A Regulating for Growth Bill – a slogan up there with copulating for virginity and drinking for sobriety…
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A Regulating for Growth Bill – a slogan up there with copulating for virginity and drinking for sobriety… The paper’s authors are too diplomatic to say it directly, but the implication is clear: Rachel Reeves is pursuing a policy that risks making the crisis she fears more likely, not less. Markets have noticed. Long-dated gilt yields have been rising for most of 2025 even as the Bank of England has been cutting interest rates, a dissociation that signals precisely the kind of underlying distrust the paper warns about. The question the paper ultimately poses is not an economic one. It is a political one. These reforms, the civil service reductions, the welfare tightening, the Bank of England adjustments, the net zero rephrasing, are all achievable. They were, in many cases, the settled common ground of British economic management not long ago. The question is whether any government has the nerve to implement them before a crisis compels it, or whether, as the authors quietly and rather despairingly note, “even among policy experts there is growing recognition that much of what needs to be done will not be attempted until a crisis compels it.“ That sentence should haunt anyone who reads it. Because what it describes is not a failure of economics. It is a failure of political will. And in a democracy that has spent six years lurching from one emergency to another, we should not be sanguine that the compulsion will arrive in time, or in a form we would choose. Break the glass now, or wait for someone else to break it for you. That is the choice. And this paper, to its credit, has at least had the honesty to say so. – Gawain Towler, discussing In case of emergency, break glass by The Centre for a Better Britain There is, however, a still more fundamental cause, one I have not ceased to articulate: our managerial system of government is breaking down under the weight of a welfare state we cannot afford and which fails to meet expectations. Promises made to successive generations cannot be met from our productive output. The gap has been filled by debt and by the systematic debasement of the currency since Nixon closed the gold window in 1971. In the nineteenth century, a pound in 1900 bought roughly as much as a pound in 1800. Since 1971, the purchasing power of money has collapsed. That is not a coincidence. That is policy. I put this thesis to Rishi Sunak in a private meeting. He readily agreed I was right. The room of some thirty MPs looked crestfallen, until someone said, “But we can’t do anything about it before the election” whereupon everyone relaxed and reverted to type. That moment encapsulates our problem precisely. Liz Truss understood the fiscal reality and tried to act on it. She was also, simultaneously, spending enormous sums on an energy bailout. The bond markets noted the contradiction and drew their own conclusions. She was unlucky with undiagnosed structural problems in bond markets while caught between two incompatible imperatives. Her underlying diagnosis was not wrong. It turns out reality is not optional. You can ignore it, but you cannot ignore the consequences of ignoring it. Rachel Reeves and the whole nation are discovering this now, after the Chancellor brought welfare cuts to MPs who told their constituents for years that austerity is a choice and said, “No thank you!” Starmer’s current crisis sits at this junction: a government elected on the promise that “change” would be painless, running head‑first into the arithmetic they declined to discuss. The above Acts and the provisions within them are used to arrest and prosecute people for various speech- and communication-related offences. Because the above legislation is vague, subjective, and (with the exception of the Online Safety Act 2023) drafted in an era before the internet existed or was widely used, these Acts are prime examples of bad law, even outside of the political issues we might take with them. This gives the police and judiciary the power to decide which ‘offences’ are selectively enforced, and, in the case of the Public Order Act 1986, even gives this power to the government itself (as deployed by Keir Starmer after Southport). Some will try to argue that, because the United Kingdom is a signatory to the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR), and incorporates this into domestic law via the Human Rights Act 1998, free speech is protected. Unfortunately, this is false. Article 10 of the ECHR states the following:
However, this is a qualified right, and is subject to national restrictions and limitations, as laid out in domestic law:
It is this qualification that gives the police and judiciary, using the above Acts of Parliament, the ability to restrict and criminalise certain forms of speech, communication, and expression. The free speech protections under Article 10 of the ECHR are nowhere near as stringent or comprehensive as something like the First Amendment of the United States Constitution, which reads much more broadly and has been vigorously defended by the US Supreme Court:
But the new military Keynesianism is based on a delusion. It refuses to confront the fact that defence spending is, in strictly economic terms, one of the very worst ways to promote broad industrial rejuvenation. The growth multipliers are weak and the long-term productivity gains are non-existent. Unlike, say, investment in large-scale capital projects, building things, creating new fixed assets in energy, transport or digital infrastructure, there’s little diffusion of defence spending through the wider economy. While the construction of new roads, power stations or tram networks might provide decades of cheaper inputs, rearmament has a severe opportunity cost. An arms factory might create demand for steel and provide jobs for workers in much the same way as a high-speed rail link — but the former produces few positive spillovers, while the latter can regenerate whole regions. Rather than building the lifeblood of work, jobs and economic activity for the next century, in short, this khaki-clad Keynesianism sacrifices domestic prosperity for a real or perceived threat from without, or else because of an illusory attachment to the idea of Britain as a “global player”. In truth, building and maintaining a world-class military exists downstream of a serious level of industrial capacity that Britain now sorely lacks. In the days of Bevin and Glubb, Britain built over half the world’s exported cars. Today it’s around 4%. In the aftermath of the Second World War, the UK was second only to the US in its steel production. Today, it manufactures less than Iran and Brazil, not enough to satisfy even half our own national demand. For all Labour’s rhetoric about a manufacturing renaissance, we simply don’t have the basic foundations of a durable industrial ecosystem: steel production; petrochemicals; plastics and advanced materials; energy independence and abundance; and a self-reliant productive base that isn’t subject to the whims of international oil shocks or geopolitical wrangling. – Jonny Ball writing What the Anglo-Gaullists get wrong The shape of England’s local government this morning is one that neither of the governing parties of the previous century would recognise. Reform controls councils across a geography that would have seemed fantastical three years ago: the coalfields of Yorkshire and the North East; the post-industrial heartlands of the West Midlands; the prosperous Essex commuter belt; a London borough; the county halls of ancient Conservative shires. The party that did not exist at a local level in 2022 is now the second largest force in English local government. Labour has lost control of towns it has governed since the age of Harold Wilson. The Conservatives have lost county councils they held through Thatcher and Major and every convulsion since. Both parties are being eliminated simultaneously, Labour in the post-industrial north and midlands, Conservatives in the shires, by the same insurgency operating through different electoral vintages in different places. The political establishment consoled itself after 2025 with explanations about protest votes and mid-term difficulty and the challenges of governing. Those explanations have not survived 2026. The protest vote does not win fifty-eight of seventy-five seats in Sunderland. The mid-term difficult does not take Wakefield from a party that held it for half a century. Something more fundamental has changed, and the thirds system means that those councils still holding on by accumulated history will find out, in twelve months, what Wakefield found out on Thursday. The tide is still rising. The next wave is already dated.
The simple fact is that the Ofcom Fees Duties are expressed to be binding, they are a functional burden on American speech, and they are imposed for the purpose of funding an official censor. The Ofcom Fees Duties are a British censorship tax on American speech, no matter what language Ofcom chooses to dress it up in. In the United States, those are unconstitutional. See Grosjean v. American Press Co. or Minneapolis Star v. Minnesota Commissioner of Revenue. The Britain of the mid-19th Century was the greatest civilisation that has ever existed. It had a mighty empire, a mighty navy, it had wiped out the slave trade and it was at the forefront of the Industrian Revolution, the greatest improvement in living standards in history. And now, as I write, it is hanging on by a thread: divided, debt-ridden and weak. So, where did it all go wrong? Here – in reverse chronological order – is my list of the key dates: 2008. Reaction to the Financial Crisis. 1997. Opening the borders. 1987. Leaving the NHS untouched. 1969. Failure to defeat the IRA. 1965. Race Relations Act. 1964. Abolition of the Death Penalty. 1963. Robbins Committee. c.1948. Ending of the right to defend oneself with a firearm. 1948. Nationalisation of rail. 1947. Town & Country Planning Act. 1931. Abandoning the Gold Standard. 1920s. Abolition of the Poor Law. 1922. Creation of the BBC. 1920. Beginning of the War on Drugs. 1918. Universal Adult Male Franchise. 1910. People’s Budget et al. 1910. Payment of MPs. 1906. Taff Vale Judgement. 1890s. Death Duties. 1875. Trade Union Act. 1870. Forster Act. 1845. Banking Act. Anything I’ve missed?
I thought that this apparently minor news story from the Telegraph, the comment made by someone called Bernie@Artemisfornow while linking to the story on Twitter, and the reply to that comment with an apt quote by Alexis de Tocqueville were all worth highlighting. In case the screenshot goes away, the Telegraph story has the headline “Volunteer banned from cleaning graves over ‘health and safety’ fears” and the standfirst “Ben McGregor says South Tyneside authority has threatened him with legal action, despite praise from families“. It continues,
To which Bernie@Artemisfornow replied,
and TurnedFourthing @turnedfourthing in turn replied,
There is a ritual as old as democracy itself, and it has nothing to do with voting. It takes place in the days before polling, in the offices of think tanks, the studios of broadcasters, and the columns of political magazines. It is the ancient art of expectation management — the careful calibration of what counts as success and failure, conducted not in the interests of accuracy but of narrative. This week, with the May 7th elections bearing down upon us, we have been treated to a masterclass of the genre. Peter Kellner, former president of YouGov and a man whose estimable intelligence I have no interest in disputing, has published a guide to the upcoming elections in Prospect. It is admirably readable and contains much of interest. But embedded within it is a paragraph about Reform that repays close attention, because it illustrates with almost pedagogical clarity how the expectation game is played. Kellner deploys the Rallings and Thrasher model to suggest that if Reform win 1,400 seats, they will be “sunk in gloom,” and that anything short of 2,000 should indicate that they are “slipping back.” He frames sub-2,000 as the threshold of adequacy. The implication is clear: a party that currently holds two councillors among the seats being contested should apparently consider 1,400 gains a cause for institutional mourning. Only? Let me be direct: I would be happy with 1,000 seats. I would be delighted with anything north of 1,200. And I say this not from false modesty but from an honest reading of the data, weeks of campaigning on the ground, the political landscape, my own politically pessimistic nature, and, perhaps most importantly, from a sceptical eye on the baseline figure Kellner has chosen to make his arithmetic work. Read the whole thing. |
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