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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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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