Labour steps cautiously up to difficult truths about the NHS

At last, a shadow minister says budgets would be tight and reform essential regardless of who was in power.

We know Labour loves the NHS. All British political parties are obliged to profess their undying devotion to the health service at routine intervals, but Labour, as the party that oversaw the creation of the NHS (and has, in recent memory, invested the most money in it) claims a special protective monopoly. Voters seem to recognise this and regularly award Ed Miliband’s party robust leads on questions of who is most trusted on the issue.

That advantage is sure to be extended as the government’s NHS reforms, combined with an unprecedented budget squeeze, reinforce the impression that the Tories inevitably succumb to vandalistic urges towards the health service.

Even without the Lansley reforms (now to be implemented by Jeremy Hunt, who has never knowingly inspired confidence in anyone apart, it seems, from the Prime Minister) the NHS would be causing headaches for the coalition.  The health budget may be “ring-fenced” but anything other than a real terms rise in spending feels, over time, like a nasty cut, given inflation in the cost of treatments and the growing demands of caring for an ageing population.

That would be a problem for Labour in government too although you don’t often hear opposition MPs advertise the fact. Why would they? Slamming David Cameron for trashing the NHS is an open goal for Ed Miliband; it would just complicate the goal-scoring manoeuvre to add mealy-mouthed acknowledgements of the immovable budget obstacles on the horizon. That, at least, is one argument and it has generally prevailed at the top of the Labour party.

There is another view, which is that the public are not fools and will, as an election approaches, expect to hear something about the opposition’s intentions towards the NHS other than “we wouldn’t be the Tories”. As I’ve argued (ad nauseam) in the past, a necessary step on Labour’s journey to governing credibility, especially with regard to fiscal responsibility, is being seen and heard to talk about innovation and reform of public services. This doesn’t have to be a macho breast-beating display of willingness to wield the axe. It just means demonstrating, by the deployment of some policy imagination, that Labour recognises the long-term obligation to find ways of getting more for less.

With that in mind, I was heartened to come across a speech yesterday given by Liz Kendall, shadow minister for social care. Not many people spend their weekends catching up on policy interventions by junior ranking shadow cabinet figures, so I suspect you may not have yet got round to reading this particular example of the genre. It is not the Gettysburg address, nor is it a complete exposition of Labour’s policy towards reforming the health service. As with everything else in Labour's agenda for government (with good reason, given the time still to run before an election) health policy is a work in progress.

Nonetheless, for those of us who try to decrypt dull Labour announcements, scouring the formless surface of cosy One Nation reassurance for signs of something that looks like progress towards a governing position, Kendall’s speech is a find.

She states, for example that:

The truth is that far more fundamental reform is vital if we’re going to meet the challenges of demographic and social change.

And that:

.. Whichever party is in Government and however much growth we get back into the economy, we’ve got to get far more out of the billions of pounds spent in the NHS into the foreseeable future.

Obviously true, and a few grades below rocket science, but refreshing to hear said aloud by a shadow cabinet minister.

Kendall clarifies, up to a point, Labour’s view on what would happen to the new NHS architecture currently being put in place by the coalition if Ed Miliband were prime minister.

If Labour wins the next election we will repeal the 2012 Health and Social Care Act but we will not force the NHS through another major re-organisation.

We don’t need new NHS organisations, we’ll simply ask those we inherit to work differently.

We’ll keep Clinical Commissioning Groups and Health and Wellbeing Boards, but ensure they work within a properly accountable national health service.

And what about this for a realistic account of how the opposition should behave towards hospital  reconfigurations (a euphemism for the movement of services out of hospitals, into the community, usually involving ward closures, demonstrations, angry public meetings, bad headlines etc.):

Whilst changes to local hospital services will always be difficult, Labour will not have a policy of blanket opposition to hospital reconfigurations like the Conservatives did at the last election.

That might be easy politics. But it wouldn’t be right in principle or in practice.

We will judge every proposal on its merits: whether it saves more lives, reduces disabilities, and improves the quality of care. The clinical case must be made and supported by the evidence, if the public as well as local MPs are to be convinced.

In other words, yes, sometimes wards and even hospitals will have to close if we’re serious about finding the most effective and efficient way to deliver modern health services. That is because vast old district general hospitals are a desperately outmoded way of looking after people, many of whom have chronic conditions that should be treated not in hospital beds but at home or at local clinics. Better still, such conditions should prevented or kept in check by lifestyle changes. It’s what nearly everyone who has looked at the long-term implications of health policy decides in the end, but you rarely hear opposition politicians say it because joining in the anti-closure demo is so much more rewarding in the political short term.

Kendall even talks about “innovation” in the health service and the need to take a non-dogmatic view of the role of private and voluntary sector providers:

For all the criticism you hear, there’s actually a huge desire and talent for innovation amongst NHS staff.

What they need is the encouragement, freedom and space to innovate. They need backing to experiment and take sensible risks, not rigid performance management from on high.

The private and voluntary sectors also have a vital role to play in bringing innovation and challenge into the system.

Of course private and voluntary providers must be effectively commissioned and regulated, within a properly managed system - not the free market, free-for-all that this Government is putting in place.

But it would be a real mistake to slip back into old ways of thinking, and attempt to block rather than encourage the benefits these services can bring.

To most people who think about the challenge of running a decent public sector on limited budgets, that is all perfectly sensible. It is also, however, by the standards of recent Labour party caution in the discussion of public sector reform and given the reactionary mood in some corners of the wider labour movement, quite a departure. Brave, even. A modest burst of level-headed realism from a shadow minister about the challenge of running services in straightened times, acknowledging the need for innovation and reform that might not always be popular at first - I wonder if it will catch on.

The Olympic opening ceremony celebrating the NHS. Source: Getty Images

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

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue