Don't forget councils' less glamorous responsibilities. Photo: Getty
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Councils aren't just about growth; we must remember their less glamorous services

There isn’t much point in turning Manchester into an economic powerhouse if the city cannot afford to care for its elderly or deliver the leisure and culture services that help places thrive.

Local government’s roots lie in the need to manage and support the economies of the UK’s towns and cities. Joseph Chamberlain reimagined the role of local government in 19th century Birmingham by borrowing to buy-up the local water and gasworks and using the income to revamp his squalid city centre. Leeds city council built its town hall in the 1930s to provide jobs for struggling labourers.

Today’s launch of the Adonis review shows how completely the national political class has bought into this pre-war vision of councils not as bulky service providers, but as light touch stewards of prosperity. The question now is whether we are just going back to the future, or whether the Adonis vision can be made part of a much larger reinvention of local public services for the 21st century.

The proposals are not especially novel: the good Lord himself accepts that his thinking in grounded in the coalition’s Heseltine review but argues that he will go much further in delivering the former deputy prime minister’s vision with more money, greater retention of business rates and a much fuller offer to county councils. They are nonetheless a major step in the right direction, offering great cities like Leeds and Manchester a level of control over their economic destiny not seen for generations.

But councils are not just about growth. They also have responsibility for less glamorous services such as elderly care, child protection and bins. There isn’t much point in turning Manchester into an economic powerhouse if the city cannot afford to care for its elderly or deliver the leisure and culture services that help places thrive.

The answer is to draw a much closer link between economic performance and social progress. By fostering the right kind of growth, councils can get people into good jobs that keep them independent of the state, and by delivering better public services they can ensure a healthy and well-skilled workforce and create a place that attracts investment. That is why the real action for the future of Labour’s localism offer lies with the imminent report of the local government innovation taskforce. This will set out big recommendations for devolving and integrating budgets for mainstream public services such as health and skills.

Prising the Adonis £30bn out of departmental hands will be tough enough, but this is capital money destined for roads and building. The innovation taskforce will call for local authorities to be given more influence over jealously guarded service budgets in return for submitting to new accountability mechanisms.

We are seeing the emergence of a new kind of local government as the sector responds to the biggest cuts it has ever faced. Council efforts are targeted on the basis of strong data analysis, new layers of preventative services are being built up and growth is at the forefront of the whole debate. In accepting the Adonis proposals, Labour has gone halfway to supporting and endorsing the kind of 21st century progressivism exemplified by the best councils. Next week, it has the chance to finish the journey.

Simon Parker is director of the New Local Government Network

 

Simon Parker is director of the New Local Government Network

Photo: Reuters
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Murder by numbers: the legacy of the Grenfell Tower fire

It is difficult to refute the reality of suffering when the death toll is still being reckoned.

How do we measure human malice? Sometimes it’s all too easy. This summer, British cities are struggling through the aftermath of successive terrorist attacks and hate crimes. The Manchester bombing. The Westminster Bridge murders. The London Bridge atrocity. The attack on people outside the Finsbury Park Mosque in north London and on other mosques. The unidentified young men who are still at large in the capital after spraying acid in the faces of passers-by, mutilating them.

In Britain, we are commendably resilient about these things. Returning to London after some time away, I found my spirits lifted by an issue of the London Evening Standard magazine that celebrated the ordinary people who stepped in to help after these atrocities. The paramedics who worked through the night. The Romanian chef who offered shelter in his bakery. The football fan who took on the London Bridge terrorists, screaming, “Fuck you, I’m Millwall!” The student housing co-ordinator who rushed to organise board for the victims of the inferno at the Grenfell Tower and their families.

Wait. Hold on a second. One of these things is not like the others. The Grenfell Tower disaster, in which at least 80 people died, was not a terrorist or malicious attack. It was the result of years of callous council decisions and underinvestment in social housing. On 14 June, entire families burned alive in their homes partly because, it is alleged, the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea would not pay the extra £5,000 or so for fire-resistant cladding. Nor could it find the cash, despite a budget surplus, to instal proper sprinkler systems on the rotting interior of the building.

Kensington and Chelsea is a Tory borough that, in cash terms, cares very little for poorer citizens who are unlikely to vote the right way. In 2014, while the Grenfell Tower residents were refused basic maintenance, the council handed out £100 rebates to its top-rate taxpayers, boasting of its record of “consistently delivering greater efficiencies while improving services”. Some of those efficiencies had names, and parents, and children.

This is a different sort of depravity altogether. It’s depravity with plausible deniability, right up until the point at which deniability goes up in flames. Borrowing from Friedrich Engels, John McDonnell described the Grenfell Tower disaster as “social murder”. The shadow chancellor and sometime Jack Russell of the parliamentary left has never been known for his delicate phrasing.

Naturally, the Tory press queued up to condemn McDonnell – not because he was wrong but because he was indiscreet. “There’s a long history in this country of the concept of social murder,” he said, “where decisions are made with no regard to the consequences… and as a result of that people have suffered.”

It is difficult to refute the reality of that suffering when the death toll is still being reckoned from the towering tombstone that now blights the west London skyline.” As the philosopher Hannah Arendt wrote, “The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil.”

Market austerity is no less brutal for being bloodless, calculating, an ideology of measuring human worth in pennies and making cuts that only indirectly slice into skin and bone. Redistributing large sums of money from the poor to the rich is not simply an abstract moral infraction: it kills. It shortens lives and blights millions more. Usually, it does so in a monstrously phlegmatic manner: the pensioners who die early of preventable diseases, the teenagers who drop out of education, the disabled people left to suffer the symptoms of physical and mental illness with nobody to care for them, the thousands who have died on the waiting lists for state benefits that they are perfectly entitled to, the parents whose pride disintegrates as they watch their children go to school hungry.

We are not encouraged to measure the human cost of austerity in this way, even though there are many people in back offices making exactly these sorts of calculations. This year, when researchers from the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine claimed that “relentless cuts” to the health service could explain as many as 30,000 “excess deaths” in England and Wales in 2015, the government denounced this as “a triumph of personal bias over research”, which, however you slice it, is a callous prep school debater’s response to the reality of 30,000 fresh graves.

There is a species of evil in which an individual allows the dark and yammering corners of his mind to direct him to put a blade in a bystander’s belly, or a bomb in a bustling crowd of teenage girls. That sort of monstrosity is as easy to identify as it is mercifully rare, though frighteningly less rare than it was in less febrile times. But there is another sort of evil that seldom makes the headlines. This comes about when someone sits down with a calculator and works out how much it will cost to protect and nurture human life, deducts that from the cost of a tax rebate for local landowners or a nice night at the opera, then comes up with a figure. It’s an ordinary sort of evil, and it has become routine and automated in the austerity years. It is a sort of evil, in the words of Terry Pratchett, that “begins when you begin to treat people as things”. 

The Grenfell Tower disaster was the hellish evidence of the consequences of fiscal ruthlessness that nobody could look away from. Claims that it could not have been predicted were shot down by the victims. The residents’ association wrote on its campaign website after years of begging the council to improve living conditions: “It is a truly terrifying thought but the Grenfell Action Group firmly believe that only a catastrophic event will expose the ineptitude and incompetence of our landlord.”

That catastrophic event has happened, and the ordinary British response to tragedy – brave, mannered dignity – is inappropriate. When the Grenfell inquiry launches next month, it is incumbent on every citizen to call for answers and to call this kind of travesty by its name: murder by numbers.

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder