Italian premier Matteo Renzi is central to the maneuvering for the European Commission presidency. Photo: Getty
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Don't overlook Italy's PM in the European Commission power struggle

The tussle for the European Commission top-spot isn't just Cameron vs Juncker's supporters; Matteo Renzi, the Italian prime minister, is a key broker.

The hubbub and soap opera of who gets the European Commission presidency may have centred on a power struggle between David Cameron and the supporters of Jean-Claude Juncker, but it would be a mistake to overlook the rise of another man – Italian prime minister Matteo Renzi.

Renzi has only been in post since April, but by tying his support for a Juncker presidency to whether the conservative spitzenkandidat will agree to loosen the EU’s budgetary rules, he has emerged as a key broker.

He also has a strong hand to play. Renzi’s Democratic party scored a decisive victory in May’s European election poll, taking 31 of Italy’s 73 MEP seats, and he has strong support among public opinion and his government.

The EU’s stability and growth pact requires governments to keep budget deficits below 3 percent and debt levels to 60 percent. But despite years of austerity most EU countries have barely managed the 3 percent deficit limit, while average debt ratios have soared to over 90 percent of GDP.

It is unclear whether Renzi will demand a re-write or merely a generous reinterpretation of how the rules are applied, but the direction of travel is clear.

And it is gaining support.

Earlier this week, German economy minister and social democrat party leader Sigmar Gabriel, called on the implementation of the deficit rules to be relaxed, commenting that “countries that are embarking on reforms must have more time to cut their deficits, but it has to be binding.”

“This is what we intend to put up for debate in the weeks and months ahead as part of a reorganization of European policy,” he added.

Gabriel was quickly slapped down by Angela Merkel, and his boss in the finance ministry Wolfgang Schaueble, who insisted that 3 percent limit offers enough flexibility.

Meanwhile, Herman van Rompuy’s office were forced to scotch rumours that the European Council president was preparing a joint paper with Renzi on the issue.

But for all that, there is also sympathy among some EU officials with the difficulties faced by Italy and other countries, who are forcing through unpopular labour market reforms but are strait-jacketed by the pact’s rules from targeted stimulus measures.

As a result, both countries are locked into vicious spirals. Despite keeping within the EU’s deficit rules, a two year recession has pushed Italy’s debt burden to an eye-watering 130 percent, second in size only to Greece. There is also an awareness that as the bloc’s second and third largest economies, France and Italy fall into the ‘too big to fail’ category of countries in the eurozone.

But it was inevitable that the issue would be returned to. In 2010 and 2011, when the eurozone debt crisis was at its bleakest, many politicians were prepared to commit themselves to anything that made them look tough on deficits and tough on the causes of deficits.

The main ideological battle that was waged on these reforms, and ultimately won by Europe’s right back in 2011 and 2012, was on whether to give preferential treatment to public investment targeted at education, research and infrastructure projects.

Critics say that this so-called ‘golden rule’, encourages creative accounting and that the 3 percent threshold gives governments sufficient flexibility.

In contrast, the Keynesian school of thought argues that the 3 percent deficit limit enshrines austerity that, in many cases, will cause an economic recession to be deeper than need be. In the short-term spending cuts may help balance the books, but without investment they won’t lead to recovery.

But it is not just centre-left politicians who are clamouring to re-write the rules, or at least reinterpret the way they are applied. Conservatives in much of southern Europe find that years of pushing through painful austerity programmes have done little to improve their economic prospects.

That Renzi is spearheading this campaign alone is also indicative of France’s decline. When Francois Hollande became only France’s second Socialist president to be elected since the Fifth republic began, it was expected that he would become a badly needed figurehead for the European left, and a counterbalance to Berlin.

It has not happened. Instead Hollande has lurched between domestic election defeats and ever declining personal ratings. Struggling to meet its budget targets despite being given a two year extension, France would be one of the main beneficiaries from a loosening of the EU’s fiscal rules. But its voice post-European elections has been silenced.

Renzi’s gambit may not secure an immediate policy change, but it highlights his status as the leading centre-left politician on the EU stage, and is an important mark in the sand ahead of Italy’s six month presidency. His timing could hardly be better.

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

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 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser