Davey has right diagnosis, but wrong cure

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There are few government policies that are so financially ruinous that they cannot be made more so by a determined politician. And this weekend, it was Ed Davey’s turn, for the Lib Dems. His diagnosis – that the US is no longer a dependable ally and relying on them to allow the use of missiles which are leased from the US may make them potentially unusable – is accurate enough. His cure, however – that the UK should develop a completely new set of missiles on its own – would add vast amounts of additional cost to a programme which is already hugely expensive. It would also have a lengthy timescale before it could be ready for use, and one of the known unknowns is whether the US will remain a hostile actor for the whole of that period.

Whether it would make the weapons any more usable is another open question. Their value as a deterrent has always depended on a series of assumptions. That the UK has the ability to fire them at all without US permission is certainly one of those, but there are others: that ‘the enemy’ will simultaneously be mad enough to launch a strike which will incinerate millions and make large areas of the earth (maybe even all of it) uninhabitable and sane enough to be deterred by the thought of millions of their own citizens being incinerated in return; that the orders given to the submarine commander instruct him to launch in certain circumstances and that the commander, contemplating the scale of destruction already wreaked on the planet, would follow those instructions; and that the enemy would not already have located and destroyed the submarine. That’s a whole load of caveats, without even considering whether the system would actually work anyway.

All of that matters only if the possession of nuclear weapons had anything at all to do with war, peace or deterrence. If, as many suspect, it’s actually more to do with a post-imperial mindset amongst UK politicians – Labour, Tory and Lib Dem alike – that still doesn’t accept the reduced status of the UK in the world and clings to the belief that what the UK PM thinks is of any importance, then whether they work or not is largely irrelevant; the important thing is whether the UK is accepted by other states as being what its leaders think it is. It fails, though, even on that level. One of the consequences of diverting so much resource into a single weapons system is that the UK doesn’t have the sort of forces which can actually be of use, leading to boats spending three days bobbing about in the English Channel. Some of us might think that’s a positive, of sorts – but I doubt that it’s what Davey had in mind.

Lack of money isn't the problem

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It has long been understood that the one thing that governments can always find money for is war. War is undoubtedly costly, as the US is currently finding out. It is not really, though, a financial problem. As Professor Richard Murphy points out today, the real constraint isn’t financial, it’s about the availability of bombs and missiles and the ability of even the US economy to replace them at a fast enough rate. The US will run out of Tomahawk missiles because it can’t manufacture them with sufficient speed, not because it can’t pay for them. Similar considerations apply to Iran, of course – although an economy using lower cost, easier-to-produce weaponry can to some extent compensate for its relatively smaller size.

There is another corollary to this as well. There is talk that reducing the level of sanctions enforcement on Russian oil and gas to mitigate the economic impact of the war in Iran will enable Russia to prolong its own war in Ukraine by increasing the flow of money into Moscow’s Treasury. It’s true in only one important respect: to the extent that Russia needs materials, components etc from outside its own economy, increasing its flow of foreign exchange will assist it, but to the extent that it can meet those needs internally, then, just like the US, it won’t be a lack of money which constrains it.

Russia is vast; it has a huge range of raw materials available to it. It’s also a dictatorship: switching the use of its natural and human resources from peace time activities to war time ones is a lot easier than it is in a supposed democracy. Much of the response from ‘the West’ to the war in Ukraine has been based on the assumption that economic sanctions will reduce the sums available to the Russian government to spend on armaments and eventually force it to stop its aggression. But if those sanctions only impact Putin’s ability to make purchases outside the Russian economy, and Russia can meet most of its own needs within that economy, then the assumption is invalid. Russia can never run out of money, and can continue its war as long as it has the resources to do so available within its economy.

That’s not to argue that sanctions should not be applied, even if we know that they are widely being broken by back door transactions. It does, though, suggest that merely cutting off economic contact with a country with access to such vast resources of materials and labour will not bring that country to its knees any time soon. It’s more tokenistic than effective. It’s not a new lesson – Iran, for example, has been subject to severe sanctions for decades, and is still able to produce drones not only for its own use but also for export. The mistaken belief that money (or lack thereof) is a constraint on action by sovereign governments running their own currency has a lot to answer for.

The issue of distribution isn't going to go away

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The view that a falling birth rate is a ‘problem’ which needs to be addressed might be being expressed most forcibly by the political ‘right’, but it isn’t confined to that wing, as evidenced by this article last week from Polly Toynbee in the Guardian. Whilst (justifiably) demolishing the arguments of some Reform Ltd figures, she ends up agreeing with the objective (increasing the birth rate) but giving a different rationale.

There is a fringe element amongst those who support increased birth rates which is tinged with both misogyny (men controlling the fertility rate of women) and racism (a belief that the ‘solution’ to the economic drivers of immigration is to produce more native-born workers). Given the roughly twenty-year lead time involved in producing more workers, the latter is economic nonsense, but then racism and xenophobia have never been about logic or economics.

More seriously, the economic case for increasing birth rates revolves around the fact that the ratio of ‘productive’ to ‘unproductive’ adults is changing as the population ages. In an economy built around the assumption that the product of economic activity belongs to those engaged in it rather than to society as a whole, the fact that there is a problem is undeniable. Fewer workers supporting more non-workers – with no other changes to the economic model – will clearly lead to difficulties. Rebalancing the ratio by increasing the supply of people, even if we ignore the 20-year lead time, turns it into something of a Ponzi scheme, in which any increase in life expectancy (generally a good thing) has to be balanced by an increase in population size (not such a good thing in a finite world where resources are already being exploited unsustainably). Another solution, pursued in the UK by governments of both colours, is to reduce the number of non-workers by making people work longer. That would certainly rebalance the ratio and cut the cost of maintaining retirees: fewer pensioners = lower pension costs. But it also makes retirement (and even more so, a lengthy and healthy one) increasingly a privilege for those who have good occupational pensions and are not doing physically demanding work. It’s a ‘solution’, in short, which favours the better-off at the expense of the less well-off.

There is another approach, but it involves a change in paradigm – a shift away from seeing the output of economic activity as belonging only to those actively engaged in economic activity. If, instead, we see the ‘economy’ as being something which belongs to the whole of the society in which it operates, then the question becomes one of how the output of that economic activity is used within that society. A properly functioning society (including the economy which is part of it) needs to meet the needs of all its members – old, young, sick, and disabled members as well as productive workers. The idea that we only need to worry about how big the pie is, rather than how it is shared, has validity only so long as any increase in the size of the pie is both sustainable in terms of its use of finite resources, and equitable in terms of how the extra pie is used. Falling back on ‘growth’ in the abstract – the default position of Labour, Tory, Lib Dem and Reform Ltd politicians alike – is thus no solution at all if, as is the case at present, that growth is not only not sustainable within the resources available, but also the benefits are overwhelmingly captured by a tiny proportion of the population. We cannot simply avoid indefinitely the question of distribution.

Raising money for war

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As the warmongering rhetoric of the UK’s traditional parties (Tory, Lib Dems and Labour), along with newcomer Reform Ltd, ramps up, suggestions have been floated that the UK should start issuing war bonds, a method of borrowing from the public which was used to fund both World Wars. One of those floating the idea is Lib Dem leader, Ed Davey, and the call is also being supported by an alliance of defence industry bosses. The keenness of the armaments industry for the government to raise more money to divert into their pockets is understandable – arms manufacturers are the only consistent winners from warfare. Surprise, surprise – arms manufacturers support a plan to transfer other people’s money to themselves!

Even if we assume, for the purposes of argument, that spending more on armaments is a good thing, there is a big question over whether the government actually needs to borrow money to achieve that aim. The constraint isn’t about money – the government can always create money to fund whatever it wishes – it is about real resources in the economy. Are the raw materials, labour, energy etc to produce more armaments actually available, or do they need to be redirected from other economic uses? The way in which they are financed is a separate question entirely. On the scale on which our politicians apparently wish to manufacture armaments, it is likely that diversion of resources from other activities will be required – and which economic activities are selected to suffer the effects of that diversion is a far more important question, even if not one that any of them are in any great rush to answer.

Those advocating war bonds as a means of raising finance seem to think of it as an opportunity for ordinary people to come together and loan their pennies to the government in a great patriotic outpouring, as happened in the two world wars. Except it didn’t happen; it’s a false memory of events seen through biased lenses. And that little dampener eliminates the need to even consider whether the UK’s population would suddenly be overcome by the jingoistic fervour which the proposal presupposes.

In both world wars, the bonds were overwhelmingly sold not to ordinary individuals in the street but to a small number of wealthy individuals and to companies and institutions, unsurprisingly concentrated in London and south east England. The scheme launched in the first world war was actually a spectacular failure, with the Bank of England being forced to buy many of the bonds itself (an early example of what would probably be called quantitative easing today), hide the assets in its accounts, and then lie about having done so. As the government increased the interest rate in an increasingly vain attempt to attract more money, many of the new bonds were purchased by holders of the existing bonds converting them into the new higher interest bonds instead. As might be expected by any rational observer, the motivation of capitalists was more about making money than saving the country.

That highlights one of the issues with governments issuing bonds – they benefit mostly the wealthiest in society. By treating tax and ‘borrowing’ as alternatives, the rich end up keeping their capital and earning interest on it rather than paying tax. It’s also a double whammy – when the government spends the money into the economy, it overwhelmingly flows upwards into the hands of the wealthiest, through profits and dividends. To the extent that even a small number of ordinary people respond to the call, they end up reducing their own spending power as the flow of capital increases social inequality. It's not quite the wizard wheeze as which its advocates seem to see it. Unless you're an arms manufacturer.

The ultimate unwinnable wager

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There was a report a few days ago about the possibility that there had been some insider trading on a web betting – sorry, ‘prediction’ – site where some individuals may have made a killing by correctly ‘predicting’ either the attack on Iran or the death of the Ayatollah. It may, of course, be the case that the involvement of a Trump in the company hosting the ‘prediction’ market is a complete coincidence and/or that one Trump knew nothing about what another Trump was about to do. Perhaps there should be a market in predicting whether Trumps will gain financially from US government actions.

It is, apparently, possible to put money on a ‘prediction’ of almost anything. It seems that the same company hosting the bets on those ‘predictions’ also briefly ran a market in predictions of nuclear Armageddon. That market has subsequently been pulled, apparently because some felt that an attempt to make a bit of money betting on the deaths of millions of humans might be considered a little distasteful. To a compulsive gambler – sorry, ‘predictor’ – there is nothing that’s off limits when it comes to placing a bet, but the company running the market probably considered that whatever it had by way of a reputation would probably not be helped.

I found myself wondering, though, what sort of person would bet money on such an event. If the event happens, then the chances of the gambler being alive to claim his winnings are slim, to put it mildly. The chances of the company still being in existence to take the money from the losers and pay it to the winners are even lower. And what would the winners do with the money if there was no longer a functioning economy in which to spend it? Maybe those betting on nuclear destruction believe that nuclear Armageddon would not be so bad after all. The individual might survive a nuclear war, the company might still be able to organise the pay out, and the money would still be useful. But in those circumstances, the company would be able to argue, justifiably, that what just happened wasn’t nuclear Armageddon after all; and if the event didn’t happen, then those ‘predicting’ that it would happen would neither win nor receive any payout. It’s an essentially unwinnable bet for those predicting that outcome. There were some, apparently, willing to make the bet anyway. Even if they had advance knowledge that someone intended to start the nuclear war, it’s still a pretty stupid bet. As well as being tasteless.

Judge them by thir actions, not their words

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The Home Secretary has announced that because people from certain countries who come to the UK as students are more likely than those from other countries to then apply for asylum, she will ban anyone from those countries coming to the UK on a student visa. She could just as easily – and just as truthfully – have said that students coming from a country where there is conflict are more likely to apply for asylum than those from countries where there is no conflict. Who’d have thought it? It’s almost as though people coming from places where they have genuine reasons to seek asylum might be more likely to seek asylum.

Treating people on the basis of being able to place them in a certain category rather than looking at them as individuals is always going to be problematic. I’m pretty certain that people with dark skin coming to the UK on student visas are more likely to apply for asylum than people with fair skin, although I’ll admit that I don’t have hard evidence to back that up, other than the entirely coincidental fact that it is true of all the countries she has selected. If the Home Secretary banned all those of a darker hue from applying for student visas, she would be more roundly condemned than she has been. Her announcement yesterday was not as overtly racist as that would be, even if the effect might end up indirectly discriminating on race. It is, though, much the same thing – treating people on the basis of a collective attribute rather than their individual circumstances.

It is essentially a lazy response to a complex issue. “Some of that group might apply for asylum, so we’ll ban all of them from studying here” might attract a positive headline from the right wing media, but it doesn’t reflect any sense of fairness or compassion. Insofar as I understand ‘traditional British values’, it’s also deeply un-British. But then again, I’ve long stopped trying to understand those values in terms of what people say they are – actions tell an entirely different story.

Hooray for English culture...

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‘Culture’ is hard enough to define; it’s even harder to prescribe it. Yet that, apparently, is what the Tories under Badenoch are proposing to do. If only a single, universalised form of British culture could be inculcated into young people, the British nation would be more united, resolute and generally happy than it is today. Allegedly. How this would be achieved is not entirely clear, but there would be something called an ‘integration and cohesion plan’, and schools would play a role in teaching a single ‘national story’. I’m struggling a little, though, to distinguish between what she is proposing and what Russia is doing, not only in its own territory, but also in occupied areas of Ukraine.

It is, of course, heavily Anglo-centric. Whilst the culture warriors of Britishness are generally keen on promoting Shakespeare and the benefits of Empire across the whole of the UK, they’re not usually so keen on introducing Dafydd ap Gwilym or Robert Burns to English pupils. It also takes us into the realm of those ‘great British values’ which distinguish – in their eyes – the people of these islands from everyone else in the world. Things like deference to the rule of law (except international law, obviously, given Badenoch’s complaint yesterday that Starmer was too slow in supporting Trump’s illegal war against Iran). Things like parliamentary democracy (unless ‘silly people’ in parliament might dare to vote the wrong way). Things like due process (unless that process gets in the way of the government doing whatever it wishes).

Harri Webb’s somewhat irreverent caricature of English culture (“tuneless songs and tasteless jokes and blowsy bags undressing”) was not particularly complimentary; nor was it the sort of language a serious politician would use today. Refuting it, though, requires a definition of what exactly English culture is, and that is something which sound-bite Badenoch hasn’t even attempted. We shouldn’t be surprised, though. Defining culture is hard – and it’s a moving target, because no culture stands still. That statement might, however, go to the heart of the problem with Badenoch’s proposals. It’s a good rule of thumb that any politician seeking to inculcate a particular view of the world – whether it be based on values, culture, history or whatever – is usually espousing an idealised or romanticised version of how things were in some unspecified golden age in the past. Invariably, it wasn’t even accurate then.

Dealing with rogue states

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As an approach to winning the Nobel Peace Prize, starting an illegal war is certainly a novel one. Maybe Trump has abandoned all hope of ever winning the prize, or maybe he thinks that by starting a war which he can end at any time he chooses, he will shortly have another war to add to the list of the ones he’s personally ended. He certainly talks and behaves as though he assumes that no-one will remember what he did or said yesterday, never mind last year, so by the time he ends it, no-one – in his mind – will ever believe that he started it.

There is a huge difference between the world views of the late Ayatollah and Trump. On the one hand, the Ayatollah believed that he was god’s servant, doing god’s will by imposing his version of religion on the people of Iran and the wider world whereas, on the other hand, Trump believes that he was sent by (the same) god to impose divine will by the use of whatever force is necessary. The main lesson from that is that people in a position of power who believe that they have a unique ability to interpret god’s will, and a duty to impose that will on others by whatever means necessary, are inherently dangerous to the world. It’s not a particularly new lesson, sadly.

Trump’s actual motives are as clear as mud, and seem to change every time he opens his mouth. Preventing Iran from developing a nuclear weapon by destroying facilities which Trump told us had already been completely obliterated last year; revenge for terrorist acts (allegedly) carried out by or at the behest of the Iranian government; pre-empting an attack by Iran for which there was no credible evidence; ‘justice’ for the thousands of protestors killed on the streets of Iran and preventing the regime from carrying out further such killings; revenge for Iran being named in some utterly incredible conspiracy theory as being in cahoots with Venezuela to steal the 2020 election. Take your pick – any, all, or none of the above. But, to consider just one of those: killing hundreds of civilians to stop the Iranian authorities from killing civilians is a strange proposition to many of us, although as Stalin may or may not have said, “a single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic”. As Trump’s rather offhand dismissal of the deaths of US service personnel to date demonstrated, for someone so lacking in human empathy as him even a single death (as long as it isn’t his own) is merely a statistic.

Underlying it all, though, there is a very serious point, which an arbitrary attack on Iran does more to disguise than to reveal. There are regimes in the world which are a danger to their own citizens and the citizens of other (mostly neighbouring) countries, and it is a mark of failure for the international order that humanity has no effective way of dealing with them. Having international laws and rules is the easy part; enforcing them is quite another matter. It’s easy enough to identify Iran, North Korea and Russia as dangerous states, but dealing only with the one which does not currently possess nuclear weapons is about the best incentive I can think of for further nuclear proliferation. And then, there’s the even bigger question – who decides what is or is not a rogue state where regime change is required for the good of humanity? I named three above, because they’re reasonably uncontroversial. But what about Israel, for instance, with its creeping annexation of the West Bank and the tens of thousands of civilians killed in Gaza? What, indeed, about the USA under its current administration? Kidnapping people off the streets, disappearing them, ‘repatriating’ them without due process to places they’ve never visited, interfering in the affairs of other states both politically and militarily, blowing up boats in international waters, threatening to seize territory by force, kidnapping one national leader and assassinating another? Which characteristic of a rogue state has the US failed to meet?

There is no easy or simple solution to the problem; humanity has some way to go before we recognise that we are one species sharing one planet and need to co-operate, share, and live by a common basic set of rules. It’s much easier to say what the solution isn’t than identify what it is – but it definitely isn’t allowing the biggest and most powerful to take whatever arbitrary decisions suit its own selfish interests, or those of its rulers. Trump is taking the world backwards – and the UK’s Labour government now seems set on enabling and supporting him in that endeavour.

Who split which vote?

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When the dust settled, the ‘too-close-to-call’ by-election in Gorton and Denton turned out to be no such thing, and the Green Party gained a very clear victory. That is good news, of course, but even though the margin of victory was solid, the winner only got 41% of the vote. Under a more proportional system of voting, that means that second preference votes would have needed to be counted, and the mathematician and amateur would-be psephologist in me speculated about how the result of that might look.

Of the 11 candidates, eight (accounting for 1892 votes in total) would have been eliminated fairly rapidly and, unless we choose to believe that they would have overwhelmingly (including the 706 Tory votes) gone to Labour, the second choices of those voters would have made no difference to the order of the first three candidates. The final stage of counting would thus have seen the Labour candidate eliminated as well, meaning that there were then 11,256 voters whose second choices would have determined whether the victor was the Green Party or Reform Ltd. With a margin of 4402 between those two parties, those 11,000 votes would have to split something like 2.3:1 in favour of Reform Ltd for their candidate to overtake the Green Party’s candidate and seize the seat. We don’t know, of course, how they would have split in practice. Unless and until someone does some detailed research, it’s all speculation. But the key element of that speculation is a very simple question: of those who voted Labour, despite everything that has happened since the last General Election, would they have tended towards the Green Party or towards Reform Ltd?

Those who cling to the notion that the Labour Party is still a progressive force, and that its supporters are committed to a progressive platform (whatever the word ‘progressive’ means) will be utterly convinced that they would have gone with the Greens, leaving the outcome unchanged. I’m not at all sure that they’re right. Much of the support which Reform Ltd have picked up over the past few years has come from Labour – amongst Labour voters, there is a deeply conservative streak when it comes to issues such as immigration. I don’t think it at all impossible that Reform Ltd would have won the seat in that scenario. (That doesn't make me reconsider supporting Proportional Representation - we need to win the arguments against the likes of Reform Ltd, not rig the voting system to keep them out.)

That brings us to an interesting alternative view of the ‘vote-splitting’ concept. The worry of some before the election was that the Greens and Labour would split the ‘progressive’ vote and allow Reform Ltd to win. What if the real story here is that Labour and Reform split the reactionary, neoliberal, authoritarian, anti-immigrant vote and thus allowed the progressive candidate to win? Those who are still clinging to the idea that Labour is somehow on the side of the good guys might be blinding themselves to the true extent of the danger.

Cutting wages is no solution

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As a simple fact of mathematics, any organisation which can cut the salaries it pays to its employees will ‘save’ money. Whether it’s a sensible thing to do, whether it’s the right thing to do, whether the employees will calmly accept the reduction without resorting to industrial action – none of those things affect the simple mathematical truth that reducing salaries means the employer spends less to achieve the same result. For those of us lucky enough to be part of an occupational pension scheme (which is most people by now, even if some of the schemes aren’t particularly good), the employers’ contribution to those schemes is part of the overall remuneration package: it’s a form of deferred salary. Cutting the amount employers pay for pensions is, therefore, a wage cut by another name – it’s just that the impact won’t be felt immediately.

One of Reform Ltd’s latest wheezes to ‘save’ money involves doing just that – cutting back on the benefits paid out in pension schemes, and thus reducing the amount of the deferred salary due to employees. It’s a not very well disguised salary cut. Whether it’s quite the pain-free saving as which it appears in the short term is another question, however. Reducing the incomes of future pensioners will reduce their retirement standard of living. By how much depends on the circumstances of the individuals, but we can be certain that at least some will end up applying for extra benefits as a result, and it will also reduce the amount of income tax collected from pensioners – it’s not a ‘no-cost’ proposal. Looking at the wider economic impact, people with less money spend less as a result, and that in turn reduces demand in the economy.

The fact that none of this is immediately obvious to many is down to the fact that the real impact won’t happen for years – or even decades – when those with a reduced pension reach retirement age. Maybe those proposing it believe that it will be so effective in deterring people from retiring at all that the impact will be insignificant. In a world which increasingly treats only ‘working people’ as having any validity whilst all others are to be regarded as a ‘burden’, that’s a perfectly possible interpretation. It’s a view of the world which isn’t restricted to Reform Ltd – it will probably be mainstream Labour-Tory policy in a year or two. It highlights a feature of politics – and indeed, the capitalist economic system – which is the increasingly short term views which prevail. A society which works for all people throughout their lives has to take a long term view, considering the first 18 years of life, as well as the last 20-30, when people are likely to be ‘unproductive’ in economic terms, but are still part of the society in which they live. Squeezing out costs in the short term might be good micro-economics, but it’s lousy macro-economics, quite apart from being a lousy way of treating individual members of society. It’s a distinction which those who benefit directly from the short term gains are unable – or, more likely, unwilling – to understand.

It's not true that 'all votes count'

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The new electoral system coming into effect for this year’s Senedd elections is a step forward from first-past-the-post, but is still less than perfect. The main criticism levelled at it by many is that it means that electors cannot choose individuals, only parties. Personally, I’m relaxed about that aspect – decades of door-to-door campaigning taught me that (other than in local council elections, where they may know the individuals) most people vote on party lines anyway, and pay little attention to the candidates. For me, the bigger criticism has always been that there is no opportunity for people to express a second or third choice, so that anyone voting for a party which wins no seats has effectively had no say in the outcome. It was, though, the best outcome that was possible given Labour opposition to STV, and it would be churlish not to recognise that.

As campaigning ramps up, however, the failings of the selected system are becoming more obvious, with Labour and – if anything, even more so – Plaid suggesting repeatedly that a vote for anyone else will split the anti-Reform vote and hand seats to Reform. Leaving aside the essentially negative message of that proposition, encouraging people to vote against one party rather than for another, it isn’t the sort of behaviour a properly proportional system should be encouraging. It’s an admission, in effect, that the chosen system is sub-optimal, giving the lie to the oft-repeated claim that 'all votes count'.

It opens the question, though – will the new Senedd change the decision and opt for a proper STV system? Officially, Plaid support STV (although they haven’t always looked exactly enthusiastic about doing so in the councils they control), as do the Lib Dems and the Greens. The last time he opined on the matter, I’m sure that Farage also supported STV (although all Reform Ltd polices have to carry the caveat that they are subject to sudden and arbitrary change). The only parties dead set against it are Labour and the Tories. The opinion polls could all be wrong, of course, but if the general trend of the polls were to be true, current projections would give supporters of STV a clear super-majority in the Senedd, enough to push through such a change if they wished to do so. If they can summon the courage to act, it might even become the most lasting legacy of a change of government in Cardiff.

Undermining the hereditary principle

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In 1900, there were around 160 monarchies in the world compared to a mere 43 today (and of those 43, 15 are reigned over by a single monarch, namely the King of England). Whilst there are rare instances of a republic reverting to a monarchy (such as Spain, post-Franco), the trend is overwhelmingly in the opposite direction. It isn’t so clear cut as a choice between heredity and democracy, though: Putin and Xi may not be hereditary monarchs, but that doesn’t mean that they can be removed through a popular vote.

Despite the UK being firmly in the minority in global terms, there are many who seem unable to conceive of the idea that the head of state should be an elected post rather than a hereditary one. In reality, the UK monarch isn’t fully hereditary either; in some ways, the monarch is more like an indirectly elected president, where heredity is the default rather than the sole basis for selection. There have been times, albeit infrequent, when parliament has changed the order of succession and/or decreed that certain people (Catholics for instance) may not ascend to the throne, no matter how strong the bloodline claim might be.

If parliament can remove the eighth in line from any chance of succession (which seems likely to happen shortly) then it can also remove the seventh, or the sixth – or even the first. Indeed, in 1701, parliament removed around 50 people from the line of succession at a stroke. Maybe parliament does not actually elect the monarch, but it can veto some candidates and/or redefine the candidate pool, and has done so on several occasions. For those who cling to the official notion that the monarch’s family was selected by God to rule over us (because, presumably, God identified something very special about one particular blood line), deleting people from the line is a power which can only be used sparingly if at all, since declaring that one of the family might not be so special after all somewhat underlines the alleged legitimacy of the whole process.

Perhaps, though, it also offers a glimpse of a gradualist approach to introducing a presidential system. After all, if parliament can shrink the pool of possible candidates, it can also expand that pool. Deciding that parliament should choose the next head of state (an approach followed by a number of other countries which indirectly elect their head of state) is a smaller change than outright abolition. And if there’s one certainty about constitutional change in England (and this is, ultimately, an issue for England mostly) it is that they will never make a large change if a smaller fudge is available.

Experience is often over-rated

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‘Experience’ is an odd qualification for anything. It’s often assumed that someone who has a lot of experience at doing a job is somehow better qualified to do it than someone with less. It depends, though, on the nature of that experience and what people have learned from it. I once interviewed someone for a job who claimed to have 20 years’ experience of doing the job, but on more detailed questioning, it turned out that he had one years’ experience, repeated twenty times. Length of experience isn’t the same as depth – and experience of failure isn’t the same as experience of success. Contrary to popular belief, people don’t always learn from the former, and the latter can breed complacency and inflexibility.

This week, Farage announced his shadow team – or four of them anyway – and part of his justification for two of the selections (and indeed, for accepting the continued outflow of failed Tory politicians) is that they have experience of government. However, his faith in the value of their experience apparently didn’t extend to allowing them to answer any press questions, a job which he firmly restricted to himself. Given the roles that Braverman and Jenrick performed in a succession of Conservative governments, they certainly have plenty of experience of what failure looks like, although it’s hard to identify any particular success with which either of them were associated during their ministerial careers. Whether they have learned anything from their failures is a matter of opinion, but insofar as we can believe a word they say, or use their words as evidence, that evidence is more negative than positive.

The wider question, though, is whether, or to what extent, ‘experience’ of government is relevant to the potential success of anyone taking on a ministerial job. There are plenty of examples of people who have such experience going on to fail – and equally of people who have no such experience turning out to be rather successful as ministers. And it is almost a given of the UK system that any party entering government after a long period of opposition is likely to be short on people with ministerial experience. I think it’s true to say that, if the polls turn out to be right and the next Welsh government turns out to be either a Plaid minority government or a Plaid-Green coalition, it is probable that there will be only one MS in the governing party/coalition with any experience of government at all. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing can only be a matter of opinion at this stage; a judgement based on actual performance will have to wait. I tend to the view that what’s more important than experience of being a minister is experience of doing other things outside politics, and being able to apply that experience in the new context. Time will tell, but returning to Farage’s experience fetish, it’s not clear that his so-called ‘experienced’ hires have a huge amount of useful experience built up in any non-political roles either.

‘Experience’ in any role, without assessing how good it is, or what’s been learned from it, is over-rated as a qualification, but Farage isn’t the only one to make the mistake of assuming that it is a key attribute.

What are we proposing to defend?

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Labour’s warmongers are at it again. On the basis of absolutely no evidence that they are willing to share, they have declared that “the threat of a Russian attack on the UK grows”, and that the UK therefore needs to spend vastly more on new weapons in order to repulse such an attack. I don’t know whether Putin is really planning to launch an attack on the UK, but – despite his obvious desire to reinstate what he regards as being the right of Russia to control certain territories – he isn’t obviously a stupid man. He is, for instance, perfectly capable of extrapolating from his difficulties in conquering Ukraine to the likely consequences of attacking any of the major NATO states, and concluding that it is probably not a battle Russia would be likely to win. He also understands at least a little about geography: Ukraine is close to Russia and shares a long and eminently invadable land border, whilst the UK is further away and any attack beyond an aerial assault would require the use of air and sea transport for a large number of forces.

The military clearly want more weapons, but then the military always do, regardless of the assessed scale of any threat. The real beneficiaries of the proposed increase in military expenditure are the arms companies (and their shareholders), companies which are already profitable and seem to have a knack of ending up invariably charging much more than the price initially quoted. The losers – in a situation where Labour are hemmed in by their own blind commitment to neoliberal economics and wholly arbitrary fiscal rules – will be the population of the UK, and especially those most dependent on the state finances and services which will be cut to pay for weaponry.

The first question we need to be asking is what exactly is it we are proposing to defend? And that raises the question of what sort of society we want to be. If the only way to ‘defend’ citizens is to impoverish and marginalise ever more of them, and prepare them to give their lives in order to do so, there is a danger that the ‘cure’ is worse than the disease. Defending the interests and wealth of the wealthy isn’t serving the population as a whole. The interests of most of us have more in common with those of the ordinary citizens of the 'enemy' state than with the interests of the elites who run the states on either side.

The second – and even more important – question is about how we prevent war in the first place, rather than merely setting out to ‘win’ it. War only becomes inevitable when government on both sides becomes captured by people who think it to be so, and much of what looks to be defence preparation to one side will look to be threat of an attack to the other. The most likely cause of any further attack by Russia is a belief that ‘we’ are preparing to attack them. Building up military forces, with more weapons and more powerful weapons, especially when more of them are stationed close to their borders, isn’t exactly the best way of dispelling that belief.

We need to retake control of the economy

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Figures announced this week show a rise in the level of unemployment, with young people being particularly hard hit. The government has responded in the way that all governments do, by talking about ‘helping more people into work’ (often a euphemism for cutting benefit payments) and inventing more, sometimes dubious, apprenticeships as a back door way of subsidising employers. The opposition has responded in the way that all oppositions do, by blaming government policies, especially those relating to wages, tax and regulation. The assumption underlying both of those positions – even if it drives them to propose different solutions – is that rising unemployment is a cyclical problem, which will be resolved if only we can get that magical growth they keep talking about.

It’s possible that they’re right; but it’s also possible that they’re wrong. What if, rather than growth and innovation solving the issue, that same growth and innovation, powered perhaps by AI, compounds it? There is a certain complacency surrounding that question. In a sense, it’s entirely natural – history shows us that the initial response to innovation and increased productivity is a loss of some jobs, which is usually followed by the appearance of new jobs, sometimes of a type and nature which nobody had foreseen. Maybe the same will be true of AI, and it’s overly pessimistic to believe that the job losses will be more permanent and generalised than we’ve seen in the past. It’s clear that the workers likely to be displaced by AI will include those in more technical and high-paid jobs than previous rounds of innovation, but the fact that the nature of any resultant replacement jobs is not currently clear doesn’t mean that there won’t be any. But the statement that ‘there always have been’ in the past can’t be taken as a certainty for the future either.

One junior minister in the UK government has already suggested that part of the response to the growth of AI might be the introduction of some sort of Universal Basic Income (UBI), although even he seems to be talking abut it as a temporary response, allowing people to retrain for the jobs of the future, whatever they may be. And there’s no doubt that any sort of UBI would be enormously expensive: even an income set at the less than adequate level of Universal Credit would be likely to carry a price tag of some £200 billion per annum. But what is the alternative that those objecting to the cost would propose in a situation where most work is done by automatons or AI? Are those people who have been displaced to be treated as disposable, and left without food or shelter as a result, whilst those lucky enough to still have work continue to live as normal (and those who own the machines and the software continue to accumulate wealth well beyond their capacity to spend it)?

It’s a scenario which raises questions about what an economy is for. Forget ‘invisible hands’ and market spirits – an economy is a social construct, and it’s up to the society in which it operates to determine how it works, who benefits from economic activity, and by how much. If an economy cannot supply at least the basic needs of all the people in that society, than it’s not performing its social function. From that perspective, tax is not some burden placed unfairly on those who own the capital or provide the labour, it is merely the mechanism by which the outputs of economic activity are used for the benefit of all. It is, in its very essence, a mechanism for redistribution. For the last four or five decades, we’ve increasingly lost sight of that and allowed the economy to be captured by a few, and corrupted to serve only their interests. If the resulting gross inequality hasn’t been enough to force a rethink, perhaps the impact of AI will be.

Will Farage let me drive on the right if I want to?

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Whether the 20mph default speed limit in built-up areas is a good thing or a bad thing is obviously a matter of opinion, depending on whether we prioritise reducing casualties or convenience and speed. The statistics show that it has reduced the number and severity of casualties on the roads, although a thorough evaluation might need a few more years to assess whether it is really working as well as it appears to be. On the downside, experience suggests that it has led to an increase in aggressive driving and risky overtaking manoeuvres, especially by those vehicles whose drivers are exempt from the law. I can’t find a definitive definition of exempt categories in the legislation itself, but simple observation over the past year leads me to conclude that it includes taxis, white vans, and BMWs.

Farage told us last week that it is a ‘looney’ policy, and went on in a Q&A session to describe it as being an example of government telling people what is right for them, adding "It is typical of control, control, control". In essence, his view seems to be that it has nothing to do with safety, and that the Welsh Government have introduced it solely with the aim of controlling what people may or may not do. It’s a particularly silly argument – if it applies to the 20mph limit, then it also applies to the 30mph limit, or to any limit set at 40, 50, 60 or 70. All of them control what citizens can and can’t do. Come to that, why should the government control on which side of the road I should drive? All laws set limits on what we can and can’t do, they all ‘control’ us to a greater or lesser extent. The question is – or ought to be – about where we draw the line, and how we balance safety against speed of travel – or, more generally, personal advantage against collective advantage. ‘Not liking something’ is not enough to distinguish between an arbitrary control of behaviour and a sensible safety measure.

Reasoned debate is not, though, what Farage and his ilk want. Their aim is to appeal to people whose minds are already made up, and to strengthen those existing prejudices. Not that reasoned debate would ever help anyway. No-one who has not arrived at a particular view in the first place through a careful and rational study of the evidence is going to be persuaded to a different view by a careful and rational study of that same evidence. And that doesn’t only apply to the question of speed limits. Believing that evidence can and will shift an opinion which was never evidence-based to start with is a mistake which many of us make. Overcoming prejudice and a willingness to disregard mere facts is more of a long term project, which involves teaching critical thinking as a key element of education. There is a reason why Farageists and their fellow travellers are hostile to the idea of an educated populace.

Who's going to check? And when?

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Whether the newly appointed leader of Reform Ltd in Wales actually lives in Wales or not appears to be an open question at present. It’s a question which Martin Shipton, at Nation.Cymru, is doggedly pursuing. If it’s really true that he doesn’t, then both he and Farage have been more than a little foolish in putting forward a story which falls apart after one day of scrutiny. Maybe they really are that stupid, but it’s more likely that they believe that they can game the system.

The requirement that candidates for May’s Senedd election should live in Wales, and be registered to vote in Wales, is entirely reasonable, especially after the experience of a predecessor party to Reform having had a resident of Wiltshire as its leader in the Senedd. It’s something of a departure for UK electoral politics, though: there is no requirement, for instance, for any candidate for Westminster to reside in the UK. They merely have to state that “they are at least 18 years old and be either: a British citizen, or a citizen of the Republic of Ireland, or a citizen of a commonwealth country who does not require leave to enter or remain in the UK, or has indefinite leave to remain in the UK”. They also need to provide an address where they can be contacted. But as far as I’m aware, there is no requirement for the returning officer to verify the information provided. Verifying the veracity of the information provided by candidates has never been part of their role; they merely verify that the relevant boxes on the form have been completed properly. It seems probable that the same approach will apply in the case of Senedd elections: if the candidate provides a valid Welsh electoral roll number, and gives an address where (s)he claims to live, is it any part of the responsibility of the Returning Officer to check that those details are true?

It is perfectly legal to be registered to vote at two different addresses (it’s not usually legal to vote at both, although there is no check on that), and the definition of ‘main residence’ is not as straightforward as it might sound. Reform Ltd may be about to ‘test the system’ by putting forward as a candidate an individual who may not meet the legal requirements. It’s not at all clear that there is any process in place to challenge the information provided by candidates, let alone pro-actively verify its veracity, other than by a court process after the election. Relying on ‘the law says’ amounts to assuming that all candidates are honest people of good faith. It’s just possible that some might not be.

Is poverty really the right way to save pubs?

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Not so long ago, I wondered whether capitalists and supporters of capitalism really understood the way it worked, a theme picked up again in relation to pubs in this post. Pubs, in particular, have been back in the news again over the last week, with Farage’s proposal that impoverishing 450,000 children and redirecting the money saved into pubs could knock 5p off the price of a pint and save thousands of pubs, and the suggestion from the First Minister, Eluned Morgan, that people should stop drinking wine and watching Netflix at home and get down to the pub instead. The opposition’s response to the First Minister was, sadly, more Farage than Morgan, claiming that the problem was for the government rather than citizens to solve, and lies in the system of rates and taxation. Both Farage and the opposition in the Senedd seem to be starting from the wholly unrealistic proposition – albeit a basic tenet of classical economics – that all consumer decisions boil down to cost comparisons. Under that tenet, people choose wine and Netflix over beer and pubs purely on the basis of relative cost.

Like much of theoretical economics, it’s utter nonsense. It is an established fact that young people, overall, are drinking less and that traditional pubs are considered increasingly unattractive to many of them. Cutting the price of a pub visit so that more people go, or encouraging people to drink more when they get there – which is what subsidies, whether direct or in the form of tax concessions, actually set out to do – might delay the inevitable, but if supply outstrips demand by an increasing margin, and if that falling demand is the result of demographic change rather than price considerations, then capitalism decrees that the supply should fall. Put another way, closing pubs is the natural and rational outcome of a change in consumer choices.

Whether that’s a good thing or not is another question. I’m certainly not a fan of leaving all decisions to the dictates of capitalist markets. There are some pubs – particularly, but not exclusively, in rural areas – which also provide a sort of community hub, and act as a centre for other (not necessarily alcohol-related) activities. There is a case, in terms of social cohesion rather than dry cost-benefit analysis, for government action to keep such places open. That, though, requires rather more effort in identifying criteria and assessing locations against those criteria than some sort of blanket aid to the sector (which is what changes to the taxation regime provide). Setting out to save all pubs may be popular with those who use them, but it’s not good policy, and nor is it a good use of resources. And proposing to impoverish children to achieve it is about the best illustration one can think of as to why it’s wrong.

It shouldn't be down to the wrongdoer to take action

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It’s unclear whether Mandelson has committed any crimes or not in relation to his friendship with Jeffrey Epstein, although – to date, at least – I’ve seen no serious suggestion that he has. Folly, yes, plenty of that. Failing to declare income to parliament, maybe: he says that he can’t remember receiving money from Epstein, and it’s just about possible that there’s some other explanation for the relevant lines on bank statements. Lobbying other ministers to reduce the tax bill for a friend, yes, that seems pretty clear cut. Leaking sensitive government documents to his friend, again, yes that also seems pretty clear cut. None of it, however, appears to be criminal. It’s enough, though, for people to be demanding that he should be stripped of his peerage as well as standing down immediately from the House of Lords.

It is a ‘feature’ of the English system of governance that people appointed to the Lords cannot easily be stripped of either their membership or their title. Apparently, it requires a specific act of parliament in each and every case, and Sir Starmer appears to have concluded that that is just too much trouble and is instead simply appealing to Mandelson to voluntarily relinquish his seat, and voluntarily stop using his title, while formally retaining it. It’s the sort of compromise and cop-out which bedevils a constitution which assumes that all parliamentarians, in whichever House, are inherently honourable people.

It’s a silly assumption to make – and it’s not as if there haven’t been previous cases to underline the point. The one which immediately leaps to mind is, of course, Jeffrey Archer. Unlike (so far) Mandelson, Archer really did commit criminal acts and was sentenced to four years as a guest of Her Majesty as a result. On his release in 2003, and although not a very active member, he remained a member of the House of Lords until he voluntarily stepped down in 2024. He remains a peer today.

It’s true that the law was subsequently changed – but it took more than ten years, until 2014 – to make it easier to sack a member of the House of Lords for serious crimes (although being sentenced to prison for less than twelve months, which one might think is still rather more serious than anything Mandelson has so far been found to have done, is still considered insufficient grounds for expulsion). The point here is not to defend Mandelson – on the contrary, he deserves to be kicked out. It is, rather, to highlight the arbitrary and inconsistent way in which things work, and the laziness and incompetence which means that successive governments would prefer to leave things alone than address an obvious failing. Demanding that the man accused of poor behaviour takes action himself rather than ensuring that he could be dealt with swiftly and effectively is a less than honest political response.

When is a benefit not a benefit?

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‘Cutting the benefits bill’ is an answer often trotted out by politicians when asked how they are going to pay for something. They don’t often spell out precisely how they will do that – identifying who will go without food or shelter isn’t exactly the most certain way of winning electoral support. Far better just to leave people with the impression that it will affect someone else, not them, and that it’s a painless way of saving money. There is a question, though, of how we define what a benefit payment is. It’s obvious which side of the benefit/ not-benefit line some payments fall, but rather less obvious in other cases. Pensions are a case in point – whilst some see them as a benefit payment, others see them more as a contractual obligation in return for the NI contributions made over many years.

Yesterday, the Tories in the Senedd proposed a new payment for grandparents to look after their grandchildren. Superficially, it’s presented almost as though it’s a payment for work done. Whether it would be taxable or not is unclear, but added to the full state pension (and non-working grandparents able to do child care are quite likely to be pensioners), it would push most of the eligible pensioners into paying income tax unless it were to be exempted. If it is, in effect, a non-taxable payment for care provided, then that would surely make it a benefit payment (not dissimilar, perhaps, to Attendance Allowance) in the views of many – and a universal (paid regardless of other income or ‘need’) one at that. And even if it is not regarded as a ‘benefit payment’ to the grandparents concerned, if the objective is, as the Tories claim, to improve childcare provision for working parents, isn’t that simply a backdoor form of benefit payment to those parents?

I raise these points not because the idea is inherently a bad one. On the contrary, good affordable childcare is a problem and this is an interesting proposal for a fairly cheap extension, although there is a lot of detail not yet spelled out. And I’m not opposed to benefit payments either. The point is, though, that it is more than a little hypocritical for a party which has spent years bemoaning the fact that a millionaire can theoretically get a 35p packet of paracetamol for nothing to propose to give any millionaire who happens to be a grandparent a couple of grand a year for doing what they may well be doing for free currently. It’s difficult to avoid concluding that the benefit payments they’re against are those which go to people unlikely to vote for them (usually the poorest), whilst they support a new benefit which is likely to go to those more likely to vote for them.

How did we get to here?

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Thatcher once said that she thought that her greatest success was Tony Blair’s Labour Party. Subsequent history shows that her success wasn’t so much an event as a process; a process which continues to reverberate today. Underlying the creation of Blairism was the way in which she, and those around her, succeeded in moving the parameters of acceptable political debate, often referred to as the ‘Overton Window’, sharply in one direction, and it’s a process which has been continued by her successors. Osborne’s creation of the Office for Budget Responsibility was another event during the process, an event which locked into ‘acceptable’ political discourse the utterly false notion that governments must seek to balance their income and expenditure over the long term, and pay down any accumulated debt. It’s a shibboleth which the Reeves's and Starmers of this world have adopted with enthusiasm.

They’re still at it today. Views within Labour which might have been regarded as being rather to the right of the party’s centre just a few decades ago are now routinely described as ‘soft left’ or even ‘hard left’. And Kemi Badenoch announced yesterday that there is no room in her Conservative Party for views which would have been seen as entirely mainstream until very recently. It isn’t only a success for the likes of Thatcher and Badenoch, of course; it’s also a success for a media which is owned by, and seemingly exists mostly to promote the interest of, those who own the wealth and in whose pockets and bank balances money continues to accumulate under neoliberal economics.

It didn’t have to be this way. In the immediate post-war years, a Labour government, which was rather more radical than it is often given credit for, actually shifted the Overton Window in the other direction. Whilst there was some pushback from the ‘right’ over some issues (such as nationalisation), it became generally recognised over two or three decades that the state had a role to play in industrial policy, that more homes – including council houses – should be built, that the NHS should be funded, that there should be a decent system of benefits. Albeit in a mild form, what one might call ‘social democracy’ became established as the accepted norm. Thatcher may have been the instigator-in-chief of the rupture, but Labour then played along, facilitating the conversion of an event into a process. That has brought us to a position where someone like Macmillan, Eden, Douglas-Home – and maybe even Heath – would be unwelcome in the party they once led, and where the Labour leadership seems to draw more on the thinking of Enoch Powell than of Bevan or Beveridge.

At the bottom of this lies a major question – should politicians lead or merely follow public opinion? Clearly the leaders of the UK’s three right wing parties all believe that public opinion is further to the right than they are. If they’re correct (and I’m not at all sure that they are – the most vocally-expressed opinions aren’t always the most popularly-held), then how do they think that we got from there to here? Blaming the media is a soft option, although that doesn’t make it entirely inaccurate. Ultimately, weak politicians, prepared to sacrifice any beliefs or principles in the pursuit of power, and anxious to secure the endorsement of the worst elements of the media, must take at least as much blame. It’s a tradition in which Starmer firmly sits.

Where is the challenge to conventional thinking?

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Although we don’t yet have the full details, the police reorganisation announced this week by the Home Secretary is already looking like a bit of a mish-mash – and a major missed opportunity for a more thorough debate around the best way of organising policing. Leaving aside the obvious own goal of not taking the opportunity to devolve policing to Wales, and the way that ends up undermining the First Minister and Labour’s Senedd election campaign, there are other ideas which seem not to have even been considered by what has shown itself to be a centralist and centralising government.

At the heart of the issue are two demands which appear to be in direct conflict, but that conflict is more to do with being wedded to the idea of single police forces than any practical necessity in terms of policing. Those two demands are: firstly, for a more local and accountable approach to policing; and secondly for the rationalisation of more specialist areas of policing. Even if policing were to be devolved to Wales, we would still face the same issues when debating whether to have a single Welsh force or multiple forces. However, there are plenty of international examples of an approach which does not put all ‘policing’ under a single organisation, but there seems to be a lack of willingness to learn from them. The Home Secretary’s intention to set up a national force to deal with certain crimes makes sense (although whether it should be a single EnglandandWales body or two separate bodies is an area for disagreement). But taking out those activities where a rationalisation of specialist resources is beneficial should reduce rather than increase the need for a reduction in the number of forces. An area like Dyfed Powys, for instance, is already too large for any serious degree of local control and accountability – an all-Wales force would be even less so.

Why could we not, instead, split policing between: smaller, more local forces – at county/ county borough level perhaps? – responsible for bobbies on the beat and the sort of low level activity which is most people’s experience of crime; regional forces responsible for investigating more serious crime; and a national (Welsh) force responsible for more specialist activities? And why does traffic policing have to fit into the same structure? The UK seems to be hung up on the idea that ‘policing’ is a single activity which has to fall under the remit of a single body, but abandoning that view opens up the possibility of reconciling the demand for more local accountability for community policing whilst still having resources and expertise in depth to respond to other needs. It’s what happens in many other countries, and it generally seems to work, but the centralising mindset seems unable to consider it. It’s the sort of different approach which a Senedd with control over policing could follow, although it would still require politicians willing to challenge convention.

What is to be defended - and how?

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It was reported a couple of weeks ago that there is a £28 billion ‘funding shortfall’ for the UK’s military forces. It underlines the way in which a careful choice of words can frame any discussion. The substance of the story is that the military needs a lot more money to do all the things that it wants to do, and is presenting the lack of that money as a ‘shortfall’. It’s not the only word that could be used. The same gap could equally be framed as a deliberately planned overspend: the expenditure plan has been drawn up in a way which requires more money than the budget has allocated. A ‘shortfall’ is the responsibility of government, but an ‘overspend’ is the responsibility of the defence chiefs. It’s all about blame avoidance.

The more substantive underlying question is about what the UK’s military needs are; establishing that is a prerequisite to talking about how the expenditure is funded. It’s not a question on which either the government or the military really wants any sort of debate, because an open discussion on the question must inevitably put the question of the Trident upgrade on the table. This enormously expensive project is a major element of the UK’s planned military spend, yet it is, in essence, a weapons system which could only ever be used as a posthumous act of revenge following a nuclear attack on the UK. Even then, there’s considerable doubt as to whether the UK could really decide to fire any of the missiles without US authorisation. The UK government always claim that it can be so used, but the phrase attributed to Mandy Rice-Davies applies. Scrapping Trident completely would free up enough funding to overcome the alleged shortfall, even if we collectively decided that we still wanted to do everything else on the military shopping list.

Meanwhile the Lib Dems have come up with an alternative funding mechanism – the issue of what they are calling ‘war bonds’, based on what the government did during the two world wars. According to Ed Davey, this could raise an additional £20 billion for military purposes, and it’s clear that he thinks that the target market is individuals across the UK, so it would be giving the public a chance to "support patriotically our defence". I suspect that he’s right in saying that the government could raise that sort of money, although it’s more likely to come from the wealthiest in society rather than the man in the street, and they’re more likely to buy such bonds for the security of the capital and the interest they would attract than out of any great patriotic fervour. Given that the government (and there is no indication that a Lib Dem government would take a different view on this) regards all bond sales as ‘borrowing’, it would blow a massive hole in any fiscal rules. But they are correct in identifying that there is a market for more government bonds, which gives the lie to the idea that bond-holders are demanding that the government redeem existing bonds, aka ‘pay off debt’.

What they are all doing, though, is talking about the issue as though the constraint is a lack of money, when it really isn’t. The constraints on government spending on the military are firstly whether the spare physical resources (labour, materials, etc.) exist, and secondly, if they don’t, to what extent do we wish to prioritise weaponry over wellbeing by redirecting those resources. Treating money as the constraint serves only the few in society, and makes it more or less inevitable that the cost of increasing military expenditure falls, ultimately, on the wellbeing of the many. Destroying that which we wish to defend is no defence at all. It’s easy to see why the purveyors of war all want to avoid that question.

Labour needs more than a better story-teller

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Nobody really knows how much impact an individual has on the outcome of an election. I can say from experience as a candidate that a number of electors will tell candidates something along the lines of ‘I don’t usually vote for your party, but I’m going to vote for you’. I can also say from experience as a canvasser on behalf of other candidates that a similar number of electors will tell canvassers something along the lines of ‘I usually vote for your party, but I won’t vote for X’. Whether they net down to zero is an unanswered – and unanswerable – question, but the overall effect is that most candidates (guilty as charged!) end up believing that their own personality and ability is having a greater effect than it actually is. What we simply can’t do is run the same election twice and see what the impact of different candidates might be. Martin Shipton, on Nation.Cymru, wrote a timely reminder last week about the dangers of believing in political Messiahs.

It’s clear that Andy Burnham, to say nothing of his friends and supporters, believes that he is uniquely placed to win the pending by-election in Manchester – or would be, if he were allowed to stand. Those same friends and allies are now warning of the dire consequences of blocking his candidature, claiming that the seat will be lost to Labour as a result. There is a danger, for Labour, of it becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy, which will leave Burnham and pals on the sidelines declaring that it all could have been so different if only he’d been allowed to stand. He might well have lost anyway, of course; which outcome we choose to believe depends on the extent to which we believe that the personality and profile of candidates makes a net difference in one direction or the other. In blocking the candidature of one individual, Sir Starmer and his allies might well have blocked one potential source of challenge at the expense of making a challenge from another direction even more probable. It was a gamble either way.

For those of us not party to the drama, intrigue, and machinations of the Labour Party at its worst, the bigger question is about policy rather than personality. Clearly, Burnham is a more effective communicator than Starmer, although most would probably agree that that is not a particularly high bar. But how different is he really in terms of a policy agenda? Not as much as the spin suggests, would be my assessment. That is the real problem for Labour – they’re so committed to their self-imposed fiscal rules that a minor tweak to those rules would make little real difference; they need to do more than tell the story a bit better. Those who are arguing that the answer is a change of leader are asking the wrong question.

Maybe we'll never know what Rutte said to Trump...

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Over the years, I’ve attended many meetings in which one attendee or another has set out his or her (usually his) views on whatever the issue is and then simply assumed the agreement of everyone else, sometimes even leaving immediately after speaking. ‘The boss (even if he wasn’t the boss in any formal sense) has spoken’ as an approach to ‘consensus’. Perhaps we’ll never know exactly what happened at the meeting between Trump and Rutte yesterday, but it sounds a lot like the same sort of thing: Trump has expounded his views and assumed agreement – in his mind, ‘sorting out the detail’ is all about agreeing the precise terms of his takeover. Certainly, Rutte cannot have agreed to any handover, or even a framework, or even the concept of an idea for a framework (to use the convoluted language which Trump seems to favour), for any handover; he simply doesn’t have the authority. All the indications are that Rutte has done little more than spell out to Trump the terms and detail of existing treaties, all of which His Orangeness will have forgotten by tomorrow.

The threat of using force and imposing extra tariffs has been removed, a statement greeted by a huge sigh of relief all round, but whether that threat has really been removed remains to be seen. After all, until a few days ago, Trump supported the handover of the Chagos Islands to Mauritius. In Trumpland, any statement or agreement is valid only until it isn’t. Maybe it’s true, as some have suggested, that Trump has backed down because of the impact of his actions and statements on the stock market. Stock markets are an extremely poor indicator of the success of any economy, and are generally thought to be over-valued anyway, but to Trump, stock markets seem to be his main, or even only, indicator of success. To billionaires whose wealth is measured by the ‘value’ of their stock holdings, there’s a certain logic in that. Maybe one of the wilder stories I’ve seen – that he had ordered the military to prepare plans for a Greenland takeover only for the order to be refused as illegal – is true, although it seems unlikely to me that he could not find at least one general prepared to act on his instructions.

Or perhaps another basic truth has been demonstrated empirically – bullies back down when faced with strong united push-back. Certainly, one of the few tariff battles on which Trump has caved was that with China, which stood up to him resolutely. It would be nice to believe this version of events, with its corollary that Starmer and others have learned that resistance is better than appeasement. The problem with unpredictability is that it’s unpredictable; even if something ‘worked’ once, that doesn’t mean it will ‘work’ again. The biggest takeaway from Davos was surely the speech by Mark Carney of Canada and its message that countries need to stand together rather than be dominated individually. Whether the sort of international agreement and co-ordination which that requires can be achieved in a suitably rapid timescale is an open question, but signs that Starmer and others recognise the need and are working in that direction are sadly lacking at the moment. Carney was talking primarily about ‘middle-sized’ countries, but for those of us living in smaller countries which may not all yet be independent, the Carney approach offers us more hope for the future than any alternative currently on the table.