Tim Bale, Queen Mary University of London
“It’s one thing to say the economy is not doing well and we’ve got a fiscal challenge … but cutting the benefits of the most vulnerable in our society who can’t work, to pay for that, is not going to work. And it’s not a Labour thing to do.”
So says former Labour big beast turned centrist-dad podcaster Ed Balls about the government’s welfare reform proposals. Cue furious nods from all those who were hoping and expecting better – or at least not this – from Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves.
Reactions like these are wholly understandable. After all, the Labour party has long viewed support for the welfare state as both a flag around which the party can rally, and a stick with which to beat the Conservatives.
But while that may have been the case in opposition, in office things have been a little more complicated.
Going all the way back to the MacDonald and Attlee governments, through the Wilson era, and into the Blair and Brown years, Labour governments have often seen fit to talk and act tough to prove to voters, the media and the markets that they have a head as well as a heart. And if that means upsetting some of their MPs, their grassroots members and their core supporters in the electorate, then so be it.
Want more politics coverage from academic experts? Every week, we bring you informed analysis of developments in government and fact check the claims being made.
Sign up for our weekly politics newsletter, delivered every Friday.
Welfare encompasses a raft of policies that are as much symbolic as they are substantive. Choosing between them has tangible implications for those directly affected. But those choices also say something – and are intended to say something – about those politicians and parties making that choice.
For Labour governments – and in particular Labour chancellors – cuts in provision, even (indeed perhaps especially) if they involve backtracking on previous commitments, have always been a means of communicating their determination to deal with the world as it supposedly is, not as some of their more radical colleagues would like it to be.
Think of Philip Snowden insisting on cuts to unemployment benefits in 1931 in an eventually vain attempt to retain the gold standard. Or Hugh Gaitskell insisting on charges for NHS “teeth and specs” to pay for the Korean war in 1951. Or Roy Jenkins reimposing NHS prescription charges in 1968 to calm the markets after devaluation. Or Dennis Healey committing to spending cuts to secure a loan from the IMF (and to save sterling again) in 1976. Or Gordon Brown insisting on cutting single parent benefits in 1997.
On every occasion, those decisions have provoked outrage: a full-scale split in the 1930s, the resignation of three ministers (including Harold Wilson and leftwing titan Nye Bevan) in the 50s, parliamentary rebellions and membership resignations in the 60s, more generalised despair in Labour and trade union ranks the 70s, and yet another Commons rebellion in the 90s.
But what we need to appreciate is that the fallout is never merely accidental. Rather, it is a vital part of the drama. For the measures to have any chance of convincing sceptical markets and media outlets (as well as, perhaps, ordinary voters) their authors have to be seen to be committing symbolic violence against their party’s own cherished principles.
The proof that sacred cows really are being sacrificed is the anger (ideally impotent anger) of those who cherish them most – Labour’s left wingers. Their reaction is not merely predictable (and expect, by the way, to see Labour’s right wingers employ that term pejoratively in the coming days), it is also functional.
The cruelty is the point
Away from the Labour party itself, both those directly affected by the changes to sickness and disability benefits and those who campaign on their behalf, are – rightly or wrongly – already labelling those changes as cruel. But, likewise (and to put it at its most extreme) the cruelty, to coin a phrase, is the point.
The government will naturally be hoping that, in reality, as few people as possible will be significantly hurt by what it is doing. But the impression that it is prepared to run that risk in pursuit of its wider aim is, in many ways, vital to its success.
As to what that wider aim is? Labour’s essential problem is that, for all its social democratic values, it understandably aspires to become the natural party of government in what is an overwhelmingly liberal capitalist political economy.
It has all too often sought to achieve that, not so much by creating expectations among certain key groups and then rewarding them, as it has by aiming to demonstrate a world-as-it-is governing competence.
That, in the view of its leaders (if not necessarily its followers), is the master key to the prolonged success experienced by the Conservative party – a party which has traditionally enjoyed the additional advantage of being culturally attuned to the market and media environment in which governing in the UK has to be done.
So, no, Ed Balls, you’re wrong: for good or ill, this week’s announcement is very much “a Labour thing to do”.
Tim Bale, Professor of Politics, Queen Mary University of London
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
[21/3/25 dizzy: I had better say that I disagree with “… what is an overwhelmingly liberal capitalist political economy”. It’s only that way because the left is denied opportunity. Consider Corbyn’s popularity for example and the many forces that attacked him.]
