The devolution of health spending hasn't met with the level of euphoria that Manchester City's title win did. Photo:Getty Images
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There are big questions to answer for Manchester's new mayor

Devolution to Greater Manchester was greeted with general celebration. But there are broader concerns about the role and how it develops.

A fortnight ago, Tony Lloyd became the first Mayor of Greater Manchester. There were no public debates or hustings. The electorate consisted of ten people, the leaders of the local authorities that comprise Greater Manchester. After two hours of wrangling Lloyd was appointed to the post over Wigan’s leader, Lord Smith. If you wanted the antithesis of democracy and transparency, this was it.

Lloyd – a Manchester MP for nearly three decades and currently the elected Police and Crime Commissioner (PCC) – is only an interim Mayor. In 2017 Greater Manchester’s citizens will elect their first ‘proper’ Mayor. What will Lloyd actually do? He will become the chair of the Greater Manchester Combined Authority (GMCA), which coordinates economic development, transport, and urban regeneration across the ten local authorities. Currently the role of chair is taken by one of the ten leaders. He will, however, do far more that preside over GMCA meetings.

The next two years will crucial in the implementation of ‘Devo Manc’. A range of powers covering transport, strategic planning, housing, business support, apprenticeships, and the work programme, representing more than £1 billion in public expenditure, will be devolved. And that’s not to mention the subsequent announcement that a pooled £6 billion health and social care fund will be created and placed under the control of a new Strategic Partnership Board (not the Mayor, it must be noted).

Devo Manc has arisen because of two intersecting sets of interests Local leaders want to get their hands on more money and power, ostensibly to deliver economic growth and more efficient, tailored public services. And George Osborne, Devo Manc’s Whitehall champion, is driven by a combination of political economy and party politics. He sees the deal as a key component of his ‘Northern Powerhouse’ strategy, which is as much about reviving Conservative fortunes in the North as it is about growing the North’s economy. The Chancellor insisted on a directly elected Mayor as a quid pro quo for the new powers. The speed with which the package ultimately came together over the summer of 2014 has created two significant problems that Lloyd must now grapple with.

The first problem concerns the governance arrangements. More thought needs to be given to what structures are to be put in place across Greater Manchester to receive the new powers. Local leaders will point out that their aim is not to create an unwieldy new bureaucracy at the city-region level. But, with the Mayor assuming responsibility for transport, housing and policing, it isn’t hard to imagine a degree of consolidation of existing authorities and boards, as well as a range of appointed Deputy Mayors, under the banner of an ‘Office of the Mayor’. We are told that the ten local authority leaders will each take on some Greater Manchester-wide portfolio and will collectively form the Mayor’s cabinet. But through what mechanisms will they be held accountable? The current ‘Scrutiny Pool’ arrangements for the GMCA leave much to be desired. Lloyd and his colleagues must carefully plan these, and many other, issues. But they are in some ways the easiest of the tasks ahead.

The second problem concerns democracy. On a simple level Lloyd’s selection is an affront to democracy. Despite suggestions that he will have no new powers and will ‘merely’ chair the GMCA, Lloyd will have power to shape the future governance arrangements of Greater Manchester. This will come from the soft power of his new post (it will be what he makes of it) and also the fact that, as the government’s own paper makes clear, certain powers may be transferred before 2017. Whilst those powers will technically be transferred to the GMCA, and not the interim Mayor, the potential exists for Lloyd to shape the agenda.

But there is a far bigger question about local democracy and community empowerment. Evidence shows that people want decisions to be taken at a local level, and that they trust their local councils far more than Whitehall. However, we also see increasing evidence of a desire on the part of citizens to be involved in how they are governed. This can only be done if leaders are committed to the principles of participatory democracy and local empowerment. It cannot occur by transferring powers from Whitehall to a shadowy, distant combined authority chaired by a Mayor for whom nobody voted.

Leaders across Greater Manchester are aware of their failure of engage with the public about these plans. They also share the view that one of the main jobs of the interim Mayor is to ‘sell’ Devo Manc to the public. But Lloyd must understand that his job is not that of a salesman but that of an architect. Not only must he think carefully about the governance arrangements, he must also think about how he can build an inclusive, participatory local democracy. He will begin the job with questions of legitimacy hanging over him. But the past cannot be undone. We are where we are.

How Lloyd chooses to engage from now is crucial. He should quickly launch a broad public consultation that takes its cues from strong academic research on participatory and deliberative democracy. He should make it clear that people in Greater Manchester still have a chance to talk about and shape the way in which they will be governed in the years to come. It may be the last chance to salvage something truly legitimate and democratic from this process.

 

Dr Daniel Kenealy is a Lecturer in Social Policy at the University of Edinburgh. He, and colleagues, are currently undertaking ESRC funded research on attitudes towards how the UK is governed. They are on Twitter as @Edinburgh_AoG.

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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