Britain, Defence, Economic, European Union, Government, Military, Politics

Labour’s defence spending. A ruse

UK DEFENCE SPENDING

Intro: Ministers are resorting to desperate measures to boost Britain’s military budget

“We cannot defend Britain with an ever-expanding welfare budget … We are under prepared. We are under insured. We are under attack. We are not safe … Britain’s national security and safety is in peril.”

If these words had been said by James Cartlidge, Britain’s almost invisible shadow defence secretary, no one would have batted an eyelid. This sort of rhetoric is what Opposition politicians are supposed to say, whether justified or not.

But when it’s said by no less a Labour stalwart than Lord George Robertson – a former secretary general of NATO and the principal author of the Government’s recent Strategic Defence Review – it really is time for everyone to sit up and take notice.

Robertson is blunt and direct in his language when he says policy was being determined by the “corrosive complacency” of non-military experts in the Treasury. This has led to repeated delays to the 10-year investment plan caused by arguments over how to fund it.

It is of course a core part of the Treasury’s function to say no to the constant stream of departmental demands for more money. Someone has to keep the lid on burgeoning government spending and it falls to the Treasury to perform that role.

It should be said that this would be an understandable, even an admirable, characteristic if it were applied across the board to all forms of public spending.

What so infuriates military chiefs, however, is the double standards the Treasury seems to apply, not to mention the vast gap that separates the political dogma from reality. There could scarcely be a more vital government function than defence of the realm, for everything depends upon it from national to an individual person’s basic security; yet ministers pay lip service to its importance.

At the same time, too, they’ve squeezed defence spending to virtual oblivion. The proportion of national income devoted to welfare and public sector pay, coincidentally, has run out of control.

This didn’t happen by accident. It was done deliberately from the end of the cold war onwards. The resources once thought necessary for defence were instead diverted into social and health spending – a so-called peace dividend that allowed for a massive expansion of the welfare state.

Defence spending has meanwhile shrunk from about 5pc of GDP at the time of the Falklands war in the early 1980s to just 2.3pc last year.

Only belatedly have ministers realised their peril. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine was warning enough. US threats to withdraw from NATO provided another wake-up call. Then came the national humiliation of being unable to field a single frigate to defend British interests in the latest outbreak of hostilities in the Middle East.

There seems to be plenty of money that can be found when it comes to inflation-busting increases in public sector pay, yet ministers struggle to find the resources needed to sustain an operational navy. Somewhere along the line, the Government lost its sense of priority.

While welfare spending, taxes, and borrowing mushroom, there are still no answers as to how to deliver even the relatively unambitious targets the Government has set for defence – 3pc of GDP by the end of the parliament and 3.5pc by 2035.

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In acts of desperation, ministers are reaching for what they amusingly call “creative solutions”, apparently unaware of the unfortunate connotations the expression carries in accountancy circles – as in “creative accounting”.

If increased defence spending can somehow be kept off the public balance sheet, then miraculously it immediately becomes perfectly “affordable”.

In pursuit of such sleight of hand, the UK is exploring setting up a new mechanism for collectively funding defence spending with the Netherlands and Finland. There is also the possibility of Poland and other NATO allies joining in.

The attraction of the scheme is that under international accountancy conventions, the additional spending moves “off balance sheet” if the entity pursuing it is multinational. Typically, a minimum of three countries is required to satisfy these requirements.

It’s cajolery and a swindle, because whichever way you cut it, and however the entity is funded, ultimately it’s the customer that pays, and the customers here are the three countries involved. Eventually, the costs will bounce back on to the British taxpayer.

Still, if it helps support the additional spending the military so desperately needs, it would perhaps be perverse to knock it. But it is also just an accounting ruse that allows the Government to spend money that it doesn’t have. Markets are sensing hidden deception and that something is wrong, and rightly so.

As is apparent from International Monetary Fund (IMF) analysis just published, Britain is in a dire fiscal hole, with fast rising taxes and borrowing struggling to keep up with increased welfare and other forms of government spending.

The peace dividend is gone, so the Government is desperately searching for ways of cooking the books in the hope that nobody notices. In practice, few are going to be fooled by this kind of window dressing.

Already, there are hundreds of billions of pounds worth of government liabilities conveniently shunted into the shadows of off-balance sheet finance, including the costs associated with previous wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. This would further add to them.

How Britain is going to pay for increased defence spending is anyone’s guess. Even the Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer, said that the Government was still trying to figure out how to do it in conjunction with European partners. Many will be sensing what he meant is the charade of international defence procurement and financing.

Seeking solutions in Europe is becoming a bit of a thing with this Government. Getting closer to the EU is also proposed as a solution for the country’s lack of growth, even if it is hard to see how a little “dynamic alignment” in standards is going to make much of a difference. But this halfway house doesn’t get the Prime Minister or the country anywhere. It is certainly not going to get the UK out of the fiscal hole it has dug for itself.

In terms of the public finances, Britain is on the ropes. It is also widely considered to be acutely vulnerable to the current energy price shock. The IMF expects UK growth this year to be slower and inflation higher than any other major advanced economy.

Worse still, the tax burden is projected to rise by more than anywhere else in the world during the remainder of this parliament, and that’s on the basis of what we already know about the Government’s plans. It is eminently possible to imagine further shock announcements to come. And yet public debt is still expected to swell to more than 100pc of GDP by 2029.

A rational person would have thought that somewhere in this developing financial Armageddon, the money might have been found to at least keep the military operational.

But no, social spending priorities continue to eclipse all else.

Resorting to accounting tricks only makes matters worse.

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History, Military, Politics, Second World War

Chamberlain had courage. Does Starmer?

POLITICAL HISTORY

Intro: Trump’s comparison between the pair misses the point. Despite what the critics say, whilst Chamberlain did make some grave errors he did have courage. What will Starmer’s legacy leave on the pages of history?  

Just a few days ago Donald Trump delighted in comparing our Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer, to Neville Chamberlain. Winston Churchill’s predecessor is blamed for the failed policy of trying to appease Hitler rather than confront German expansionism across Europe in the years before the Second World War.

Chamberlain is the most vilified of British prime ministers, “the guilty man” who, it is argued, failed to deter Hitler and left us almost defenceless when he resigned in May 1940.

Had Donald Trump studied history a little more carefully, he would not have made the comparison, however. Far from failing in his duties, Chamberlain was the author of the rearmament policy from the mid-1930s that made it possible for Britain to stand firm in 1940.

To compare our current prime minister to him does a grave disservice to Chamberlain, while some might say it greatly inflates Starmer’s political courage and grasp of strategy, neither of which is in evidence in his policies or speeches. Despite frequent public denigration today, Chamberlain’s reputation among historians is higher than might be expected.

As Chancellor from 1931-1937, and then as Prime Minister, he stuck to a double strategy: try to ease tensions with Germany through diplomacy, while at the same time rearming. Rearmament would not only prepare Britain for any future conflict, but would also deter German aggression by showing that we had the means and commitment to fight.

No one looking at Britain today, with its naval ships and fleet under constant repair, its tanks numbering at only a few dozen, and its Army unable to field anything larger than a brigade – about 5,000 men – for about a month of fighting, would be deterred by the readiness of our Armed Forces.

Chamberlain was the principal author of defence plans from 1936 that committed £1.5bn – then a vast sum – over five years to rearmament. He recognised that Britain’s defence would depend on airpower and set a target of nearly 2,000 front-line planes for the RAF. Were it not for this far-sightedness we would not have had the Spitfire and Hurricane and would likely have been invaded in 1940. New warships were commissioned for the Navy; older ships were modernised.

After Hitler’s invasion of the Czech provinces of Moravia and Bohemia in March 1939, this programme was rapidly accelerated. The Ministry of Supply was established to oversee the production of military equipment, and peacetime conscription began. The Territorial Army was doubled in size. Just as war began in September 1939, the famous chain of radar stations around Britain’s coastline became operational.

Revealingly, Chamberlain had been attacked during the 1935 election campaign by the deputy leader of the Labour Party, Arthur Greenwood, for the “disgraceful” suggestion “that more millions of money needed to be spent on armaments”.

Chamberlain understood something else about war readiness: the need for strong finances. Any war would likely be a long one, and a strong economy with reserves to spend would play a vital part in any struggle. He planned for what is now called headroom, fiscal surpluses that could be used in time of national emergency. In 1937, he put up income tax to 5s in the pound.

Today, our peacetime taxes are at the highest levels since the end of the Second World War and yet we have no headroom at all. Everything points to cuts in expenditure, above all to pay for a ballooning welfare bill. Starmer, though, does not have the courage or political capital to tell his backbenchers, as the former Labour prime minister, Jim Callaghan, told the Labour Party conference during the 1976 International Monetary Fund (IMF) crisis, “the party’s over”: the spending on benefits has to stop.

Chamberlain is rightly blamed and held accountable for giving Germany the Sudetenland, then part of Czechoslovakia, at the 1938 Munich Conference, and for taking Hitler at his word by believing his protestations of peace. These were crucial failures of judgment. Then, when war came and Britain’s position looked increasingly hopeless, Chamberlain lacked the resolve to fight.

It was in this context, in May 1940, that the Conservative MP Leo Amery, speaking in the House of Commons, and using words attributed to Oliver Cromwell, demanded of Chamberlain: “In the name of God, go!”. If the upcoming local elections in May don’t finish off Starmer, it is quite likely that someone will say these words to our current prime minister.

For military campaigners and those on the political right will surely argue it would be excellent if Starmer could behave with Churchillian resilience and bravery by living up to our responsibilities to NATO and the free world. Failing that, it would be enough if he could follow Chamberlain’s example and at least lay a basis for having a stronger military and economy that we now require.

If Starmer really did behave like Chamberlain he would leave a better legacy, and also do something that would save his future reputation among historians. Time is short and running out for Starmer politically, but he still has time to act.

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Arts, Books, Philosophy, Politics

Book Review: For the People

LITERARY REVIEW

Intro: Democracy is in crisis – no thanks to arrogant liberals like AC Grayling. From Brexit to religion, this pompous and insulting philosopher has made a career out of telling the public why they’re wrong. His latest polemic’s a case in point

AC Grayling, a former professor of philosophy at Birkbeck, University of London, is a warhorse of progressive liberalism. He has campaigned for many years in favour of human rights, drug legislation, voting reform, euthanasia, and against war crimes. He is staunchly anti-Brexit and a militant atheist.

Like many people, Grayling is unhappy with the state of the world. Everywhere he looks, there are perils: war, inequality, democratic backsliding, Donald Trump. Things just aren’t going as he would like with authoritarians on the march and liberals in retreat. “Humanity is still at an infantile stage,” he laments. No one respects university professors anymore.

His latest book, For the People, sees Grayling writing in defence of liberal democracy, and in defiance of Vladimir Putin, Chinese communism, and even the populace of Clacton-on-Sea.

His basic contention is that democracy is under threat around the world. It’s losing ground at home to a cocktail of indifference and hostility, and overseas to actual authoritarianism. There are four basic issues: democracy is bleeding moral authority among its own citizens (by repeatedly disappointing voters); it’s too hospitable to big business and oligarchy (allowing “big companies and wealthy individuals… to have a vote equal to millions of other people’s votes”); it’s confronted by the rise of authoritarians in China and Russia (who make it seem like a loser’s doctrine); and it’s assailed from within by a wilfully anti-democratic new kind of politics (“populism”, which floods the minds of voters with fear and propaganda). The reader is left to contemplate the possibility of “the end of the democratic moment in history”.

There’s nothing immediately objectionable here. Grayling is correct that global democracy is in retreat and decline, and correct that this should concern all of us – and deeply. His own remedies, however, have serious flaws. The most immediate is that the publication is incredibly boring. The vision of liberal democracy that Grayling proffers is colourless and tedious. His ideal seems both to involve interminably hard work – “The price of liberty is eternal engagement,” he pens in his best schoolmasterly voice – and narrow in what it offers us. If one describable vision of a democratic commons is that of a boisterous public square full of dissent and babble, For the People proposes something more like a seminar of legal academics to which the voting public have been grudgingly invited in a non-speaking capacity.

Not coincidentally, the same is true of Grayling’s style: figureless, monochrome, and almost baroque in its repetition. One of the book’s two (rather odd) appendices comprises a report from the human rights group Council of Europe on the threat posed by the far-Right that runs to nearly 40 pages. Readers who enjoy this kind of ponderous document will find themselves very much at home among Grayling’s prose.

This brings us to the second major problem with Grayling’s book. The thrust of his title promises to save democracy, but it is with liberalism that he is truly concerned. For Grayling, the two are all but congruent; liberal democracy, we are told, is “a pleonasm: the two words in the phrase are practically synonyms”. This view is by no means the self-evident one Grayling pretends it is. There have been liberal states which were not really democracies – Britain before the Great Reform Act, for instance – and contemporary scholars often describe the rise of figures such as Trump as marking an abandonment of liberal norms via democratic mechanisms.

– Grayling argues that the current political systems in many Western nations have been hallowed out, leaving them vulnerable to populism, elite capture, and the ‘tyranny of the majority’

Where this book goes really off the rails, however, is in its insistence that rule of law, and thus liberalism, essentially exists on a higher plane than that of mere politics. The rule of law, for Grayling, is the “ethical” aspect of the state: it gives character to politics (voting, lawmaking), rather than politics giving character to law. What this means is not just that political actors shouldn’t break the law, but that the basic shape of that law is sacrosanct (and is not to be changed even by majority will). To make such a change, Grayling thinks, would be to fall for the “majoritarian fallacy”. It would injure both the minority who disagree and the majority who want the change; the law is what’s best for everyone, whether they like it or not.

There are shades here of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s concept of the “general will”, described in The Social Contract of 1762. Rousseau’s general will is not the majority view of a state’s citizens; it is “not so much the number of voices, as it is the common interest which unites them”. If an individual has “a particular will contrary to or different from the general will”, Rousseau writes, the latter will overrule the former: “He will be forced to be free.”

Grayling makes much of this “common” or “best” interest, in contrast to majority opinion, by which he means the interests of those he considers stupid. “Too many,” he writes, “have a vote that can be manipulated by orchestrated misinformation and misdirection to make choices that are not in their best interests.” The public, alas, are still in that “infantile stage”. Grayling is no doubt thinking here of the Brexit referendum, the outcome of which he bitterly opposed and continues to insist should have been ignored. Yet, he campaigned enthusiastically for a “People’s Vote”, and presumably would have accepted any majority opting to rejoin the EU. The intellectual arrogance of this is ludicrous.

And it is here we have the third and greatest problem with Grayling’s position. Only a very strange form of democracy would insist that it can tell you your business, or that your own sense of your interests is wrong. When we read, then, that “the purpose of democratic government is to serve the best interests of all”, it sounds pleasant enough, until you ask the author: who will decide what my interests are? Grayling’s answer to this question is simple: AC Grayling. “The interests of the people are not hard to identify,” he declaims. But here’s the thing: they are. This is why politics exists.

At the same time, Grayling is suspiciously vague as to how your “best interests” and mine become known. There’s an appeal to JS Mill’s “harm principle” hidden away in an endnote, and a suggestion that Britain, just like Bhutan, should replace GDP with GNH (Gross National Happiness) when assessing social wellbeing; both actions suggest some utilitarian arithmetic. Suffice to say that this is not a new debate. Moral philosophers have for centuries sustained an endless back-and-forth argument about utilitarianism, the “hedonic calculus” – Jeremy Bentham’s 18th-century formula for working out how much happiness an action creates – and the plausibility of gauging happiness at the collective level and whether that is possible at all.

Grayling has an utterly blasé indifference to the fact that, for most people, most of the time, their “best interests” are not their only ones. They might not even be that important. Interests in love, in adventure, in faith, in simple curiosity: these may not reliably make us happy, but they’re central to the creatures we are. For the People dissolves this vitality into a tepid brew of committee-approved “best interests”, a safetyism of the soul. Grayling’s democracy is relentlessly boring. It lacks imagination.

Of course, liberal democracy needs defenders; but it needs better defenders than this. Grayling’s world would be a drab, antiseptic thing, where everyone gets just what the doctor ordered and your freedom would be so perfectly calibrated that you couldn’t really do anything with it. There’s no place here for despair or desire, for rebellion, ambivalence, or intrigue. Those things aren’t good for you, and Grayling has told you so. But what if the people want something else? Maybe some people just don’t want to be happy.

– For the People is published by Oneworld, 288pp

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