Protests against HS2 in the area where the railway is planned to pass through near Lymm in Manchester on April 8, 2014. Photograph: Getty Images.
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We need to go beyond HS2 and build a Liverpool-Leeds rail link

A high-speed rail connection between Liverpool, Manchester and Leeds would be transformative for the north.

Liverpool, Manchester and Leeds are separated by a mere 65 miles. Yet board a train at one end of this corridor and it will be nearly two hours before you alight at the other end. We ought to be seriously considering building a high speed alternative.

The current Transpennine Express trains trundle across the Pennines with a meandering listlessness reminiscent of a distracted pony. They huff and puff and creak and groan. Calling them "express" trains is an outrage against the English language. Transpennine passengers enjoy glorious scenery, but appalling speeds. As Andrew Adonis has drily noted, it is "quite an achievement" that the 45 mile journey between Leeds and Manchester takes almost an hour. Although the route is set to be electrified, the work will make only a marginal difference to journey times. 

Of course, Britain is riddled with slow rail connections and plenty of trains huff and puff, but this case is different. This transport corridor links three of the six largest cities in England. Liverpool is the fastest growing city outside of London and Manchester is increasingly heralded as the UK’s second city. Surely our major cities should be better connected?

This issue is even more pressing in light of the economic importance of bringing businesses closer together - so-called "agglomeration economics". Nowadays, economic growth seems increasingly to be driven by large urban hubs where workers and businesses in close proximity compete, collaborate and copy each other much more intensively than they otherwise would do. Mixing in these ways drives innovation and productivity gains. As Evan Davies explained in his recent documentary Mind The Gap, London benefits from these "economies of distance" in a way that other parts of the country do not – and it is powering Britain’s economic recovery as a result.

Yet Davies also emphasises that the area from Liverpool through Manchester to Leeds is the prime candidate for an extended travel to work zone outside of London. With populations expanding again after decades of decline, these cities have the potential to form a robust corridor of economic activity, a northern hub.

This will depend, however, upon better transport links. As things stand, the area is hobbled by poor rail connections. Research by the LSE found that approximately 40 per cent fewer commuting journeys are made between Leeds and Manchester than would be expected given the cities’ proximity and size. Such statistics will hardly surprise regular Transpennine travellers, but they underline the extent to which poor transport connections are holding back business growth.

The government’s current plans for HS2 do nothing to address this problem of east-west connectivity. In fact, while the government has portrayed HS2 as an economic panacea for the north, the matter is far from clear. Many experts have argued that HS2 is more likely to draw more wealth into London than it is likely to spread it northwards. Unsurprising, then, that northerners show little enthusiasm for HS2 with 22 per cent strongly opposing the scheme in Yorkshire and only 10 per cent strongly in favour.

By contrast, a high-speed rail connection between Liverpool, Manchester and Leeds would be transformative for the north, drawing journey times down toward those of a standard Underground commute and thereby boosting business growth. It would cost far less than HS2 and would be more readily deliverable.

As things stand, however, we are in danger of allowing the controversy swirling around HS2 to stymie further thinking and plans for high speed rail, plans which should be judged on their own merit. Irrespective of whether the case for HS2 adds up, a connection from Liverpool to Leeds ought to at least be on the policy agenda as an option and subject to the careful cost-benefit evaluation of any major infrastructure project. When discussing high speed rail, we ought to be going beyond HS2.

David Kirkby (@kirkbydj) is a researcher at Bright Blue 

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

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