreign Office.

At the corner of the rue D’Hauteville and the rue de Paradis in the tenth arrondissement of Paris is a retro-video-games-themed bar, Le Fantôme, which is frequented by some not-so-jeunes gens – the kind of thirtysomethings nostalgic for an era when you had to go to an actual place if you wanted to enter virtual space. They sit placidly behind the plate-glass windows zapping Pac-Men and Space Invaders, while outside another – and rather more lethal – sort of phantom stalks the sunlit streets.

I often go to Paris for work, and so have been able to register the incremental militarisation of its streets since President Hollande first declared a state of emergency after last November’s terrorist attacks. In general the French seem more comfortable about this prêt-à-porter khaki than we’d probably be; the army-nation concept is, after all, encrypted deep in their collective psyche. The army was constituted as a revolutionary instrument. France was the first modern nation to introduce universal male conscription – and it continued in one form or another right up until the mid-1990s.

Even so, it was surprising to witness the sang-froid with which Parisians regarded the camouflaged phantoms wandering among them: a patrol numbering eight ­infantrymen and women moved up the roadway, scoping out doorways, nosing into passages – but when one peered into Le Fantôme, his assault rifle levelled, none of the boozing gamers paid the least attention. I witnessed this scene the Saturday after Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel ran amok on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice – it was a little preview of the new state of emergency.

On Monday 18 July the French premier, Manuel Valls, was booed at a memorial service for the victims of the Nice attacks – while Marine Le Pen has been making all the populist running, whipping up anxieties about the enemy within. For many French, the events of the past week – including the failed Turkish coup – are steps along the way limned by Michel Houellebecq in his bestselling novel Submission; a via dolorosa that ends with La Marianne wearing the hijab and France itself annexed by a new caliphate.

Into this febrile drama comes a new player: Boris Johnson, the British Foreign Secretary. What can we expect from this freshly minted statesman when it comes to our relations with our closest neighbour? There is no doubt that Johnson is a Francophile – I’ve run into him and his family at the Tuileries, and he made much of his own francophone status during the referendum campaign. In Paris last winter to launch the French edition of his Churchill biography, Johnson wowed a publication dinner by speaking French for the entire evening. He was sufficiently fluent to bumble, waffle and generally avoid saying anything serious at all.

Last Sunday I attended the Lambeth Country Show, an oxymoronic event for which the diverse inhabitants of my home borough gather in Brockwell Park, south London, for jerked and halal chicken, funfair rides, Quidditch-watching, and “country-style” activities, such as looking at farm animals and buying their products. Wandering among ancient Rastafarians with huge shocks of dreadlocks, British Muslims wearing immaculate white kurtas blazoned with “ASK ME ABOUT ISLAM” and crusty old Brixton punks, I found it quite impossible to rid my mind of the Nice carnage – or stop wondering how they would react if armed soldiers were patrolling, instead of tit-helmeted, emphatically unarmed police.

I stepped into the Royal Horticultural Society marquee, and there they were: the entire cast of our end-of-the-pier-show politics, in vegetable-sculpture form and arrayed for judging. There was Jeremy Corbyn (or “Cornbin”) made out of corncobs – and Boris Johnson in the form of a beetroot, being stabbed in the back by a beetroot Michael Gove. And over there was Johnson again, this time rendered in cabbage. The veggie politicians were the big draw, Brixtonians standing six-deep around them, iPhones aloft.

The animal (as opposed to the vegetable) Johnson has begun his diplomatic rounds this week, his first démarches as tasteless and anodyne as cucumber. No British abandonment of friends after Brexit . . . Coordinated response to terror threat . . . Call for Erdogan to be restrained in response to failed coup . . . Blah-blah, whiff-whaff-waffle . . . Even someone as gaffe-prone as he can manage these simple lines, but I very much doubt he will be able to produce rhetorical flourishes as powerful as his hero’s. In The Churchill Factor: How One Man Made History, Johnson writes of Winnie overcoming “his stammer and his depression and his ­appalling father to become the greatest living Englishman”. Well, I’ve no idea if Bojo suffers from depression now but he soon will if he cleaves to this role model. His Churchill-worship (like so many others’) hinges on his belief that, without Churchill as war leader, Britain would have been ground beneath the Nazi jackboot. It may well be that, with his contribution to the Brexit campaign, Johnson now feels he, too, has wrested our national destiny from the slavering jaws of contingency.

Of course the differences between the two politicians are far more significant: Johnson’s genius – such as it is – lies in his intuitive understanding that politics, in our intensely mediatised and entirely commoditised era, is best conceived of as a series of spectacles or stunts: nowadays you can fool most of the people, most of the time. This is not a view you can imagine associating with Churchill, who, when his Gallipoli stratagem went disastrously wrong, exiled himself, rifle in hand, to the trenches. No, the French people Johnson both resembles and has an affinity for are the ones caught up in the virtual reality of Le Fantôme – rather than those patrolling the real and increasingly mean streets without. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt