There is a rise of the mini-state resulting from the localisation of parts of the social security system. Photo: Getty
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The dark side of localisation: when boroughs want to keep "council tax tourists" out

For those on a lower income or not working, some boroughs are considerably more welcoming than others.

In the 1949 Ealing comedy Passport to Pimlico, residents of the London borough set themselves up as a separate state with predictably comic results. When Pimlico’s governing committee lifts post-war rationing, shoppers flood to the new dominion only to find themselves trapped when its borders are later closed. As the local policeman puts it to one hapless refugee, “You should never have travelled abroad without your passport, madam”.

You’d think this farce had more relevance in Cold War Europe than Britain in 2014 but a court decision against Sandwell Council last week suggests otherwise. In this case, the local authority had required its residents live in the borough for two years before being entitled to council tax reduction.

Sandwell’s reason for the rule was clear: to protect itself from “benefit tourists”. Interestingly, the council wasn’t referring to non-citizens here but instead, to anyone from out of the borough moving into the area as a result of changes to benefit entitlement. The message to these “visitors” was clear: don’t come to Sandwell without your passport.

The judge in the case was unequivocal in his condemnation of the policy, describing Sandwell as “plunging into unlawfulness”. But this is just one example of the rise of the mini-state resulting from the localisation of parts of the social security system which is creating unfairness all around.

A recent report on the localisation of council tax reduction schemes in London, for example, has shown that hardship depends very much on your postcode. Z2K, the authors of the report, met “Maria”, a woman caring for her disabled son full-time and struggling to stretch her benefits to pay £6 each week in council tax. She lives in Harrow, where charges are among the highest in London. In contrast, her sister who lives a few stops down the Bakerloo Line in Westminster doesn’t pay any council tax at all.

The report also showed that there are huge variations in how councils enforce council tax collection from their poorest residents. How likely you are to be charged for falling into arrears, how much you will be charged, and whether you are likely to have a bailiff knocking on your door all vary dramatically between boroughs. Perhaps most shockingly, the report shows that in 2013/14, over £10m was charged to London’s poorest residents in court charges when they fell behind on payments.

Council tax benefit isn’t the only part of the social security system that has been localised, however. In April 2013, local authorities were also handed control of parts of the social fund, and have since had the unenviable task of providing support to vulnerable people while at the same time the funds for such schemes have been cut.

It’s no surprise, then, that councils have had to put in place various rationing arrangements. The evidence shows that some have simply drawn the criteria for local welfare support so tightly their schemes have effectively withered and died. But others have taken the Sandwell approach, introducing a residency rule on which access to local welfare assistance is conditioned. As a result, in some parts of the country, a woman fleeing across boroughs to escape a violent partner is ineligible for support to set up a home for her and her children.

How much you notice the rise of the mini-state depends disturbingly on how much you earn. If you are in secure employment, getting a decent wage, you might not notice these changes – unless of course you lost your job or got sick. For those on a lower income or not working, however, some boroughs are considerably more welcoming than others. Passport to Pimlico may be hugely entertaining, but the destitution that many are experiencing as a result of the real-life shenanigans of localisation is anything but.

Megan Jarvie is London campaigns coordinator for the Child Poverty Action Group and Lindsay Judge is senior policy and research officer for the Child Poverty Action Group.

Photo: Getty
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South Africa’s new dawn: How Jacob Zuma’s misrule was ended

“We are going to look back at the past ten years and think of it as a lost decade.”

On the afternoon of 13 February, as South Africa’s President Jacob Zuma was recalled by his party, the African National Congress (ANC), a popular Johannesburg radio station began receiving calls about a peculiar incident.

A truck had lost its load along the M2 highway and people were scurrying to pick up what they believed to be tiny nuggets of unprocessed gold. The highway became congested as motorists pulled over to join the search. Even for a city that rose from the dust of a gold rush, this was a bizarre scene.

The first radio caller was giddy with excitement, as was the second. The third did what South Africans do best: he made light of an otherwise confusing and anxious day in the young nation’s history. “It’s manna from heaven,” the caller said. “Zuma’s just been recalled and already the roads are paved in gold.” Nine years into the president’s disastrous rule, South Africans had not lost their sense of humour – and were awaiting a new dawn. The police cleared the scene along the M2, no one proclaimed a worthy find and the nation returned to waiting for Zuma’s next move.

Technically, the president did not have to resign as head of state, despite the opposition of the ANC, the proud liberation movement turned ruling party that Zuma led for a decade until December 2017. Realistically, he had no options left.

With an overwhelming majority in parliament, the ANC was ready to table a motion of no confidence the next day. Defiant to the end, these final hours on the eve of Valentine’s Day were Zuma’s last stand.

They called him the “unstoppable tsunami” and with good reason. Zuma damaged South Africa and the ANC in ways only history will fully capture. He wrecked a country struggling to rebuild itself under the shadow of apartheid. Under his rule, the economy stagnated, unemployment rose, poverty grew, violent crime spiked and corruption became endemic.

“South Africa was headed in the wrong direction,” says Mmusi Maimane, leader of the Democratic Alliance, the official opposition, which governs in cities including Johannesburg and Cape Town. “We are going to look back at the past ten years and think of it as a lost decade,” the political analyst Stephen Grootes concludes.

Zuma lurched from one scandal to the next. He was acquitted of rape, avoided almost 800 corruption charges for over a decade and nearly crashed the economy by recklessly firing a respected finance minister. Taxpayers were misled over exorbitant upgrades to his private mansion (a swimming pool was defended as a fire-fighting feature) and his friendship with the controversial Gupta family placed him at the heart of what became known as “state capture”: the looting of state coffers through the corruption of senior government officials.

“State and independent institutions were repurposed for the enrichment and protection of Jacob Zuma,” says political commentator Justice Malala. “He went through the guts of the framework, pulled out the institutions he needed and systematically broke them down or took away their independence.”

The institutions ranged from the tax revenue service to the public broadcaster, from the police to the prosecuting authority, and from the intelligence services to crucial industries such as mining.

Although constitutionally barred from governing beyond 2019, Zuma was widely believed to have engineered a plan to hold on to power (and avoid prosecution) through his ex-wife, Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, who was campaigning to take over from him. By December, when the ANC met to pick its next leader, who would go on to become the country’s president in 2019, a mood of despair and hopelessness had set in.

The race was close. In the end, 179 votes out of nearly 5,000 cast separated Dlamini-Zuma from her challenger, Cyril Ramaphosa, a former union leader and businessman who had campaigned on an anti-corruption and pro-growth platform.

Ramaphosa’s victory in mid-December was a turning point. It removed the prospect of Zuma’s continued rule, began an instant shift in political power and sparked a moment of renewed hope. Ramaphosa had his own controversies, but was viewed as largely incorruptible. He had risen through the trade unions, served the ANC and built his wealth in the private sector. 

Following Ramaphosa’s election, the extent of state capture emerged through superb investigative journalism.

Politically driven prosecutions fell away, a hugely unpopular nuclear energy deal with Russia was frozen and, as Zuma was being recalled, police cars arrived outside the home of the Gupta family.

And yet, the president refused to leave the Union Buildings quietly, prompting comparisons with Margaret Thatcher. “He was the worst possible combination of ignorance, selfishness and incompetence that could have been inflicted upon the long-suffering people of South Africa,” read an editorial in the Daily Maverick on 13 February. “Now, stripped to the bare essence of being Zuma, the final image emerges, one of the selfish man who cared only for himself.”

Journalist Richard Poplak concluded: “What is born in chaos dies in chaos.”

 Zuma’s departure allows for the rebuilding to begin. The role played by the media, civil society – which found its voice during the Zuma years – and the judiciary (particularly the constitutional court) is being recognised. New president Ramaphosa delivered an inspiring state of the nation address the day after being sworn in.

“You can survive bad leadership, but what you won’t survive is bad institutions,” Mmusi Maimane told me.

There are no delusions over the epic challenges ahead. Unemployment is at 27 per cent (and is much higher for young, black South Africans) and GDP growth is stranded at 1 per cent. However, there is optimism, too: the “lost decade” is over and the Rainbow Nation’s renewal has finally begun. 

This article first appeared in the 22 February 2018 issue of the New Statesman, Sunni vs Shia