The Labour campaign bus. Photo: Christopher Furlong/Getty Images
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Leader: Political cross-dressing – how the Tories and Labour are fighting to cover faults

The party manifestos fight hard to cover up perceived weaknesses. Labour don't want to admit they'll borrow to invest; the Tories don't want to explain the welfare cuts.

The perception that Labour cannot be trusted to control the public finances has hardened into received wisdom. This might be unfair – Gordon Brown used to operate with considerable fiscal discipline and preach “prudence with a purpose” in the early years of the New Labour government – and it is largely a consequence of the aftermath of the financial crisis and the effectiveness of George Osborne’s rhetorical assault on Labour’s economic record. But it is a fact.

Distracted by a protracted and bitter leadership contest in 2010, Labour feebly allowed the Tory-led coalition to frame the fundamental economic argument as one of Labour profligacy v Tory competence. Fatuous and alarmist comparisons were made between Britain and Greece (which was trapped within the eurozone and, because it did not have an independent central bank, unable to use monetary policy to mitigate the effects of the downturn). While the Miliband brothers set about fighting each other, the Tories were winning over the British public to the view that Labour was to blame for the debt crisis afflicting the country.

It is this perception that Ed Miliband very belatedly attempted to address with his front-page manifesto promise of “fiscal responsibility”: that each of Labour’s policies would be fully funded and require no additional borrowing and that he would eliminate the deficit by 2020, notwithstanding another recession or economic crisis.

The trouble for Labour is that the public has very little trust in politicians’ promises or “vows”, which is why Nick Clegg is so loathed, why Labour has become so unpopular in Scotland, where the SNP styles itself as an anti-austerity party, and why Tony Blair has never been forgiven for the Iraq war.

Mr Miliband’s mission in politics is to reduce inequality and to use the tax system and structural reforms of the economy to close the gap between the richest and the rest of us. Polling shows that his crackdown on “non-doms” commands widespread public support even if it might not raise much revenue, as does a rise in the minimum wage. Yet it is a sign of Labour’s weakness that it has felt obligated to offset every policy in this vein with tough talk about cutting benefits and the deficit. Mr Miliband knows that his party is vulnerable to caricature as a group of old-school socialists.

By contrast, the Tories have been spraying around unfunded commitments as if they had been subject to a secret takeover by Scandinavians. Individual ministers may struggle to explain where the extra money pledged for the NHS will come from but Mr Osborne’s calculation is that his economic credibility is sufficiently strong that a little wooziness will be forgiven. In the Tory manifesto, however, the party has moved from the arena of unachievable promises to downright regressive ones. Inheritance tax is currently paid by 6 per cent of estates, so raising its upper limit will benefit only the wealthy. And while “Right to Buy” was popular in its first incarnation under Margaret Thatcher, it has had devastating consequences. The social housing stock was never replenished; it created a new rentier class (a third of Right to Buy homes are rented out) and the state now subsidises more working families to rent in the private sector, causing the housing benefit bill to swell. It is to Labour’s credit that it has pledged to tackle this crisis at its source – lack of supply – with a housebuilding programme. There is also a cap on rent increases and a mansion tax, a move towards the asset taxes for which we have long argued. Earned income for low and middle earners is taxed too heavily (as is consumption; VAT is a regressive tax) and unearned income and static assets too little.

If there is a lesson to take from the Tory and Labour manifestos, it is that both are intent on neutralising their perceived weaknesses. Labour will not admit that it would borrow to invest (a necessary flexibility, as all Keynesians would understand) nor set out where serious cuts would be, and the Tories will not explain how they intend to make £12bn of welfare cuts and more – their numbers are so absurd as to be almost beyond discussion. The war of the weak is ending with both parties trying desperately to feign strength.

This article first appeared in the 17 April 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The Election Special

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The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era