The coming battle between old and young

Twentysomethings face living standard squeezes, while those in their 60s have never had it so good.

In the First Thoughts column of the magazine this week, I wrote about an idea which is currently gaining ground: that the young are being squeezed at the expense of the old.

Of all the arguments I have with my parents - both retired and in their sixties - the most intractable is whether they are the luckiest generation who ever lived. Having raised four children, they don't feel rich. Yet they live in a mortgage-free house and receive pensions from their former employers. They both grew up in houses with no TV or indoor loo, yet are currently in New Zealand, visiting their grandchildren.

I can't imagine my retirement will be anything like that. For a start, I remain stubbornly off the housing ladder and it will stay that way while London prices average £406,424 and lenders ask for a 25 per cent deposit. Lord knows what state the NHS will be in by the time I really need it. In the next few decades, the bill for Labour's assorted PFI follies will land on my generation's doormat. Pension? Ha!

This divide has been highlighted before - notably in Shiv Malik's and Ed Howker's book Jilted Generation - but it's becoming more stark as the coalition's economic policies hit the young hard. While graduates get saddled with thousands of pounds of debt and turfed out into a contracted jobs market, pensioners have winter fuel allowances and bus passes doled out to them without means-testing. As Daniel Knowles wrote in the Telegraph on 12 March: "It is a painful irony that the youngest government in history seems to be engineering such a spectacular flow of money towards the oldest."

All this is my way of saying that the mansion tax sounds like a sensible idea, even if it will affect the older generation disproportionately. When I read about Joan Bakewell, who bought a house for £12,000 that is now worth up to £4m, I struggle to empathise with her pain at the thought of being forced to downsize. I wish I knew what it's like to be sentimentally attached to a home but I've just moved into my fourth flat in five years.

Don't cry any tears for me - my twenties involve more skinny lattes and foreign holidays than my parents' ever did - but don't cry for the "asset-rich, cash-poor" baby boomers, either.

The piece I referred to, by Daniel Knowles, is worth reading in full. It explains how housing and childcare costs skew the appealingly simple picture of higher-rate taxpayers in middle-age as "rich" and pensioners as poor:

Most of those at the bottom of the income scale are actually pensioners, with lots of assets and relatively few outgoings - £25,000 a year is a lot if you have no mortgage to pay. They are getting off free, laughing as they swipe their free bus passes on the way to the bank.

Which brings me to my point: the Chancellor thinks that he is spreading the pain evenly, according to income. But he is actually spreading it unevenly, according to age. The people bearing the brunt of this Government's spending cuts and tax rises are young families. If they are poorer, their tax credits are frozen, their teenagers have lost the Educational Maintenance Allowance, VAT has gone up and the services they depend on - the school system, the nurseries and so on - are being starved of funds (even as the NHS, which old people use, gets more). If they are slightly richer, it's the child-benefit cut, the public-sector pay freeze, petrol taxes and the devaluation of the pound that hurt most.

It is a long-established principle that, as Adam Smith wrote in The Wealth of Nations, "the rich should contribute to the public expense, not only in proportion to their revenue, but something more than in that proportion". But what Mr Osborne's policies prove is that we struggle to properly define who "the rich" are. Because we ignore age and wealth, "progressive" policies such as the child-benefit cut often aren't; they don't genuinely reflect ability to pay.

By coincidence, Saturday's Financial Times picked up the theme, splashing on an analysis of living standards which showed that the "disposable household incomes of people in their 20s have stagnated over the past 10 years just as older households are capturing a much greater share of the nation's income and wealth".

The result is that "the median living standards of people in their 20s have now slipped below those of people in their 70s and 80s". And as Alistair Darling told the paper: "You can't honestly say to younger people any longer, you'll do better than your father or mother's generation." The word "alienation" increasingly crops up, and you can see in the student protests and movements such as UK Uncut that some youngsters are beginning to vocalise their feelings of being dealt an unfair hand.

While this idea is not new -- see Shiv Malik and Ed Howker's Jilted Generation or David Willett's The Pinch -- it is likely to become increasingly bitterly fought terrain as austerity measures bite. The conventional political wisdom is that because older people are more likely to vote than younger ones, it is safer to target the latter with potentially unpopular measures. (There's also something to the fact that most heavyweight political commentators are of a certain age... ) George Osborne has taken his axe to a raft of benefits aimed at the working population - such as child tax credits - the goodies handed out to pensioners, such as free bus passes and winter fuel allowances, have been left untouched.

The FT pointed to Britain moving to a "family welfare" model, with the younger generations relying on the elder more, as happens in some Mediterranean countries. But, as John Hills of the LSE points out, this hurts those who can't, for example, rely on the Bank of Mum and Dad for a housing deposit, or help with university costs:

"The thing to focus on isn't so much the generational conflict itself, because a lot of the wealth of the previous generation will be passed down, or is being passed down... it's the people who are locked out of that in both generations. It's clearly harder as a young person if you don't have that kind of family support."

These are complicated issues, but a clear picture emerges: that 20, 30 and 40-somethings are bearing the brunt of the coalition's economic policies. But which politician is brave enough to make that argument?

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue