Of Fictions and Factions

The media response to Andy Burnham's first week as Prime Minister has been both positive and sniffy. His communication skills have drawn praise, though doing a better job than Keir Starmer in this regard is just walking and chewing gum at the same time, to coin a phrase. His early announcements around the cost-of-living have been eye-catching but also small-beer in the grand fiscal scheme of things, while his willingness to start disappointing the left over defence spending and support for America's wars has brought a warm glow of contentment to Atlanticists everywhere. The Financial Times delivered a typical school report: "But so far, the parts of Burnhamonomics that are bold are not concrete, and those that are concrete are not bold." Meanwhile, the Grand Panjandrum of centrist opinion, Andrew Rawnsley, was prepared to be indulgent: "If the aim was to get off to a positive start, before pivoting away from sticking plasters and towards fixing the underlying problems, then perhaps some sketchy short-termist policies with sketchy funding is a price worth paying."

The most interesting response has focused on the reaction of those members of the Starmer cabinet who were promptly relieved of their duties on Monday. By Tuesday, Peter Walker in the Guardian reported that "Allies of Keir Starmer have questioned Andy Burnham’s pledge to end factional infighting after he removed or demoted more than half of the outgoing prime minister’s cabinet in his first reshuffle." The jarring detail here is the suggestion that Starmer had allies, as opposed to the contingent support of career opportunists. The man was promoted as a clean-skin who could gull the membership, but that just made him a willing (if ignorant) tool, not the intellectual pole around which a party tendency would coalesce. By Wednesday, this freshly-conjured grouping was being described by an unnamed Labour MP in a Politics Home report as "an incredibly powerful phalanx of skilled political operators who intimately know the government’s fiscal position", which sounded both delusional and threatening

Thursday was relatively quiet on the faction fabrication front but by Friday the Guardian had decided to go all in on the call-to-arms. According to Kiran Stacey, "Keir Starmer’s leaving party had been planned for some time. But in years to come it might be seen as the birth of a new Labour movement." By Sunday, Andrew Rawnsley had got with the programme: "Having previously said that he wanted to “move beyond” the “infighting” and “factionalism” that has “bedevilled us”, he sacked 11 cabinet ministers, many of whose common offence was declining to call for Sir Keir to quit. He then carried out a purge of Starmer loyalists in the junior ministerial ranks." Stacey's explanation for this sudden emergence was not the petulance and sense of entitlement of the likes of Darren Jones and Steve Reed but Starmer's own curious path to power: "One of Starmer’s biggest problems in government was that he did not have an identifiable faction of people who were willing to defend him at all costs – a symptom of both his late entry into politics and of his relative lack of ideology."

Given the ruthless purge conducted against the left of the party, the idea that Starmer lacked ideology or factional muscle is ridiculous, and that's before you consider his record in office, from unnecessarily persisting with austerity to backing Israel's "right" to murder civilians. For the last two years you would struggle to find anyone who would willingly identify as a "Starmerite", but now we are asked to believe that they are a disciplined army that could threaten a government majority of 158. The political press have a long tradition of inventing Labour factions, usually in order to isolate the socialist left - most notably the ever-useful and mutable "soft left", the Play-Doh of social democratic aspiration - but they've excelled themselves in conjuring a "movement" around the cypher of Keir Starmer and the totem of Rachel Reeves' fiscal rules. Stacey eventually concedes that this novel faction may only be the result of musical chairs: "But many of those whom Burnham sacked or demoted after entering office did have one thing in common: they were close to the former prime minister and had not called for him to resign."

Since Burnham won the Makerfield byelection, there has been a noticeable shift in the Guardian's use of the term "factionalism". During the Starmer era, it was rarely mentioned in the context of the expulsion of the left, despite that being a textbook factional operation that many participants were only to happy to brag about publicly, for example in Patrick Maguire and Gabriel Pogrund's tell-all book Get In. It is axiomatic to centrists that they are not factional, with the implications of blind loyalty and a refusal to face facts, while their critics are. Unsurprisingly, Rafael Behr now compares those disappointed opportunists with the "radical left", essentially to dismiss them as not serious people: "Labour’s radical left is always on a hair trigger, poised to denounce compromise as betrayal of socialist principle. Now there is also a small but aggrieved band of Starmer loyalists in exile poised to highlight (or relish) missteps and vulnerabilities." It's bad enough to lose your cabinet job, but to be expelled from the ranks of the sensible must really hurt.

The whining of Starmer's supposed "allies" is a return to the faux-factionalism of Blair/Brown, in which ideological congruity is obscured by personal hatred. The attempt to conjure the soft left as part of Ed Miliband's threat to market stability was shortlived, but you can expect that notional faction to reappear when the need once more arises. Andy Burnham was always going to get rid of the higher profile Starmer appointees to the cabinet, if only to emphasise that he was a new broom, so I don't think too much can be read into Reeves, Lammy, Reed, Kyle, Kendall, Hermer et al getting the elbow. None particularly distinguished themselves in office. Ed Miliband and Shabana Mahmood have offended many, at either end of the ideological spectrum, but they've also proved they can get stuff done, and Labour badly need tangible results by 2029. The same rationale explains why John Healey is now the latest Iron Chancellor: butter rations will be halved but we will definitely have more guns.

Insofar as the reshuffle advanced one faction over another, it was in the geographical rather than the ideological sense, with a noticeable shift to more Northern MPs in cabinet and particularly those from the North West. This is not just a symbolic attempt to push the narrative of devolution, reinforced by the launch of "Number 10 North" this week, but a reflection that Starmer was very reliant on a London core for his support, both in terms of MPs, party apparatchiks and the media. Whether this will impart a genuinely different flavour to the government is moot. It's notable that none of the MPs aligned with the Mainstream grouping, set up to counter the drift to the right under Starmer, got a sniff at a junior ministerial post. So far, Burnham does not look likely to diverge from the post-Thatcher consensus despite his early talk of an end to Neoliberalism and regrets over privatisation. A tilt towards Ordoliberalism, which historically valued devolution, seems more likely, which means there will be little challenge to property rights and little that is recognisably socialist.

In this context, the creation of factions serves to substitute court politics for the clash of interests that might have a more profound, and therefore destabilising, impact on policy. Though there have been the usual "warnings" from union leaders directed at Number 10, the discourse has barely featured the concerns of organised labour (outside of oil and gas jobs) any more than the particular concerns of civil society organisations. As usual, we've heard more from think-tanks than protest groups. Of course this is manna from heaven for political journalists and commentators, for whom ideology is a dirty word. Of the current political caucuses at Westminster, Blue Labour and the Labour Growth Group are likely to be absorbed into the main body of Burnham's support, while the soft left will remain quiescent. This leaves the for/against dichotomy familiar from the New Labour years but with those resentful of Burnham lacking any obvious champion, leading to the current absurdity of the Starmerite resistance. 

Looking back over the last 16 years, the PLP lacked the talent to succeed Blair and Brown, hence the Miliband(s) debacle and the runaway success of Corbyn. The result of that was the decision to import a leader from outside Westminster: first the unknown Starmer conning the membership; and then a recycled Burnham avoiding the need for an election through PLP discipline. What few are prepared to acknowledge is that this underlying dearth of talent, as much as the shenanigans, reflects the slow death of the Labour Party as an organic product of civil society, a process accelerated by the purge of the left. Burnham's municipalism (a more accurate label than Manchesterism) is a desperate attempt to reconnect with society through revitalised local government, even as it requires central government to mandate capped bus fares. The acid test will be council housebuilding. She wasn't central to the week's discourse, beyond ruling out rent controls, but the success of this government will probably now rest on the shoulders of Angela Rayner, the new Secretary of State for Housing, Communities and Local Government. She will no doubt shortly be awarded her own faction.

Burnhamesque

The symbolic moment of the handover of power between Keir Starmer and Andy Burnham this week was not the former's maudlin PMQs session but the leak that the latter is thinking of appointing Shabana Mahmood as Chancellor of the Exchequer. This may not actually come to pass, but what matters is the public emphasis placed on the need to keep the bond markets happy, and the private reassurance that it is the party right that remains firmly in charge, not the battalions of the soft left (once more conjured into existence by the media) massing behind "Red" Ed Miliband. Mahmood is not known for heterodox thinking on economics, while her stint as Shadow Financial Secretary to the Treasury lasted all of 4 months, ending when she resigned from the Shadow Cabinet the day after Jeremy Corbyn assumed the party leadership. It is that action that clearly commends her both to the PLP and to the media. 

In some ways it is remarkable that we have moved so quickly from the expectation that Andy Burnham would bring down the curtain on "40 years of Neoliberalism" (it was only in May) to a resigned acknowledgment that little will change. In June in The New Stateman, Michael Jacobs commended the sentiment but worried that Burnham might be fighting the last war, while Karel Williams and David Edgerton characterised the coming administration as likely to be "more of the same, with added vibes", a theme promptly picked up by Owen Jones in the Guardian as part of the campaign to get Miliband promoted. Since then, Burnham appears to have been speed-running Starmer's trajectory, caveating previous statements and rowing back on his assumed intentions, albeit having had the sense to not put much in writing. He is obviously not a man of cast-iron pledges but of cheery vibes, and that will probably help avoid repeating those tricky situations where a shifty Starmer was confronted with his bald lies. So far, Burnham has disappointed the left on Gaza and defence, and shows every sign of intending to disappoint them elsewhere too. 

Central to cartel politics is the idea of the markeplace of ideas, in which policy entrepreneurs compete to attract the admiring gaze of the political class in a sort of intellectual beauty contest conducted through the medium of slide-decks and chunky PDFs - i.e. in the manner of a business pitch. The ideological frame is clear enough, but so is the idea that politicians themselves have no fixed beliefs and are merely pragmatists interested in "what works". Burnham's victory in the Makerfield by-election prompted a rash of ideas that quickly coalesced under the title of Manchesterism. Matthew Lawrence and Alex Williams' paper on The Productive State, subtitled "A Framework for Manchesterism", is perhaps the most substantial offering to date, largely because it has been long-gestated at the Common Wealth think tank (someone must have been very pleased with herself for coming up with that name). The problem is that these ideas have been knocking around among progressives for some years now but, outside of the Corbyn/McDonnell interregnum, there has been litlle interest in them from the Labour Party.

Chris Dillow made the point that while Lawrence and Williams recognise the central issue of power - "The fundamental problem is ownership, not conduct. It is impossible to regulate away a problem created by ownership" - they offer little in the way of practical advice on how power can be acquired beyond noting that "Postwar nationalisations used government debt as compensation" and that "compulsory acquisition would typically require compensation based on fair market value, and acquiring assets materially below prevailing market valuations would likely require primary legislation and could face legal challenge." Given that public utilities and the NHS have been systematically looted for decades now, we surely need to question whether we want to re-enact the prim and proper approach of the Attlee government. Instead, the advocates of nationalisation today have been at pains to emphasise this pragmatism. Thus Larry Elliott in The Guardian noted that "Compensation to the owners of the mines and the big four rail companies was actually quite generous, which is why the nationalisation programme was relatively trouble-free." No shit.

This timidity is the consequence of the marketplace of ideas as much as ancestor-worship: the elevation of theory over practice, unless the latter is in the form of "reforms" to existing services and regulations - i.e. within the boundaries of neoliberal practice. Nobody at Common Wealth or the Resolution Foundation is going to put up a slide saying we need a general strike, a mass boycott or a refusal to pay. Revolutionary methods cannot be expected from the "radical realists" of Labour's latest grouping, Mainstream (just typing these labels is depressing), any more than we can expect them to invoke democracy and the people except at the most abstract level, hence the popularity of the phrase "public control", which is less about masking the preference for regulation over ownership than making the public a mere fetish. The competition for Andy Burham's ear is about securing influence over the mechanisms of the centralised state. For this reason, we should be sceptical about the talk of devolution.

The Productive State came out in June. I doubt many people still have much hope for its recommendations to be taken up by the new administration, or even for many of them to make their way, however heavily diluted, into the manifesto for the next general election. The media have focused their attention on the promise/threat of a wealth tax, the "debates" over whether we should junk Net Zero and the ECHR, and the need for more crackdowns on immigration and welfare. This is not simply a case of media-owners pursuing their own interests in those areas but a conscious attempt to narrow the government's bandwith, by "flooding the zone with shit", such that more radical ideas will be squeezed out. The debate over who should be Chancellor has similarly been conducted as a distracting and tedious contest between "Chaos with Ed Miliband" and whichever Labour politician looks most likely to continue Rachel Reeves' good work and do nothing to frighten the horses.

By July, the progressive end of the media was focused on prodding Burnham to consider practical solutions, such as Larry Elliott urging him to mandate the Bank of England "to provide a flow of low-cost, patient capital needed to fund the reindustrialisation strategy", an idea that obviously isn't going to survive contact with Shabana Mahmood, while Andy Beckett was insisting that "Overcoming Britain’s aversion to fundamental reform is not impossible. In the last century, David Lloyd George, Clement Attlee and Margaret Thatcher managed it, for three very different governments in three very different contexts". What Beckett didn't note was that the political context that gave them the authority to make radical change was actually the same: the kudos arising from a successful war, but also the recognition that the decades prior to the conflict could not be returned to. Burnham has made that acknowledgment, but he doesn't have the goodwill engendered by wartime sacrifice and victory.

Meanwhile, the helpful suggestions continue to come in from outside government, from rationalising the tax code to devolving power and finance to the regions. But when we turn to the ideas emanating from within government, we find a call to stop "simply writing a cheque" for health and disability benefit claimants, which sound awfully like a return to workfare. The other symbolic moment of the week was the passage of the Hillsborough Law - the Public Office (Accountability) Bill - in the House of Commons after much foot-dragging by the government over the security services' duty of candour (a major issue in respect of the Manchester Arena bombing). Burnham has been a  sincere champion for this cause, at least since he was publicly booed at a memorial ceremony held at Anfield in 2009, but the long delay in the passage of the bill indicates the limits of state reform, as much as the resilience of the campaigners. Burnham claim that the bill is "truly a rewiring of the state" is hyperbole.

In summary, there is little reason to believe that Burnham will be the social democratic saviour of the country that some were pining for back in May, but his deft media footwork and his willingness to cast greater regulation, whether by Whitehall or local authorities, as populist activism may be enough to save the Labour Party from electoral oblivion. The creation of some new public corporations, an emphasis on the common good, and an unabashed promotion of the state as a regulator of markets, all intended to help alleviate the cost-of-living through an attack on rentierism and private monopolies, may be enough for many voters. The irony is that the man promising an end to Neoliberalism may turn out to be the first truly Ordoliberal Prime Minister of the UK.

You Have to Want to Change

The Global Justice Project is an initiative whose aim is "to stimulate research, policymaking, and citizen engagement to shape a fairer, more democratic and sustainable 21st century". Though a collective effort, the project has been closely identified in the media with Thomas Piketty, which has inevitably led to curt dismissal by those who either deny that wealth inequality has grown or that it is driving the erosion of democracy and the degradation of the planet, and have done so since the Frenchman published Capital in the Twenty First Century in 2013. While that mighty tome proposed a globally-coordinated wealth tax, the GJP proposes three key initiatives in line with its more holistic ambitions and the expertise of the collective: fast decarbonisation of energy systems; a shift away from overconsumption towards sufficiency, which would entail a sharp reduction in labour hours and the use of raw materials; and "a drastic reduction in inequality of income, wealth and power, between countries and within them." Parallel to this, leading progressive economists, including Piketty, have also signed up to a roadmap to "end poverty and inequalities on a liveable planet", as proposed by Olivier De Schutter, the former UN Special Rapporteur on extreme poverty and human rights.

Rather than getting into the detail of the proposals, what I'd like to consider is the political viability of such radical change and what that in turn might look like on a smaller, more domestic stage - i.e. the UK. Dan Neidle, the British tax lawyer who has become a media fixture since his retirement from Clifford Chance, largely by publishing opinion about the tax affairs of prominent individuals and shaking his head wearily at the government, dismissed the GJP, aka "Tomas Piketty and a large team", as "potty" (Noah Smith called it "total nonsense"). Neidle's central claim is that it would require "unprecedented global cooperation" and "a powerful and benign world authority", but that if such things were possible they would already exist and we would therefore already have solved the problems of decarbonisation, over-consumption and inequality. He describes this as a circular argument. In fact, what he is offering is a non sequitur. Bretton Woods (the WTO, the World Bank) was a system of "unprecedented global cooperation", but it did not raise up the developing world or restrain global warming. Equally, the US has long claimed to be "a powerful and benign world authority" (not least through the exorbitant privilege of the dollar), but sees fit to attack other countries, murder non-combatants and kidnap heads of state at will (that's just this year).

It is perfectly reasonable to be sceptical of the GJP's ambitions, particularly when you consider the track record of other attempts at global coordination of the economy and climate, such as GATT and COP. But those initiatives have run into the sand because there are competing interests between nations. The classic example is the desire of developing countries to catch up economically before the music stops and planetary constraints oblige us to move to a steady state or even degrowth. The GJP explicitly addresses this through wealth transfers (and does likewise for domestic inequality). Whether you think that is politically feasible is another matter. The point is that history is littered with examples of international wealth transfers, specifically in the form of colonial empire. What is being proposed now is a coordinated transfer of accumulated wealth (think of it as reparations plus) rather than genocide, slavery and coercive exploitation. Even on the more modest scale of regional cooperation, the flow of money between net contributors and net beneficiaries in the European Union over decades has shown that transfers are hardly Utopian. 

If we think the degree of international coordination needed to implement the GJP's proposals is unrealistic, perhaps we should return to the idea of "socialism in one country", specifically the UK. Might Andy Burnham's proposed break with "40 years of neoliberalism" offer a more realistic course towards a radical reimagining of our political economy? According to David Edgerton & Karel Williams, writing in the New Statesman, "What we have is more of the same, with added vibes, plus a reversal of policy in certain areas, at the limits of what Labour radicalism will permit. It represents something more like political rhetoric than political change: when Margaret Thatcher and Tony Blair are associated with the free market, competition and private finance, it is argued that a small reversal in policy will itself improve things." Again, the point to emphasise is not that reversing the Thatcherite/Blairite dispensation is too challenging to even consider, but that there is a lack of political will to do so. Burnham is currently making promises left right and centre to win election as an MP and potentially as Prime Minister, but he doesn't look like a man with a radical plan.

Edgerton and Williams see the foundational economy and universal basic services as the vector for more profound social and economic change: "Improving household liveability should be the focus of expenditure. This should include making essential market goods affordable, ensuring foundational services work and are accessible, and integrating policies around the goals of preventing social harm and promoting environmental responsibility and social solidarity. We need to think about expansion of domestic food production as well as reforming food distribution and consumption." They make good points, notably that radical change to our political economy must start from tax reform ("Our tax system remains stuck in the 1940s when PAYE was introduced to tax the individual male bread winner"), but I feel their focus on "the four market essentials – housing, utilities, energy and transport" misses that one of those, housing, is an 800-pound gorilla. There is also a wider problem here, which we see with mainstream commentators as well, which is to view measures to alleviate poverty in supply-side terms ("making essential market goods affordable"). 

The UK economy has proven highly vulnerable in recent years to fluctuations in energy prices, arguably more so than in the 1970s when oil-fuelled inflation triggered labour militancy to push up wages in response. Then it caused inflation, but that was more of an issue for rentiers than for working households. Today, there is no countervailing tendency to force wages to keep pace with rising household costs (despite the Bank of England's attempt to revive the bogey of the "wage-price spriral"), with the result that even relatively small increases in energy costs can trigger a cost-of-living crisis as they impact other essentials such as food and transport. But this lack of financial resilience isn't simply down to weaker trade unions but to the fact that housing costs take up so much of household income, and to the fact that the dynamic is for those costs to expand as much as possible. In other words, there is simply no slack in most household budgets. Reforming planning laws to encourage more housebuilding will not alleviate poverty so long as rents are set by the market, both because developers are incentivised to build higher value properties and because those regulatory reforms will make it easier to do so.

It would be nice to fix our sewers and reservoirs, and fully electrify our railways and modernise the NHS, but this requires a level of real resources significantly greater than can be produced domestically, essentially because of 40 years of deindustrialisation following Thatcher's misguided Monetarism and Blair's equally misguided belief in a financial services-led economy. We could import resources - steel, bricks, engineers - but this would require us to export an equivalent amount or risk a balance of payments crisis and inflation. So, if we have only limited real resources, what should we prioritise? I would suggest that we focus on social housing initially. Not only does this address a pressing need, but it also gives us the opportunity to materially affect household spending by deliberately lowering rents, a policy that would be extended to existing council houses and flats. You might argue that this will deprive hard-pressed councils of revenue, but there is a solution to that as well, which is to buy out private landlords (using central government money - essentially by issuing mortgage-backed securities) and so increase council stock and revenues (even if those previously private tenants see their rents reduced in line with council rents).

This looks like a subsidy, but in fact it is simply deferred income as the rent can be increased once the cost of other essentials come down. So long as the investment - i.e. the cost to build and maintain - is recouped over the useful life of the asset (hopefully many decades in the case of housing - most UK council houses are over 50 years old) the timing of payments is simply a matter of cashflow, and that really isn't an issue for a monetary sovereign. Just as welfare spending is an automatic stabilisier of aggregate demand in a recession, so we should flex rents to help social tenants meet spikes in the cost of basics. This is a more practical approach than capping utility bills or freezing grocery prices. That the cost of living debate has been limited to those proposals, and the predictably choleric response of market fundamentalists, tells you how wedded the media have become to the idea that the crisis is a supply-side issue rather than the consequence of inadequate demand, and specifically demand among low income families. It sometimes feels like no one at the BBC has ever heard of Keynes.

Lowering rents is functionally no different to lowering interest rates that feed through to lower monthly mortgage repayments. The difference comes down to who benefits: tenants or mortgage-holders. The state currently has limited control over interest rates, due to the self-denying ordinance that is the Bank of England's "independence", and apparently no control over gilt yields (though in reality these are tied to inflation expectations and thus other government decisions). But it has complete control, if it wishes to exercise it, over council houses and their rents. After all, without that control Right-to-Buy would never have got off the ground, and nor would the Thatcher government have been able to impose an effective moratorium on building replacements for the properties sold off. The learned helplessness of British politics means that we easily forget the power of the state to remake society, even when such changes have been made in recent memory. It is no surprise then that more ambitious changes, on a global scale, are met with derision. But we should always remember a simple truth, most recently stated by Simon Wren-Lewis: "levels of poverty and inequality are what political elites and their influencers want them to be". That we have a government elected on the promise of "change" that has decided to change little does not mean that change is impossible, but that change is simply not what the government and its primary backers want.

Arsenal Win League: A Nation Mourns

The response to Arsenal winning the Premier League for the first time in 22 years has been predictably partisan. To mangle Tolstoy's famous line about families, fans of the club have been happy in pretty much the same way while those unhappy about the outcome have exhibited a lot more variety in their discontent. While I am firmly in the former camp - generically relieved we got over the line and happy for the players, staff and fellow fans - it is the latter that are of real interest because the variety of their views tell us a lot more about the state of the game, and arguably the country. Arsenal have been accused of being boring, of being lucky with refereeing and VAR decisions, of time-wasting, of being too physical at corners and generally of taking it all too seriously, which is nothing if not ironic. They apparently stank out the Champions League Final in Budapest by stopping Paris St Germain from exhibiting the full range of their balletic skills. Mikel Arteta has personally killed the beautiful game, has despoiled the sanctity of the technical area and has generally been insufferable with his Lego hair and motivational gimmicks.

Hating Arsenal isn't new. The club's contested move from Woolwich to Islington in 1913 and its controversial promotion to Division One in 1919 at the expense of Tottenham Hotspur (among others), both engineered by Chairman Henry Norris, obviously explains the roots of their chief local rivalry. More interesting is how quickly Arsenal riled everybody else, first by spending big - they were known as the Bank of England club in the 1920s - and then by dominating the top division during the 1930s under Herbert Chapman with innovative tactics on the field and innovative marketing off it, notably renaming Gillespie Road Tube station. I'm not going to recap Arsenal's history from then till now, but suffice to say it went through many iterations and corresponding periods of fluctuating fortune. What was consistent was the club's willingness to reinvent itself stylistically, its faith in unconventional managers, and the premium it placed on coaching. Compare and contrast George Graham and Arsene Wenger's teams. Consider the promotion to manager of George Allison (a journalist) and Bertie Mee (a physio). Consider the crucial roles of Tom Whittaker and Don Howe.

Mikel Arteta is a typical Arsenal manager: unproven when hired, having a strong identification with the club's values (as he interprets them), and having a highly systematic approach, both on the pitch and off it. Nicolas Jover may be a figure of fun for many opposition fans and pundits, but that's because he has been unusually successful, not because other teams don't have set-piece coaches. Arsenal have just done many things better than other clubs, not only in the Premier League but in the Champions League as well. It's easy to forget after Saturday's final that not only did Arsenal win the league phase without dropping a point, but they didn't lose a knockout game in normal time: won 11, drew 4, lost 0. They scored 30 (an average of 2 a game) and conceded 7 (under 0.5). The final was obviously a contrast in styles of play, as expected, but it is silly to reduce this to the claim that only PSG wanted to play football - a tired old trope of unimaginative pundits - and that what Arsenal offered was somehow "anti-football". Arsenal were never going to try and emulate PSG's semi-fnal first leg against Bayern Munich, and neither were PSG.

What's interesting about criticisms of Arsenal is that they can easily accomodate variations in style, and have done from Chapman's day onwards. Thus late-era Wengerball could be praised for its beauty while the team was derided as lightweight and lacking courage on a wet winter night up against Stoke's muscular midfield (the clubs's long wait between titles was punctuated for many fans by a series of unpunished GBH assaults: Diaby, Eduardo, Ramsey). Bertie Mee's double-winning team might appear the antithesis of this, but they would also be condemned for their dour pragmatism, grinding out an FA Cup semi-final replay win against the artistry of Stoke. This is why the perennial criticism of the club oscillates between "boring" and "lucky": the one to describe a team that overpowers its oppponents, the other to describe a team that nicks a win. Both are really claims that Arsenal are somehow inauthentic, as is the "anti-football" trope, which ultimately goes back to that relocation north of the river. 

This concern over authenticity also explains the negative reaction of many to the sight of Arsenal fans flooding the streets around the Emirates Stadium on the night the title was clinched and Sunday's victory parade around Islington. What was made clear over the last fortinight was the enormous support that Arsenal enjoys not only across London but across the world. The club's history meant that it always retained strong support in South East London, which was reinforced down the years by the recruitment of players like David Rocastle (Lewisham) and Ian Wright (Brockley). It also became the favourite club of European refugees in the 1930s (it actually has more Jewish fans than Spurs), and of Irish and West Indian immigrants in the postwar years, which pushed its support out to West and South London. Arsenal's popularity also reflected its accessibility, both in the sense of the lack of intolerance towards minority fans and in its convenient location for two Tube lines (it was easier to get from Brixton to Highbury on public transport than it was to get to Stamford Bridge, even before the national Front started recruiting in the Shed End). Arsenal is the only truly pan-metropolitan club. 

Its periodic success and dramatic victories (the 1971 double, the 1989 win at Anfield etc) during the era of televised football meant it acquired fans across the country, while the global reach of the Premier League and Arsenal's particular popularity in francophone Africa during Wenger's tenure saw it become a truly global club, if some way behind the likes of Real Madrid and Barcelona, or even more parochially of Manchester United and Liverpool. Its pioneering support for the women's game also helped expand the fanbase in new directions. The point is not the number of "genuine" fans, assuming this can even be accurately gauged (proxies like social media followers or the number of "official" supporters clubs are unreliable), but the anger that Arsenal's diverse fanbase seems to elicit among the fans of other English clubs. This encompasses both ethnicity (which can easily slip into xenophobia and racism) and the idea that Arsenal attract a disproportionate number of middle class fans who adopted the club as a form of cultural capital after reading (or watching) Fever Pitch (think of the Roger Nouveau character in The Fast Show).

For many fans of the bigger English teams, this concern with authenticity is often an expression of anxiety about their own club in the era of foreign ownership and the "pricing-out of working-class fans": the number of "plastics" or "tourists" at Old Trafford and Anfield, the role of petro-dollars at Chelsea and Manchester City. Arsenal is a convenient outlet for this unease: the game is being destroyed by global forces so surely the most cosmopolitan club must take much of the blame. That its owners are now American plutocrats rather than the scions of old English banking families is seen as evidence of the club's loss of its soul, like its move from the marble halls of Highbury to the Emirates Stadium, even though the club in the wider social sense has never been simply a reflection of its owners or its location (again, see Norris and the move from Plumstead's Manor Ground), and even though other big clubs have seen even more dramatic changes in ownership and ground.

The stylistic criticism of Arsenal is tied up with the claim that the team will always fall short: that there is something missing because the club is inauthentic. Thus even the Invincibles failed to win the Champions League, while the 2006 vintage couldn't hold a lead against Barcelona when down to 10 men (had Arsenal grimly hung on and won the game, the criticism would have been both "boring" and "lucky"). Finishing second in the Premier League for three seasons running was put down to "bottling" rather than the vagaries of competition, still less the advantages enjoyed by a team led by Pep Guardiola, the most successful manager of the modern era in Europe. It has been amusing to see the Catalan, who was often dismissed as a "bald fraud" by the fans of Liverpool and Manchester United, now being eulogised by those same fans in his final season precisely because they hoped he would once more edge past a nervous Arsenal in the final stretch.

The tale of Arsenal's season is simply told. They won 29 points over the first 12 games, then 27 over the next 13 and 29 over the final 13. In other words, they were consistent. The final lap of 5 games saw Arsenal win all of them, while City could only manage 2 wins and 2 draws. But nobody is about to say that City bottled it. Arsenal finished 7 points ahead of City largely because Guardiola's team have been sub-par for two seasons now. They won with 91 points in 2024, beating Arsenal by 2, but then recorded 71 and 78 points in 2025 and 2026 respectively. Arguably, Arsenal should have won last season, and would have done had they repeated their 2023-24 performance. What cost them was drawing 14 games. In short, an Arsenal title win has been imminent for some time, both because of Manchester City's relative decline and because nobody else was coming through (Liverpool's troubles this season reinforce the point and it's likely that Manchester United won't get near the title until they replace their entire defence, no matter how many plaudits Bruno Fernandes wins).

Arsenal fans can look forward with confidence. Arsene Wenger was intermittently successful, but always against the odds: first the generational talent of Alex Ferguson and Manchester United's wealth; then Chelsea's new-found wealth and ruthlessness; finally the financial constraints of the new stadium debt. Arteta doesn't face similar headwinds domestically, at least not yet, which means the club can realistically plan for more success over the next 5 years. Likewise, what the European campaign showed was that Arsenal can compete at the very highest level and, with a bit of luck, may yet pick up the big-eared pot. For some pundits, this is as a good as it gets. As Jonathan Liew put it, "What if this is a club already operating at 105% of their capacity?", as if it was about to blow a gasket, a variation of the usual trope of Arsenal falling to pieces at the sharp end of the season. But if the response by the fanbase is any guide, it looks like Arsenal still have plenty of headroom for growth in popularity and therefore revenue and that, allied to a realistically ambitious ownership (Spurs and West Ham take note), means they haven't topped-out yet. And it is the fear of that possibility that informs the negativity of the football press and the angst of so many other English fans.

Decanting

The Daily Telegraph had a classic example of the self-refuting headline last week, "London’s social housing problem nobody dares discuss", in which Sebastian Milbank, who sounds like an Evelyn Waugh character, proceeded to discuss at length the problem of social housing in London. That problem was narrowly defined as "council flats are wasted on poor people" (I paraphrase). The article claims that the capital's economy is constrained not by high housing costs, or too much capital stuck unproductively in property, but by social housing not being on the market: "This massive stock of housing, built on the most valuable land in the country, is permanently off the market. You cannot buy or rent any of it, no matter how hard you work, and waiting lists can stretch over decades." I'm not sure if Seb understands that council tenants do indeed pay rent. Maybe he thinks a council flat is a handout. What irks him is the high number of economically inactive people, but there's also another, sadly predictable dimension to this: "Not only do most of those who live in London’s social housing not work, around half of the lead tenants are foreign born."

After the great success of Right-to-Buy, the Tories want to implement a policy of Obliged-to-Sell. This is a shift from the demand-side to the supply-side, so it chimes with the fans of "abundance" and thereby gains the support of liberals who believe the state should concentrate on infrastructure rather than on welfare. This includes the professional YIMBYs who are prominent on social media, though they prefer to talk about the "misallocation of resources" (i.e. the economically inactive taking up space that could house a thinktank drone) rather than about how many council tenants are migrants or disabled. There is also a tendency to forget that most of the economically inactive are retirees, who are disproportionately represented because they managed to get a tenancy in the 1970s before Right-to-Buy and the de facto moratorium on council house building kicked in during the 1980s. The focus on the inactive also means a lack of attention is paid to council tenants in work. This blindspot reflects that they are disproportionately unionised public sector employees, such as transport and NHS workers, and therefore the ideological enemy.

Over the last 40 years, following the postwar dip caused by decanting to the suburbs, the inner London population grew by over a million¹. This is still lower than the peak in the early 1900s, however that is the result of slum clearance and the reduction in density (i.e. overcrowding in those slums), which nobody is seriously proposing to reverse. Far from being an inhibitor of the economy, the growth in jobs has actually outpaced the growth in homes over the last 20 years. Ironically, this reflects increasing densities (the number of people per home), after a long period of falling densities, and an increasing rate of economic activity across the population. Housing is under stress in London but this is because of high demand and constrained supply, not because of the misallocation of resources to social housing or because of a high percentage of the economically inactive among social housing tenants.

Since Right-to-Buy ran out of steam around the millennium, council housing stock has remained fairly constant in absolute terms, but that means a relative contraction as a share of total stock due to the growth in the private rental sector, which in turn reflects the growth in the total population and in the number of jobs. This can be seen clearly in the chart below. What Mr Milbank is talking about is a fraction of housing stock that is ever less significant to the total. As the chart makes clear, that growth in population has been economically captured by the private rental sector. Home owners will have seen their property prices rise, but this is notional wealth that can only be realised by downsizing or moving out of London, and increasingly these are less favoured options because of the need to provide for children who could not get on the property ladder otherwise. In contrast, rents are current income and they have been rising faster than GDP growth, hence the popularity of Buy-to-Let.

That the growing unaffordability of London property has coincided with the growth of the private rental sector is not mere correlation. Why has the sector grown? Because rents have risen rapidly, so promising greater returns to investors. The growth in rents has proceeded even during the cost-of-living crisis because landlords correctly calculate that tenants will reduce discretionary expenditure, and even expenditure on other necessities, such as food and clothing, before they consider moving to a cheaper tenancy. This makes it very difficult for young people on entry-level wages to rent, while those who can just about afford it have low disposable incomes which lowers aggregate demand. The real issue in London is not council tenancies "wasting" a resource but high rents in the private sector. 

The flip-side of the proposal that London council properties be put on the market so that they are "allocated" to the more economically productive is the decanting of the less productive elsewhere. This has in fact been happening for years, since well before Boris Johnson, the then Mayor of London, insisted there would be no "Kosovo-style social cleansing" on his watch (there was). There is an army of  service staff who live in the cheaper suburbs and face long commutes to clean offices and wait on tables in Central London, who fifty years ago could have reasonably expected to get a council tenancy. Much the same story can be told of other European cities, such as Paris and Berlin, where gentrification has produced the distinctive "doughnut" of a denuded city centre. London is by no means the worst and its history of large council estates in the heart of the city has meant it remains socially mixed, even if those estates are increasingly neglected (Grenfell Tower) or sold off to private developers (the Heygate Estate).

The solution, pretty obviously, is to build more council houses for the general population instead of treating them as a reservation for the "economically inactive" (a crude misrepresentation as most council tenants are in work). The problem is that local authorities were first constrained from building new housing, and then encouraged to pursue public-private partnerships in which "affordable homes" would be delivered by property developers (they rarely were). Once the remaining constraints on council house building were removed, local authorities then found themselves starved of funding due to central government austerity. The predictable result was even more reliance on the private sector, both in terms of "estate regeneration", with its inevitable decanting out of London, and private landlords charging extortionate rents for people that the local authority had a statutory obligation to house. This latest Telegraph initiative, with its supporting cast of manic YIMBYs, is simply picking over the bones.

1. Charts from Housing in London 2025 and London’s housing stock - London Assembly Research Unit November 2024