12/06/13
"Perhaps now's not the best time to sell me fabric softener?"

Bounty’s end #bountymutiny

"Perhaps now's not the best time to sell me fabric softener?"

“Perhaps now’s not the best time to sell me fabric softener?”

If you’ve never had a baby in a British NHS hospital, you may never have encountered Bounty.  They are a marketing company that make their money by promising advertisers exclusive and privileged access to the lucrative market sector of parents of newborn babies.  They can make this promise because of a series of commercial deals, some first struck decades ago, with assorted NHS hospitals that allow Bounty reps access to maternity wards and ante-natal clinics, where they distribute their wares.  The Bounty pack is principally a bundle of waste paper.  It contains dozens of promotional leaflets for nappies, clothing, baby gadgets, books and toys, baby food, laundry detergent and the like, along with a few samples of some products.  Ours went straight  into the recycling; the samples went in the bin.  There is nothing in it that cannot be obtained via conventional marketing channels – like a website – but you have to go and look for them there, whereas Bounty place them, literally, in your lap.

I was pretty outraged about Bounty when I first encountered them five years ago.  You get your first Bounty pack weeks before your baby is born.  My wife was handed hers when she went for a routine check-up at hospital.  Presumably there was usually a Bounty rep skulking about, handing out their little bags of litter but perhaps, on this occasion, she was taking  a break.  In her absence, my wife was handed her Bounty pack by the midwife at the end of their appointment.  I was appalled at the abuse of trust involved in having a state-employed medical professional act as a vehicle for advertising.  (When I complained to the hospital about it – a large London hospital, not our local one in Devon where we now live – they flatly denied that their staff ever did this.)

When your baby is born and mum and child are recuperating in the maternity ward, the Bounty rep is there, ready to pounce.  They approach you outside visiting hours, when you don’t have the reassuring support of family and friends.  They offer to take (and then, of course, sell you) a photo of you with your newborn baby.  They now, apparently, also take your personal details to pass onto their commercial clients.  My wife had the presence of mind to tell the Bounty rep who approached her to get lost and, in fairness, the rep did so without protest.  Not all new mums would seem to have had this experience with Bounty.

According to Mumsnet, who are campaigning to end Bounty’s access to maternity wards, 56% of the parents they surveyed felt their privacy had been invaded by Bounty.  48% said they were not told that giving their details was voluntary and 60% said they were not told their details would be passed on to other companies.  29% felt pressurised into having their photo taken.  Most worringly of all, 17% claimed that they were told that they would not be able to claim Child Benefit if they didn’t give their details to Bounty.  An investigative piece by Amy Willis of The Daily Telegraph suggests that some Bounty reps have resorted to fairly deceptive and aggressive tactics when dealing with new mums.  The fact that Bounty reps work on a commission-only basis suggests to me that the company may, by incentivising reps only to make as many sales as possible, also be encouraging them to pay little heed to Bounty’s own Code of Conduct.

Even if Bounty succeeds in stamping out the dishonest practices of some of their reps, a maternity ward is not an appropriate  place for intrusive marketing.  New mums are vulnerable and it is precisely this vulnerability that Bounty exploit.  I’m not arguing that all new mums are fragile, delicate things incapable of thinking straight or defending themselves – that clearly isn’t true.  But, for a lot of mums, even the easiest labour is likely to find you physically and emotionally weakened.  If you are a parent for the first time, both during pregnancy and then after birth, you will naturally feel some anxiety about whether or not you are doing all the right things.  A new first-time mum, probably exhausted from labour, is likely to feel uncertain about her situation and surroundings.  She is, for hopefully only a short period, reliant on the guidance, support and assistance of others.  She will also feel highly protective, first and foremost of her baby, who will appear incredibly vulnerable to her, and also of herself.  She is forced into placing a colossal amount of trust in everyone around her: hospital staff, visitors and the others mums and their visitors, too.  She has to know that this trust is not misplaced.  All these things contribute to a sense of vulnerability.  In this intensely personal time, she needs privacy.

Hospitals know this.  Maternity units in NHS hospitals are secure places.  You can’t just walk in.  When I visited my wife and baby in hospital, I had to be buzzed in through a heavy, securely locked door only once I had identified myself and they had visually confirmed that I was who I said I was.  Newborn babies are immediately fitted with an electronic ankle bracelet that sets off an alarm if it is carried out of the ward.  The NHS understands the vital importance of new mums being able to feel safe and secure and being able to trust everyone around them – yet they allow Bounty reps in to abuse that trust.

There should be no doubt that the vulnerability of new mums is a key selling point for Bounty, and a fundamental aspect of its product offering to advertising clients.  I’m sure they don’t say as much to potential commercial clients, and they may not even be consciously aware of it themselves.  They’ll talk about their exclusivity of access and the ability of advertisers to reach their target audience in an environment otherwise uncluttered with competing marketing messages.  They will talk about the lack of wastage – the fact that only new mums see a Bounty rep, so companies are not spending money reaching people outside their target market.  But they and their clients are also reaping the commercial benefit of reaching people who are likely to be too vulnerable to resist them.  Having access to maternity wards – right up to your bedside – automatically makes a Bounty rep a ‘trusted person’.  No wonder so many mums let their guard down and believe that buying a photo or giving up their personal details is the right thing to do.  The hospital has let the rep in, so she must be trustworthy, right?  But it is trust misplaced.  It is trust to be exploited, not respected.  The Bounty rep has no interest in you or your child beyond your potential to be parted with your money.  She is not recommending products that she thinks would benefit you or your baby, she’s touting the ones she’s been paid to promote.  Taking advantage of your vulnerability is an essential aspect of Bounty’s service.

We have laws and regulations against advertising that targets vulnerable people.  This is because advertising is supposed to be about encouraging you to make informed, considered purchasing decisions.  When you are vulnerable, you may be more trusting, and so more credulous, than usual.  You may be less able to identify misleading information.  You may be less able to resist high pressure selling techniques (like being approached when you are in a hospital bed).  You may also be less able to make informed, considered choices.  You are more vulnerable to scams (in fairness to Bounty, nothing they do or advertise constitutes a scam) but also to buying products that are not right for you or that you don’t want and wouldn’t buy if you were not vulnerable.  If you are vulnerable, you may feel less able to say “no”.

We were lucky.  Aside from a minor complication that did cause us enormous worry for the first few days (that’s him in the picture, three days old), our baby was healthy, born at full-term, with a strong and savvy mother.  But even we valued enormously the safety, security and privacy of the maternity ward in the few days that my wife and child spent there.  Imagine the value you would place on those things if you were not so lucky and you were alone, upset, worried, exhausted or ill.  You would be truly vulnerable, and a pushy sales rep with a camera is the last person you should have to deal with.

Even if you had a scrupulously honest and decent Bounty rep (as I’m sure most of them are) there is no place for them in a hospital maternity ward where privacy and trust should be of paramount importance.

Four-and-a-half years after my son was born, I’m delighted that Mumsnet has launched its campaign to shut Bounty out of maternity wards.  Though normally scathingly dismissive of online petitions and ‘slacktivism’, I might even sign I have signed this one.  I hope it succeeds.

Correction:  The original version of this blogpost said that Bounty’s access to maternity wards was due to a deal done with the NHS.  In fact, the payment-for-access arrangements are negotiated with each hospital individually.  This has now been corrected.

Amendment:  Since first writing this blogpost, I became aware of Amy Willis’ article in the Telegraph and references to this article have subsequently been included.

20/05/13
Photo credit: Jonathan Willson, via Flickr

Dear MPs: Do something right (again) today (and tomorrow)

Photo credit: Jonathan Willson, via Flickr

Photo credit: Jonathan Willson, via Flickr

Another day, another Parliamentary vote on marriage equality.

I’ve blogged before about the principled reasons why MPs should vote for marriage equality; why it’s consistent with the Christian and conservative principles of universal love and individual freedom that its opponents are supposed to believe in; and why the objections to it are logical nonsense.  This time, I want to talk more about history and politics.

Same-sex marriages were outlawed by the Matrimonial Causes Act of 1973.  I didn’t realise this myself until today – Peter Tatchell discusses it in this Guardian opinion piece.  In 1973, I was one year old; David Cameron was 7.  It was an Act  passed by our parents’ and grandparents’ generation.  That generation is – I believe and hope – the last that will consider being openly homophobic to be politically and socially acceptable.  Today, the fact that, if you are not yourself gay, you may have work colleagues, close friends, relatives or children who are gay is commonplace and unremarkable.  The irrational denial of rights to themselves and to people they know and love is unconscionable to a clear majority of those under 50.  Just since the last Commons vote in February, equal marriage laws have been passed in Brazil, France, Uruguay, New Zealand, Minnesota, Rhode Island and Delaware as well as various smaller jurisdictions around the world.  Not only is marriage equality in the UK inevitable, we are surely not far from a time when the idea of prohibiting same-sex marriage is as abhorrent as a proposal to ban inter-racial marriage would be today.

Any organisation whose core support comes from older demographics will be aware of how limiting that is to their long-term future.  Both the British Conservative Party and the Church of England face a long-term decline in membership due to the mortality of their aging supporters.  The only way any organisation can attract younger members is to appeal to their values, and to include rather than exclude.

The Church of England seems determined to accelerate its own demise.  It appears committed to making homophobia its defining article of faith.  Apparently believing that the ‘gay rights agenda’ is a core aspect of secular Britain’s supposed ‘war’ on faith, the Church has resolved to defend any and all acts of discrimination.  They seem to want being Christian to come with the automatic presumption of homophobia – for “I believe in Jesus Christ, therefore I am against gay marriage” to be the default logic.  How many young Christians – the potential congregants, vicars and Church leaders on whom the Church’s future relies – must be re-considering their support for a church that they perceive to be so unloving and ungenerous?  How many young people who are gay or have gay friends or family will look at the Church of England and conclude that Christianity and homophobia are intrinsically intertwined, and so recoil equally from both?

A similar dilemma faces the Conservatives.  The issue is not that a majority of people in this country now support allowing same-sex marriage – 54% against 37% opposed in a recent YouGov poll, 62% in an ICM poll last December.  It’s not about the relative importance of the issue currently to voters (YouGov’s Peter Kellner points out that it isn’t a very high priority, even to equal marriage supporters).  It’s about the perception of a party’s cultural values to young people.  The arguments against marriage equality being put by Tory backbenchers are so weak it is hard not to characterise them as very thinly disguised bigotry.  Bigotry does not go down well, even among right-wing voters.  (There’s a reason UKIP expends so much effort trying to convince us that it is a “non-racist” party.)  David Cameron knows that the long-term future of the Conservatives is secured by persuading voters – younger voters in particular – that the Tories are no longer the ‘nasty party’.  There is a clear strategic benefit in portraying the party as no longer full of narrow-minded dinosaurs, but a modern party with modern social values.  There’s an obvious advantage to being remembered as the party that advanced civil rights and individual liberty rather than the party that, alone and in the face of certain defeat, chose to block that advance.

Tory opponents of gay marriage accuse David Cameron of trying to destroy the party.  In fact, he’s trying to save it – from itself, as it turns out.  There will be a time, not so long in the future, when the right-wing populist party of the moment will be at pains to tell you that it is a “non-homophobic” party, so as to distinguish itself from the lunatic extremists that might otherwise attract the swivel-eyed attention of the disaffected.  If the equal marriage bill fails now, the next Labour government will pick it up and pass it, over the continued opposition of Tory backbenchers, and Labour will get all the glory while the Tories look out of touch.  In a democracy, political parties are rarely destroyed by holding majority opinions.

I am neither an Anglican nor a Tory, so the demise of either institution would not trouble me.  What baffles me is the perversity of their rush to self-destruct.  You expect politicians to be motivated by either moral decency or self-interest.  To have no regard for either is truly baffling.

I’m reminded of a quote from The West Wing (with apologies to anyone unfamiliar with that show).  Josh Lyman is trying to persuade Vice President John Hoynes to support the President on an issue.  ”You’ve had some experience battling Jed Bartlet when he’s right and you’ve had some experience battling him when he’s popular,” Lyman reminds Hoynes.  ”Why in the world would you want to try it when he’s both at the same time?”  Marriage equality is both right and popular.  Why in the world would a party that wants to govern oppose it?

24/04/13
Photo credit: Andrew Crump, via Flickr

A Miller’s tale

Photo credit: Andrew Crump, via Flickr

Photo credit: Andrew Crump, via Flickr

“Accusations that this government neither likes nor supports the arts are disingenuous in the extreme,” Britain’s Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport, Maria Miller, reportedly wrote in the Evening Standard last November.  She has a funny way of showing it.  The BBC reports that Ms Miller today gave a speech at the British Museum where she describes “British culture” as “the most powerful and compelling product we have available to us” and “British culture and creativity” as “a commodity worth buying into” [emphasis added].  This is typical modern Conservative thinking – a thing only has value if you can put a price on it and sell it.  I think it completely misunderstands the value of culture.

I’m not some wide-eyed purist who thinks that art and culture exist in perfect isolation from economic reality.  Nor would I argue that economic considerations have no place in the creative world.  Artists have to live and pay the bills like everyone else.  The commercial success of a creative work can be an informative proxy for its impact, which often contributes to its cultural importance.  Would Gone with the Wind, say, or Catcher in the Rye be considered as culturally significant as they are if they had proved incapable of finding a paying audience?  Perhaps not.  Then again, plenty of creative works have made lots of money - Fifty Shades of Grey or anything ever produced by One Direction – that I suspect will have no lasting cultural impact at all.

My point is this: cultural value does exist separately and distinctly from economic value, and its value to us – to society and to government – is in danger of being greatly underestimated.

Our culture is what defines us, as a nation and as a society, to others and to ourselves.  Britain (well, England at least) is the land of Shakespeare and Austen, of Dickens and the Brontës, of Elgar and the Beatles, of the Sex Pistols and Danny Boyle, of Monty Python and Doctor Who.  Economically, on the other hand, it is the land of Vodafone shops and Greggs the bakers, of retail parks and payday loans, of overpaid City bankers and underpaid virtually everyone else.  Which of these things shape our perception of ourselves?  Which shape the notion of ‘Britain’ in the minds of those from other nations?  Is our mental image of America shaped more by Hollywood or Wall Street (or, indeed, Hollywood’s portrayal of Wall Street)?  Our influence in the world, our status as a ‘great’ nation – if such things are important to you – are formed as much by our cultural heritage and output as our GDP and balance of trade.

Moreover, cultural value endures in a way that economic value does not.  It is what we remember most, and for longest, about a civilisation.  People still read Homer; no one frets about ancient Athens’ budget deficit.  Shakespeare is important because of what he wrote, not his box office takings.  We watch Casablanca for its portrayal of love and heroism, not its merchandising potential.

My purpose is not to belittle economic value, which is clearly important.  Plenty of economic innovations have been instrumental in our history – from enclosures to the East India Company, from the development of the railways to privatisation.  And you would have to be both very rich and have your head lodged firmly in your intestines to downplay the importance of economic conditions to the lives of every human on the planet.  My purpose is to highlight the parallel importance of cultural value.

I think that Maria Miller is wrong to insist that we must “hammer home the value of culture to our economy”; that “our focus must be on culture’s economic impact.”  To do so is to mistake culture for commerce.  Both are valid and legitimate endeavours, but they are not the same thing.

That much creative work is intended solely to create economic value is undeniable.  There will never be any shortage of writers or performers who are just in it for the money.  However, if we make it a prerequisite that all creative endeavour must be focused on generating economic value rather than cultural value, we should not be surprised if we produce little or none of the latter.  If, as Ms Miller appears to be suggesting, we commoditise creativity – that is, produce it in large volumes of homogenised lumps, to be produced and consumed as cheaply and efficiently as possible – then we should expect to be left lamenting our declining status in the world.  Future foreign visitors are unlikely ever to make a pilgrimage to Simon Cowell’s birthplace.

Why should we care about our national identity, about our status in the world, about the legacy we leave to posterity?  There’s a negative answer to this, and a positive one.  The negative answer is that it feeds our own sense of self-importance.  For many of us, there is a joy in being associated with greatness, or being part of a ‘great’ nation.  We like to feel that we are part of history, or at least witnesses to it – that the time we lived in was meaningful rather than insignificant.  Once, many years ago and for about twenty seconds, I got to bop with Tracey Emin.  That’s something I’m more likely to tell my grandchildren than where I was when they launched the iPhone 5.

The positive answer is that producing and enjoying things of cultural value makes us better people.  I don’t mean that in the snobbish way.  I’m not talking about believing yourself to be superior because you like certain types of culture, like opera or French poetry.  I just mean that embracing cultural value entails broadening your horizons beyond just material desires.  ”He who dies with the most toys wins” has gone from being an embarrassingly unfunny joke to a mantra of government dogma.  It’s an attitude that belittles us as human beings.  The music you enjoy should be more important to you than the device you play it on.  Have some soul (and stop imagining that soul can be monetised).

So, if Maria Miller really does care about culture, as she claims, I hope she might consider looking at the world through the other end of the telescope.  While we’re hammering home the value of culture to our economy, how about we also ask about the value of our economy to our culture?  If our focus really must be on culture’s economic impact, let it also be in the economy’s cultural impact.

Incidentally, this is not necessarily an argument for or against government funding for the arts or creative industries.  Clearly, a difficulty for any government is that economic value is measurable and we imagine it to be predictable, at least in the short-term.  You can build policy around it.  Cultural value is largely subjective, has no unit of measurement, and is utterly unpredictable.  We have no way of knowing what will be the cultural legacy of our age.  Will Britons 250 years from now be boasting of living in the land of Hilary Mantel, Damien Hirst and Adele?  Or have we got it all wrong, and they’ll be raising a glass every year to mark Simon Cowell’s birthday?  Either way, I’m reasonably confident that they’ll have long forgotten Maria Miller.

22/04/13
Photo credit: Mickeleh, via Flickr.

I’m Daniel Owen and I approved this message

Photo credit: Mickeleh, via Flickr.

Photo credit: Mickeleh, via Flickr.

Today, the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg has upheld the UK’s right to ban all political advertising on television and radio.  Of the few really unpopular views that I hold, none is perhaps quite as socially unacceptable as my belief that we should allow paid-for political broadcast advertising in the UK.  I have met almost no one who doesn’t automatically recoil in horror at the idea, and who doesn’t then go on to radically reassess, downwards, their opinion of me.

Much of this reaction seems to relate to what we perceive as being the American experience of political advertising.  Most news reports on the subject, and also most opinion polls I’ve seen on it, at some point use the phrase “US-style” to describe the system they’re discussing.  This might be intended to be helpful in framing the debate, but it is also highly leading and potentially misleading.  It immediately defines political advertising in this country in terms of something that most people already have strongly negative views on.

It’s worth bearing in mind that the US political system, and the American media and advertising markets, are so utterly different from ours that we should be wary of drawing too many conclusions from their experience.  US elections are conducted on a massively different scale to those in the UK.  This is not just a feature of geography – the US is 40 times the area of the UK with five times the population; a US Congressional district is, on average, ten times the size of a UK Parliamentary constituency – and these factors do much to drive up the cost of broadcast advertising in the US.  There are fundamental systemic differences, too.  The US system is federal so, on any given election day, the number of offices up for election is likely to be considerably higher than a British voter would ever face, and only one of those election campaigns is run on a nationally centralised basis.  The US system has primaries, which both prolong the election campaigning period and also lead to a substantially weaker party system than we have in the UK (both reasons, by the way, for my belief that we would be insane to introduce primaries in this country).  Whereas a British Parliamentary candidate can largely rely on their party’s national head office to manage (and pay for) the bulk of all the advertising that reaches voters, American candidates for public office must run and finance their own individual campaigns, with varying levels of support from party HQ.  In short, the American system necessitates many more people running ads for many more campaigns in many more elections appealing to many more voters over a much bigger area, much more frequently and over a much longer period of time than the British system would require.

That said, the two aspects of the American system that I think most people are concerned about probably would apply in the UK: the campaign with the most money would have an advantage; and there would be a lot of vile attack ads.  To both points my response would be the same: they are already true of our election system today.  Political advertising is permitted on posters (and other outdoor media), in the press, via direct mail and online.  TV activity is limited to party political and election broadcasts, but these are expensive to produce.  It is already the case that running an effective national election campaign requires considerable financial fire power that really only the two biggest political parties can muster.  It is already the case that we have negative advertising in politics.

You could – and, I think, would want to – impose some fairly stringent regulation on campaign spending (and donating) which could mitigate some of the financial concerns.  You would certainly want to regulate the broadcasters’ trading systems to ensure fair access to all political parties, on identical terms (to prevent any broadcaster from offering loads of really cheap airtime to their favoured party or candidate, while shutting out others).  You might well want to restrict who can buy airtime, to avoid the situation where a single billionaire decides to buy loads of ads supporting his or her chosen party, thereby circumventing the restrictions on that party’s campaign spending.  I don’t pretend that allowing broadcast political advertising is unproblematic, but I think that there are solutions to most problems and we could avoid the worst of the US experience if we wanted to.  As I’ll explain in a  minute, allowing broadcast advertising could actually work to the advantage of smaller, less well resourced campaigns.

On the issue of negative advertising I would say that that is about the message, not the medium.  Remember Tony Blair’s ‘evil eyes’ or Michael Howard portrayed as a flying pig?  Nothing prevents negative advertising at the moment, whether in non-broadcast media or in party political and election broadcasts.  I think nothing should.  You’ll never be able to regulate impartially the content of political advertising, and it will inevitably get too close to censorship of political speech to try.  Does that mean allowing extremists like the BNP to advertise on TV?  Probably, yes.  I don’t like that any more than you do, but if we’re not going to ban a party from existing and putting up candidates for elected office, it seems illogical and illiberal to ban it from communicating.

Nothing I’ve said so far is actually an argument for changing the system in this country to allow broadcast political advertising.   So, with absolutely no expectation that I might seriously change your mind, here’s why I think broadcast political advertising would be better for our democracy than the current system.

It would better engage voters.  For all our attention on terrible advertising in America, we forget that some political advertising is very good (the majority is neither).  Here’s a favourite example from recent years, from Hillary Clinton’s 2008 Presidential campaign:

The style and delivery may not be to your liking, but my point is that in just 30 seconds, without ever mentioning either her name or Barack Obama’s, the ad communicated perfectly what Hillary thought was the most important difference between herself and her opponent.

Good advertising works.  Companies spend money on advertising because, when it works, more people buy more of their products.  It changes how people feel about brands, products and services, and makes more people interact more with those things, primarily by buying more of them.  (I make no judgement here about whether or not this is a good thing, or the extent to which our collective gullibility to marketing is incredibly depressing – I’m just observing.)  I would argue that any democracy functions better with more engagement and less apathy.  Advertising could help.

It might be a stretch to say that advertising would suddenly make lots of people politically energised, and magically drive up election turnout.  You might correctly point out that turnout in US Presidential elections with lots of advertising are generally in the 50-60% range, whereas in the UK they are in the 60-70% range (and were in the 70-80% range not very long ago).  You might also remind me that, for all the brilliance of her TV ad, Hillary Clinton did, in fact, lose the campaign to be her party’s presidential nominee.  Fair enough.  But nothing, surely, could be worse for political engagement than what we currently have.

Party political and election broadcasts (PPBs and PEBs) are dire.  They are unwatchable drivel and, as a result, I suspect no one watches them (I haven’t been able to find data on this – if you have it and can prove me wrong, let me know).  My hunch is that, for most people, the words ‘party political broadcast’ are a cue to turn off.  That’s if you happen to see them at all.  Each one is shown only once (maybe twice, but still only on a single day).  They are scheduled at times when TV channels expect to lose viewers anyway (late at night, for example) and shown only by the five ‘public service broadcasting’ (PSB) channels (BBC1, BBC2, ITV1, Channel 4 and five) which have a slowly declining audience share.  If you do decide to watch one, you are subjected to an often poorly made short TV programme that you may feel is of  no relevance to you.  This is because, with so few opportunities to get their message across on TV, and with only general purpose national channels to broadcast on, political parties are forced into making PPBs with very broad appeal.  They can’t easily target a message geographically or demographically.

Now imagine you’re watching your favourite TV show on, say, E4.  During a mid-programme ad break, a political ad comes on.  If you haven’t popped out to the loo or to put the kettle on, chances are you’ll sit and watch the ad, just as you sit through all the ads when you watch (non-recorded or time-shifted) TV.  It may be a terrible ad – like many of the non-political ads you also watch – but it’s only 30 seconds long and your show will start again in a minute.  It might be quite a good ad – pithier and punchier than a party political broadcast.  You might think that it’s so good, you wish your friends could see it, but you know they don’t watch this show.  No matter – it’s been booked as part of a campaign designed to garner a certain number of impacts so, over the course of the next few days, across a range of channels, a known, measurable number of people will see the ad.  One of the reasons you like the ad is because you’re a twenty-something, watching a show watched by lots of other twenty-somethings, and this ad talks about issues relevant to twenty-somethings.  (Different ads, on other channels and around other shows, target people of different age groups, or ethnic backgrounds, or with specific policy interests).  You like it even better because it’s only showing in your region, so it talks about your region.

OK, so it’s clearly far-fetched to expect all of this from political advertising, but my point is that the move away from untargeted broadcasts that few people see and fewer still actually watch, to targeted ads that more people see and a higher proportion actually watch, ought to be a good thing in terms of overall political engagement.

Advertising also works better for political parties and particularly those with smaller budgets.  This last bit is clearly counter-intuitive – how can moving from a system of free airtime to one of paid airtime be better for organisations with very little money?  Answer: by letting them spend that money more effectively.

Imagine you’re the Green Party.  You have a very limited budget for broadcast marketing – tens of thousands of pounds at best (I’m guessing – it could be much more or much less than that, I have no idea; bear with me anyway).  As a minor party, you’re getting limited media attention.  You’re not going to get into any of the televised debates.  Everything that the three major parties are guaranteed to get – appearances on Question Time, coverage of press conferences – you are guaranteed to get less of, or none at all.  Your only guaranteed broadcast airtime will come through your party election broadcasts, and you’ll get fewer of them than the three main parties, and they’ll be shorter as well.  However, because they are your only chance to be seen or heard on air, you have no choice but to take advantage of them.  TV production is expensive – high quality TV production even more so – so pretty much your entire broadcast marketing budget will go into a single five-minute PEB that will air once at 11.05pm on BBC2 and almost no one will pay any attention to.

Now imagine you’re allowed to advertise.  Although you have to pay for your airtime, you’re not forced into a one-size-fits-all solution that simply reinforces the advantage of the three major parties.  Yes, you have to cut your cloth accordingly but you weren’t actually able to do that before.  You can forget TV and you can forget national coverage – too expensive.  But you have some target seats – Brighton, Norwich, Cambridge, maybe Edinburgh, maybe Lewisham.  To win them, you particularly need young people to turn out to vote, and you need them to choose you over Labour.  You can cheaply make some radio ads – about issues that you know younger votes will particularly respond to – and still have plenty of money left to buy airtime on local radio. Sure, Heart FM is full of ads for the big three parties, but you can reach out effectively using the smaller stations and particularly those – like Juice FM in Brighton – that have a particular demographic focus.  You can plan a campaign that you know will be heard by a certain number of people, and you have control over when your ad is scheduled.

You still can’t come anywhere close to matching the impact of the main parties’ advertising – but all parties, including yours, could spend their money more effectively than they can at the moment just by being given the freedom to choose their own medium and channel.

The current system does little more than entrench the status quo.  We may all be horrified at the idea of elections being decided on the basis of who has the deepest pockets but I’m not sure if that is necessarily much worse than elections being decided on the basis of who has won elections before.  Small parties are marginalised in the current system; new parties shut out altogether.  I would question the health of a democracy that is incapable of allowing new voices to be heard.

In any case, while having a big ad budget is clearly advantageous in an election campaign, it’s less clear that it is necessarily decisive. The Natural Law Party could saturate the airwaves with commercials and I still don’t think many of us would be persuaded that yogic flying was a particularly coherent basis for a system of government.

Everyone whose opinion counts in media and politics is against broadcast political advertising, despite all the benefits it could bring to both media and politics.  Voters are pretty firmly against it too.  Even this neo-liberal government that wants to deregulate and commercialise just about everything else within its grasp doesn’t want broadcast political advertising.  It’s just me.  I wish we could be more willing to give it a go.  I think democracy could actually be healthier for it.

18/02/13
Photo credit: hazelisles via Flickr

How low can you go?

Photo credit: hazelisles via Flickr

Photo credit: hazelisles via Flickr

“Work should pay, that’s the key.”

The Rt Hon Iain Duncan Smith, Secretary of State for Work and Pensions, 2010

I’ve been trying to work out what bothers me most about Iain Duncan Smith’s comments on the ‘workfare’ scheme yesterday.

The Work and Pensions Secretary was on the Andrew Marr Show and was asked about Cait Reilly, the geology graduate who won a partial legal victory over the government after she was told that she would lose some of her benefits if she didn’t do an unpaid stint as a shelf-stacker in Poundland.  Reilly, who was claiming jobseeker’s allowance while doing voluntary work in a museum, suggested, among other things, that working at Poundland was actually taking her away from job-hunting, rather than helping her find work.

Duncan Smith took issue with this.  He dispatched the central argument – about whether or not Reilly was being paid, and what the core purpose of benefits is supposed to be – thus: “I understand she said she wasn’t paid. She was paid jobseeker’s allowance, by the taxpayer, to do this.”  He then attempted to move the debate onto an entirely different, and entirely irrelevant, point:

“I’m sorry, but there is a group of people out there who think they’re too good for this kind of stuff.  Let me remind you that [former Tesco chief executive] Terry Leahy started his life stacking shelves.  The next time somebody goes in – those smart people who say there’s something wrong with this – they go into their supermarket, ask themselves this simple question, when they can’t find the food they want on the shelves, who is more important – them, the geologist, or the person who stacked the shelves?”

Most of the subsequent attention to IDS’s remarks has been to this section of them, which is exactly what he hoped for because he wants to be accepted without further challenge his notion of what benefits are for.  Benefits are no longer there to help people while they are in poverty to house, clothe and feed themselves.  They are now a payment for services rendered.  You’re not entitled to something for nothing.  Oh, unless you’re Poundland, I guess.

It is essential to the government that we all believe their central narrative on welfare, which is this: everyone claiming benefits is an idle scrounger.  All of them.  Every one.  By definition.  And the only way to change this is to apply the incontrovertible logic that if we’re paying for you, we get to decide what you do.  You owe us.  (It’s a logic that applies only to poor people, of course.  Just because we paid to own some banks doesn’t entitle us to tell them what to do.  Don’t be silly.)

No longer will public money be wasted merely on allowing poor people to eat and keep warm.  Don’t let people like Cait Reilly – who is clearly neither idle nor a scrounger – distract you from the necessity of transforming benefits into a transaction, but only in the sense that indentured servitude is a transaction.  “She was paid jobseeker’s allowance, by the taxpayer, to do this.”  She’s ours and she’ll do what we tell her and she should count herself lucky.

And since Ms Reilly is neither idle nor a scrounger, what story can we set up to make you dislike her so that it becomes OK to bring her into this arrangement?  Ta-dah: she’s a snob!

Except – and this, I’ve discovered, is the thing that bothers me most about what IDS said – it isn’t true.  Yes, obviously the stuff about Ms Reilly being paid to work at Poundland is untrue – continued payment of her benefits may be conditional on completing meaningless ‘work experience’ schemes, but that is not the same as being paid for her labour.  But what about that stuff about shelf-stacking being beneath her?

The really dishonesty – the huge, clunking great leviathan of falseness in all this – is that Iain Duncan Smith himself doesn’t believe a word of it.

When IDS complained that “there is a group of people out there who think they’re too good for this kind of stuff,” is there any conscious, sentient human on the planet who actually thinks that Iain Duncan Smith is NOT one of those people?

Is anyone willing to claim that IDS really, seriously thinks that Terry Leahy’s experience as a shelf stacker is key to his success (rather than, say, his degree in Management Sciences)?  When Leahy was in Ms Reilly’s position, as a new graduate, and applying to Tesco to be a marketing executive, don’t you think he would have considered shelf-stacking beneath him?  Does IDS genuinely believe that shelf-stacking in Poundland constitutes useful work experience, of the sort that might interest potential employers of a geology graduate?

And for how long has IDS been marvelling at the vital importance of shelf-stackers in the nation’s culture and economy?  I enjoyed his almost apocalyptic view of British society without shelf-stackers.  How would we find stuff?  Would we have to go back into the store room?  How would we know what’s on special offer?  Surely the complete breakdown of civilisation could not be far behind.  Thank goodness we have Iain Duncan Smith on hand to show us how grossly we’ve been under-appreciating the shelf-stacking heroes and heroines that walk among us.  He understands.  Whether it’s in his epic ballads on the noble shelf-stacker that he writes during his lonely lunch hours, or the huge long lists of shelf-stackers that he submits, in vain, for consideration for knighthoods or elevation to the House of Lords, only Iain Duncan Smith really gets shelf-stacking and its place in our national story.  He’s probably considered an honorary shelf-stacker in shelf-stacking circles, he loves them so much.  If you listen carefully in the small hours of the morning, from every supermarket in the land, you can hear The Ballad of Duncan Smith being sung, lustily, as the shelves are proudly stacked.

Or maybe not.  Maybe, just maybe, IDS does think shelf-stacking is beneath him.  He would not be alone in this.  A lot of us do including, I would guess, a lot of the people who find themselves stacking shelves.

Iain’s game – apart from deflecting attention away from how he’s turning the welfare system into some sort of medieval feudalism – is to throw back at the left our own anti-elitist vocabulary and thereby unbalance us.  Well, two can play that game.

So, my first question to IDS is: why are you so keen for the oil industry to fail?  The oil industry relies on geologists to find, well, more oil.  You think this is a job of no value – or, at least, of less value than a shelf-stacker.  You said it yourself – the shelf-stacker is “more important” than the geologist.  So, we clearly need to shift our educational and economic resources away from earth sciences and towards retail display, or maybe we should just encourage more geologists to have a sense of duty to society and become shelf-stackers.  Either way, you’re setting up the oil industry to fail.  What kind of Conservative would do that?

Second question: why do you want so much waste in British universities?  You think it’s a good thing for someone with a geology degree – which takes a lot of both the student’s and the state’s money to acquire – to do a job that doesn’t require a geology degree.  No, you do.  You just said how awful it was of anyone to think otherwise.  Since the geology degree is not required to do the nonetheless “more important” work of shelf-stacking, all that money – including public money – has been wasted.  What kind of Conservative thinks waste in public education is a good thing?

Third and final question: why don’t you believe in markets any more?  Have you become a Marxist?  If you were a Conservative you would believe in the market as the perfect mechanism for determining the value of things.  How does the market value shelf-stackers versus geologists?  Well, according to the Fair Pay Network, a supermarket shelf-stacker in London can expect about £6.30 an hour, just a little above the current minimum wage for over-21s of £6.19 per hour.  Asked what job they wanted to give to someone to do for nothing, Poundland chose shelf-stacking, so that gives you an idea of the value they place on it.  Prospects.ac.uk, “the UK’s official graduate careers website” says that the starting salary for a new graduate in engineering geology is about £25,000, which (assuming that’s a full-time salary) equates to an hourly rate of £12.96 – roughly double the shelf-stacker.  So, we have to conclude that Iain Duncan Smith thinks the market has got it wrong because the market clearly values the geologist much more highly than the shelf-stacker, and IDS is very clear that this is the wrong way round.  Coming from a government minister, this smacks of socialist interventionism and state interference in wages.  Is IDS about to defect to the SWP?

So, I welcome your conversion to left-wingery, Mr Duncan Smith, and I happen to think you’re right about some things.  We shouldn’t look down at shelf stacking – and certainly not at shelf stackers.  Paid employment – even of a menial sort – is better than unemployment.  And shelf stacking is, actually, quite important and would therefore appear to be under-valued in the market.  So how is it reasonable to not pay someone to do it?

5/02/13
Photo credit: sushiesque, via Flickr

Dear MPs: Do something right today

Photo credit: sushiesque, via Flickr

Photo credit: sushiesque, via Flickr

You know who gets to determine the value, worth or meaning of my marriage?  Me and my wife.  That’s all.  No one else.

Every couple is different, every marriage is different and so the meaning of every marriage is different.  The government, the church, society, they can all have a go at expressing what the institution of marriage means to them, but they don’t get to tell me or any other married person what our marriages mean to us.

And what my marriage means to me is unaffected by what your marriage means to you.  You cannot devalue it, nor can you add value to it.  It is what it is.

I cannot believe that, in 2013, we still have to argue and fight for discrimination to end.  I cannot believe that a proposal to remove one aspect of discrimination – by equalising marriage rights for same-sex couples – can be considered contentious by decent, intelligent, modern adult humans.

Later today, MPs have a chance to extend individual liberty, to grant rights to people who have been denied them, to make this country just a little fairer, more equal, and happier.  How rare is that kind of opportunity?  And how much rarer to be able to do so at no cost, with no harm to anyone?  This is not a case of one person’s rights conflicting with another’s.  If you are not gay, you lose nothing.  You suffer no loss, harm or damage.  Your freedoms are not curtailed, your choices not limited.  Your wealth, health and happiness are untouched.  Someone wins, but no one loses.  How mean do you have to be to object to that?

I have seen many heart-felt and sincere arguments against marriage equality.  I have yet to see a single rational argument.  A lot of people seem to think that marriage is a centuries-old tradition that is tinkered with at our peril.  This strikes me as both logically and historically false.  Centuries ago, you would have married who your parents told you to marry, and it would have been essentially a financial transaction.  In the Middle Ages, boys could marry at 14 and girls at 12.  Is that the kind of marriage tradition that Archbishops and Tory MPs are talking about?  Marriage has changed often over the centuries.  In any case, when has ‘we can’t change because we’ve always done it this way’ been considered a valid argument by any grown-up?

It is remarkable that the proposal to grant marriage equality is being pushed through by a Conservative prime minister.  Those of us for whom ‘Conservative’ is a four-letter word should not let our cynicism or our dislike of David Cameron blind us to the significance of what he is doing.  He is doing the right thing.  He is doing it in the face of career-threatening opposition from within his own party, the depths of whose ugliness he has sadly also exposed.  I don’t propose that we forget or forgive the damage he is doing to the nation’s economy and its public services, but for this alone we should applaud him.  As should any self-respecting, philosophically consistent conservative.  Conservativism is supposed to be about smaller government, with less regulation and fewer restrictions.  It is supposed to be about individualism and personal freedom.  If you believe that marriage is beneficial and should be encouraged, then you should want it more widely adopted.  True conservatives should be proud of what their eponymous party is doing.  Instead, many are letting their prejudice override their reason.

The church seems to rest much of its argument on the view that the primary purpose of marriage is to start a family – the “potential for procreation” as they put it.  They use that clumsy phrase because they are trying to evade the obvious logic that, if only those marriages that seek to produce offspring are morally legitimate, then the church must refuse to marry heterosexual couples who don’t want children.  The “potential for procreation” is still there, right?  They could change their minds, couldn’t they?  Of course, the church cannot escape the unpleasant logic of their position.  To apply consistently the rationale that marriage should only be permitted where there is the potential for procreation, the church morally has no choice but to refuse to marry any couple where one partner is infertile.  That would get people’s attention, wouldn’t it?  Imagine the front pages when it is discovered that a respectable, upstanding and deeply in love heterosexual couple have been turned away by their local vicar because of a medical condition or injury that has left them incapable of having children.  It’s not a morally sustainable position.

The only institution being undermined by the church’s stance on equal marriage is the church.  For one thing, their view is un-Christian.  As an atheist, you may consider me an implausible judge of such things, but I went to school long enough ago to have had God drummed into me and to have formed a pretty clear idea of Christian values.  Whatever you may think of the behaviour of the church, Christ’s core philosophy was sound: that humans should be motivated, in their relations with each other, by love, humility, kindness and generosity; that we should pursue each other’s happiness; that all people are entitled to be treated this way.  The Jesus I was taught at school had no time for discrimination.

By taking such an intolerant position, the church’s leaders do a disservice to the many Christians who do not share those views.  The church has done much to equate “Christian” with “homophobe”, to make discrimination against gay people an inseparable aspect of Christian faith.  They should have a higher opinion of their followers.  And they should take heed of their falling attendance numbers.  The more socially unacceptable it becomes to be associated with institutional discrimination, the harder the church will find it to recruit new members.  The church has put itself on the wrong side of history.  It is rapidly becoming outdated and irrelevant and has only itself to blame.

There is also no logic to the church’s complaint that allowing gay marriage – indeed, allowing equal treatment of gay people in any context – is an act of discrimination against Christians.  In fact, the reverse is true.  A state of discrimination is currently in operation, but it works – in the church’s view – in favour of the church.  Here in the secular world, we cannot legally discriminate against people on the basis of their sexual orientation.  The church largely retains that right, most obviously in its hiring and promotion practices but also in its discretion to withhold access to its services for reasons of its own devising.  What the equality agenda seeks to do is remove that discrimination – between the church and secular society – so that the church is placed on an equal footing with the rest of the modern world.  To say that this curtails your rights is to assert the right to be homophobic.  It is to claim the right to deny equal treatment, equal respect, equal dignity to someone for no better reason than you think you are entitled to judge who they love, date, sleep with, co-habit with.  Once you’ve established your right to be prejudiced against gay people, it’s no great leap to claim your right to be openly, institutionally, functionally racist, sexist, anti-semitic, take your pick.  What a vile world that would be.

But all this misses the point or, rather, the points.  First, yes, the institution of marriage is going to be redefined, but only by being extended.  Other people get the right to marry, but you don’t give it up in the process.  And secondly, your marriage isn’t being redefined at all.  Only you and your spouse can define your marriage.

Discrimination is wrong.  I can’t believe, in 2013, that this has to be spelled out.  It is wrong because it makes the lives of those discriminated against miserable, it divides and diminishes our society, it makes us meaner, more paranoid, less open to new ideas and perspectives, less happy.  It is wrong because it prevents people from living up to their full potential and so it prevents society from achieving its full potential.  It degrades and belittles us, culturally, politically and economically.  It is self-defeating, petty-minded and unpatriotic.  We should not permit it, anywhere.

Only those same-sex couples hoping to get married can explain what marriage means to them.  It will be different for each couple.  We don’t get to define their marriage, they do.  They don’t get to define your marriage, you do.  Some people win.  No one loses.  How mean do you have to be to vote against that?

22/01/13
Photo credit: Nick Warner via Flickr

We have completely taken leave of our senses

Photo credit: Nick Warner via Flickr

Photo credit: Nick Warner via Flickr

“Soldier does the job he is trained and paid to do.”

That’s the big headline on most of this morning’s national newspapers.  Take a look – it’s there as the main front page headline on the Daily Mail, the Daily Star, the Daily Mirror, The Sun, the i, and the Daily Telegraph, and as a smaller front page headline (with photo) in The Independent, The Times, The Guardian, the Daily Express and The Scotsman.  It was, yesterday evening and this morning, a lead story on the BBC News website and its national radio and TV news bulletins.

I’m not trying to belittle or trivialise the job that British soldiers do in Afghanistan (and anywhere else in the world where they serve).  In fact, I think quite the reverse.  It’s the aggrandisement of the unremarkable contribution of one unremarkable soldier that demeans the largely unreported work of all the others.  Why should this one soldier receive quite so much attention?

The answer, of course, is that he is (at least, in the eyes of news editors) not an ordinary soldier.  He is Prince Harry, third in line to the throne (a phrase you are supposed to read in the sombre tone of a BBC correspondent since it denotes superiority over us lesser humans – you may not snicker at its suggestion that Harry is simply at the back of a short queue for the toilet).

Harry has chosen a military career for himself, and it is one that he clearly enjoys and finds rewarding.  He has completed extensive training, has apparently proven himself capable in combat, and has achieved the rank of army captain.  He has been put in charge of some very expensive and deadly machinery which, in the course of his duties, he has used.  This is not news.  Harry is not news.  Even to ardent royalists, Harry holds no office of constitutional or political significance.  He is, essentially, just another celebrity.  I can understand why the Daily Star or The Sun might think him news – they think celebrities are axiomatically newsworthy.  The BBC, for some reason, feels that one of its core purposes is the delivery of a steady stream of unthinking Royal propaganda that is blind to the cost, propriety or actual worth of anything the Royal family does, so their complicity in this fiesta of craven adulation is understandable if not forgivable.  But The Guardian?  The Independent?  Has every editor in the country gone mad?  Clearly, yes – but, since they are only responding to what they know to be the expectations of their audience, the madness is ultimately ours.

I do not understand public support for the institution of royalty.  None of the arguments I have heard in its favour seem to address adequately, for me, the obscenity of the hereditary principle – the idea that a single family, by virtue of birth alone, is entitled to such high status and colossal privilege, at public cost.  Whether as trade envoy, charity fund-raiser, global ambassador or national figurehead, there is nothing that a monarch can accomplish that an elected head of state could not equally do – and we could hold the latter to account if they were no good.  The next king could be a deluded half-wit with only a tenuous grasp on reality and really bad taste in architecture – it doesn’t matter.  We can’t stop him being king and we can’t take it away from him once he’s got it.  And it makes no difference how talented or loved you may be – you could be considered a national treasure, an institution in your own right, a combination of Shakespeare, Brunel, Churchill and Fiona Bruce – it doesn’t matter.  The institution of Royalty is closed to you, except by the misfortune of marriage (at which point the whole nation will remind you – in the belief that they actually care about these things – that you are just a ‘commoner’).

I have heard royalist friends say, at times of great occasion like Royal weddings, jubilees or the state opening of Parliament, that royalty makes them feel proud to be British.  It make me queasy and embarrassed to be British.  It’s not just that we have a monarchy – it’s they way we do monarchy in Britain that turns my stomach.  We have a head of state whose core attribute is her remoteness from her ‘subjects’.  Not for us a monarch who understands our lives and our concerns – “just one of the lads” as Prince Harry imagines, in delusion, he is.  No, we like the weirdly Disneyfied fantasy of Royalty – the more outlandish and ostentatious the better.  We think the overblown costumes and the pantomime carriages are pre-requisites of great state occasion; that pomp and circumstance are an essential part of our national identity and they cannot be achieved without monarchy.  But have a look at an American presidential inauguration, like President Obama’s yesterday.  Plenty of ceremony and ritual.  You were left in no doubt of the significance of the presidency as the personified representation of the nation.  But where our royal occasions could not look more preposterous if you staged them on another planet, the inauguration was moving and dignified (and that would have been equally true if it had been Mitt Romney taking the oath of office rather than Barack Obama).  It was also democratic.  Not because of nonsensical symbolic representations of democracy, such as the charade of the House of Commons momentarily shutting the door on Black Rod (before obeying the Royal command to traipse across the hall to stand, cramped, at one end of the unelected legislative chamber – a more obvious symbol of our contempt for popular sovereignty you would be hard pressed to invent).  There was actual democracy – the American people, a million strong, gathering to witness in person the inauguration of the citizen that they had chosen to be their head of state.

Why does anyone consider the Queen to be the personification of Britain when royalty is the antithesis of everything that is good about this country?  Where the most positive aspects of the British national character are its sense of decency and fairness, nothing could be more indecent or unfair than hereditary monarchy and the excess of privilege with which we endow it.

And why do we labour under the huge national inferiority complex that perpetuates the whole system?  For, if we insist that the Royal family is superior to us, then we must regard ourselves as inferior to them.  More than that, we are perpetually, innately and unavoidably inferior.

Last May, Princess Alexandra visited RHS Rosemoor, the Royal Horticultural Society garden in North Devon, near my home.  Children were taken out of school to wave flags pointlessly at her.  The local newspaper did a special photo feature on it.  I had to look her up just to work out who she is.  She’s the Queen’s cousin.  That’s it.  That’s her only role in life.  She does “Royal duties”.  She is – wait for it – “41st in the line of succession to the thrones of 16 states”, by which is meant the UK and the other 15 Commonwealth countries with insufficient self-worth to have become republics.  I’d have kept the kids in school.  I’d probably also have charged her admission to Rosemoor and given her a map to guide herself round, like everyone else.  I’d have got Alan Titchmarsh to unveil my plaque.  He is someone.  Princess Alexandra is just the cousin of someone.  Forty very specific people have to die, simultaneously, before she gets to be someone.  Why do we treat her as if she matters more to us than any other visitor to Rosemoor in an ugly blue hat?

It does not matter what little intelligence, talent, skill or ingenuity they possess, we will bow, scrape and curtsey to them, call them “your highness” and “ma’am”.  It does not matter how little actual impact they have on anyone’s life, how few will be enriched or enlightened by their presence, how little they may care about anyone but themselves, we will always treat them as if they are absurdly important.

It doesn’t matter how good an army captain you are, how skilled you are at flying Apache helicopters on combat missions, what dangers you’ve faced or what courage or compassion you’ve shown, how many lives you’ve taken or saved.  It doesn’t matter what struggles you will face when you return home, what financial difficulties you or your family may endure, problems finding work or housing, health issues, your kids’ education.  It doesn’t matter what you achieve when you return, what businesses you build, what charities you support, how many people depend on you or are grateful to you for how you’ve helped them or changed their lives.  These things do not matter because you are not Prince Harry.  You are inferior.  You are not news and you never will be.  Only Harry is news.  The great Captain Wales.

And so it will continue to be.  I see no prospect of change in my lifetime.  The monarchy is as popular as ever.  We like our inferiority complex – it feels safe and comfortable to us.  The moral compromises we make to preserve it are, it would seem, a price we are happy to pay.

10/01/13
Credit: Joel Olives via Flickr

The halo of the hard-working

Credit: Joel Olives via Flickr

Credit: Joel Olives via Flickr

 

“The habit of labour is a great thing; for, as Saint Bernard says, it gives the labourer strong arms and hard thews, whereas sloth makes them feeble and tender.”

Geoffrey Chaucer, The Parson’s Tale

 

Tuesday 8 January was the date of the House of Commons vote on capping the increase for most benefits discussed in my previous blogpost.  On that date, if you search through Hansard for all the debates in the Commons (not just the benefits debate), you will find the phrase “hard-working” used eleven times.

Mostly, there are “hard-working families” (mentioned five times).  But there are also “hard-working individuals” (one mention); “hard-working people” (four mentions); and even “hard-working supportive role models” (one mention).

It’s a phrase you’ll hear a lot from politicians in the media as well.  Chancellor George Osborne “is asking hard-working families to pay for his mistakes,” according to Labour MP Rachel Reeves in last Sunday’s Observer.

There’s no avoiding it.  In political discourse, “hard-working” equates with ‘good’.  You can safely assume that everyone else is not hard-working – whether this is explicitly made clear or not – and therefore ‘bad’.  It is not a purely factual description of people (or families or whatever).  It is a normative statement.  Instinctively we regard industriousness as a virtue.

Your politics determines how you deploy the phrase.  Those on the right use it simply to distinguish the employed from the unemployed – the latter cannot possibly be hard-working even if they want to be, and the former can only be hard-working whether they really are or not.  On the left, it is used a little differently, but no less subtly, to distinguish the ordinary worker from the privileged rich – the former work hard for inadequate reward, the latter therefore work inadequately for excessive reward.

The moral power of the phrase “hard-working” is a strong one.  It casts a glow of rectitude across whatever noun follows it, pretty much without exception.  Imagine an estate agent.  Reflect for a moment on what your emotions are towards this hypothetical professional.  Now consider the plight of “the hard-working estate agent.”  A more saintly character it is now hard to conceive.  (They’re not entirely mythical, either; look, here are some in Wiltshire.)  Do you support “hard-working investment bankers”?  Of course you do.  How about “hard-working traffic wardens”?  You bet.  ”Hard-working telemarketers”?  You’ve got to feel sorry for them.

When considering the unquestionable virtue of the hard-working, the nature of the work appears to be irrelevant.  ”Hard working people” deserve the praise of our politicians, no matter that some are probably hard-working cocaine distributors or hard-working dog-fight organisers.

Perhaps there is something about the hardness of hard work that carries a lot of the moral value.  But how hard do you have to work to be considered ‘hard-working’?  Indeed, what is the accepted unit of measurement for work-hardness?  Do we take a physical approach, and measure energy expended in joules or calories? That would seem to suggest that sedentary, office-based professions might never be considered hard work, and that won’t do.  We could take hours worked as our measure, although that could equate hard work with just slow work. Money earned, or revenue generated, would seem to be a rather materialistic measure of a moral virtue, and could come awfully close to defending the idea that “greed is good”.

Does the level of moral virtue increase with the hardness of the work, or can a person work too hard?  What if you’re working hard on something that actually shouldn’t take hard work – which would suggest stupidity or incompetence or your part, or possibly deception, perhaps to gain greater financial reward?  Are you still hard-working, and so deserving of political concern for your interests?

What is required to be a “hard-working family”?  Do all members of the family have to work hard, or just a majority?  How about if everyone works, but only one family member is properly working hard – you know, really giving it a good go?  If I’m not hard-working but I send my three-year old son up chimneys or sell him to the Navy, would that count?  Or is it about working hard at being a family?

Since I, myself, cannot by any plausible yardstick be considered “hard-working” (but living off the labour of no one other than my – more or less willing – spouse), are my interests not worthy of political consideration?  If “hard-working families” should not see their taxes go to skivers, scroungers, financiers, footballers or whoever the villain-du-jour happens to be, is it nonetheless OK for my taxes to follow that route?  Have I forfeited my moral shield, even as a law-abiding tax-payer, by virtue of my lack of employment?

No one bothers to really pick apart the phrase “hard-working” because it is used without much thought to its meaning.  It is just thrown in as moral ballast.  It is superfluous.  It is intended to describe those who do not deserve to have their tax contributions squandered – but no one does, hard-working or not.  It is a phrase used by politicians to make you think it is not they, but the slothful, who are doing the squandering.  And, of course, it is used to portray all those in receipt of public largesse – whether they be benefit claimant or City banker, depending on your political persuasion – as slothful by definition.  It makes me wince whenever I hear the phrase.  It is clumsy, shrill, divisive and clichéd.  Nothing would be lost from political debate if it were never uttered.  I’d work hard for that.

8/01/13
Credit: 'Regional Cabinet' via Flickr

Trickle-Up Economics

Credit: 'Regional Cabinet' via Flickr

Credit: ‘Regional Cabinet’ via Flickr

There’s something I’ve noticed whenever I hear or read Iain Duncan Smith talk about his plan to cap the increase in benefits at 1% – a measure which just won a key vote in the House of Commons this evening.  IDS slips easily between discussing people claiming benefits fraudulently (‘criminals’), those claiming excessively (‘scroungers’), those claiming even if they could be working (‘idlers’) and any of the above who have the temerity to claim from overseas (‘foreigners’ – even though some could be UK citizens living abroad).  He will tell you about his desire to move people from welfare to work, and about the cost of various aspects of the current system but, in doing so, he will carelessly elide all these different issues to make you think they’re all just subtly different aspects of a single problem.  He might, for example, illustrate an argument about people earning more from benefits than others do from working with an estimate of the cost of benefit fraud.  Or he might bandy about the total cost of the welfare system to emphasise his views on a culture of entitlement.  Cost, impact, abuse, unfairness – it all gets blurred into one hazy issue where the distinctions between quite separate problems become hard to identify.

What you won’t hear him talk about is the importance of an effective benefits system to those that need it.  The people who claim because they have no other way of keeping body and soul alive.  The ones who would love a job, or a better paid job, if they could get one, but they don’t have the skills, or the experience, or there are too few jobs available near where they live because have you noticed we’re in the middle of this huge recession?  IDS doesn’t talk much about how the system works for those for whom it was designed to work.

As far as I can tell, IDS talks like this for two reasons.

The first is that he doesn’t give a shit about poor people.  I can’t think of any other explanation.  He’s not interested in the effectiveness of benefits in helping those with no or very low incomes pay for luxuries like food and housing because he thinks poor people have only themselves to blame for their poverty.  His is the classic conservative view which is that we’ve all had the same opportunities and if you just pull your socks up and work hard, you will get the rewards that come to you.  Which is brilliant logic until you think about it for a millisecond or two and realise that we haven’t, in fact, all had the same opportunities.  In fact, the main difference between someone who works hard and is poor and someone who works hard and is rich is usually the quality of opportunities they’ve had – most commonly starting with wealthy parents and good schooling.

The second reason IDS talks the way he does is, of course, because of the political value in portraying poor people – rather than poverty itself – as the problem.  The natural compassion for the needy and vulnerable that we all have as, you know, human beings, needs to be smothered somehow if we are to swallow his act of political meanness.  By blurring the distinction between the poor and the parasitical, IDS has been very effective in winning the support of the British public.

There are serious criticisms to be made of the welfare system that deserve attention.  Plenty may argue that other issues deserve a higher priority but I don’t think you’ll find anyone actually defending benefit fraud.  Any kind of ‘culture of dependency or entitlement,’ if it exists, would be cause for concern.  And, yes, it is a bit bonkers that someone can earn more on benefits than in work – although, to my mind, that says more about the paucity of the wages than the generosity of the benefits.

But these are specific problems to which an indiscriminate solution – a real-terms, across-the-board cut in benefits – is being applied.  How will cutting benefits tackle fraud?  How will it help create jobs or curb cost-of-living inflation?  How will it lift the wages of the most low-paid jobs?  It won’t.

And, if the bill is indiscriminate in its purpose and design, it is highly discriminatory in its impact.  The Department for Work and Pensions’ (DWP) own impact assessment on the bill voted on this evening notes that (according to The Guardian):

“The average change for those households in lower deciles is higher than those in higher deciles. This is because they currently receive a higher level of benefit payments and so they are impacted more from the same percentage change in benefit. Those in higher deciles who are affected may only receive Child Benefit.

Lone parents are the family type who are most likely to be affected and also have the highest average change (-£5 per week). This is because they have a lower employment rate than average and also often qualify for in-work support.

Women are more likely to be affected than men. Some 33% of women are affected, compared to 29% of men.

Households with a member who is disabled are more likely to be affected than non-disabled households. That’s because, although the 1% cap does not cover disability benefits, people with a disability are more likely to be receive the benefits that are covered by the bill.”

The poor will be made poorer; the poorest, poorer still.

Of course, this bill isn’t really anything to do with poverty, employment, fraud or discrimination.  It’s purely a cost-cutting measure.

We have to do everything we can to reduce the deficit, the government argues (with validity).  With the DWP accounting for some 23.3% of all government spending in 2010 – the biggest single chunk of public expenditure when this government came to power – something in benefits had to give.  At least, it does if you can’t be bothered to find some way to avoid it.  You know, by making high earner and corporate tax avoidance a higher priority than benefit fraud.  Or ditching other big ticket spending items, like a nuclear weapons system we’ll never use and is designed to deter a largely hypothetical enemy.  That sort of thing.  No, obviously, if you can make the poorest pay then that’s clearly the best solution because they won’t do awkward things like threaten to leave the country because, ha ha, they can’t afford to go anywhere, the poor sods.

The absolute necessity to do absolutely everything humanly possible to cut the deficit somehow didn’t stop the government reducing the top rate of income tax (payable only by those earning £150,000 pa or more) from 50% to 45%.  The 50% rate, brought in during the dying days of the Labour government, was reckoned by HMRC to be bringing in “only” about £1 billion in revenue (less than expected because it encouraged the super-rich to fiddle their taxes in ways that are only accessible to them and completely legal and so absolutely acceptable and untroubling).  Today’s benefit rise cap will, according to DWP, save the government £1.1 billion.  Basically, those on the lowest incomes and in greatest need are subsidising a tax cut for those on the highest incomes.  Despite failing to bring the deficit or government debt under control, this government has managed the singular feat of redistributing wealth upwards.

Am I really bringing out the old saw about making the rich pay more?  Yes I am.  Even though I know that the biggest earners in the UK do, in fact, already account for a large proportion of tax revenues – in September 2012 Channel 4′s Fact Check found that, in 2009-10, the top 1% of earners in the UK earned 13.9% of declared pre-tax income and paid 26.5% of the nation’s income tax.  So, what moral argument can be made for making the rich pay even more?  I’ll make three.

First, because they can.  A 1% difference in income means a lot more to someone on £150 a week than it does to someone on £1,500 a week.

Second, because I think that the co-existence of extreme wealth alongside poverty is morally obscene.  Despite everything we’re going through, we are one of the most advanced, wealthy nations on the planet.  It doesn’t seem unreasonable to expect that, as an absolute bare minimum, people should not go cold or hungry.  The money exists to prevent that from happening – it just needs distributing right.

Finally, the rich should pay more because it is in their long-term interests to do so.  Even the most talented, dedicated captain of industry did not get rich on his or her own.  Lesser mortals worked for them, making their products for other lesser mortals, in even greater number, to buy them.  The wealthy won’t get any wealthier in an impoverished economy in which productivity and consumer spending are down.  Moreover, a society in which the poorest are even further marginalised, villified and maligned is one that can expect greater poverty, higher rates of crime and an increased likelihood of social disorder.  Those things are not good for business.

If the welfare system is sick, then we should fix it – but modern medical practice is to favour a scalpel over a bludgeon.  People in need are not a problem to solve – they are people.  If it’s money you want, the best place to look is those that have it.