If you want to live ethically, start with your bank account

Moving your money is an opportunity to make the banking system as a whole better, writes Co-operatives UK's Ed Mayo.

Do you have a bank account? If so, congratulations. You have a vote in what kind of economy the UK has moving forward.

This week is National Ethical Investment Week, an event which over recent years has become a great way to celebrate the mix of green and ethical funds open to those with the money to invest.

A bank account isn't usually considered as a classic investment product. But if we are going to improve the ethics of the world of finance, it is a good place to start.

To begin with, any money you have in your account is invested by your bank. It is not an investment that you see, but for every pound on deposit, your bank can lend a multiple of this in the wider economy. Taken together, as UK consumers, our bank accounts have money in credit at the end of a typical day of around £100bn.

A number of current accounts do now pay direct interest for the money you hold, even if it is still only a small proportion of conventional accounts that pay more than 0.5 per cent interest.

But there is another reason to consider where you hold your bank account, because it is the building block for the wider financial services sector. We can't complain that banks are less than fully ethical if we don't ourselves consider ethics when we choose who to bank with.

Current accounts are a cash cow for the big banks. One way or another, they make £152 out of every bank account they have. This is more than they earn from savings and credit cards put together. 

Current accounts are also something that most people have a choice over. There are 64 million bank accounts in the UK. So, where only around 15% of people are investors in the sense of putting money into stocks, shares and pooled funds, 90 per cent of us have a bank account and can have a say through our money.

The Move Your Money campaign has emerged this year as a cause célèbre. Launched in February 2012, the campaign calls on people to switch their account, current or savings, away from shareholder banks that helped to cause the economic crisis, and towards co-operative and mutual banks, such as credit unions and building societies.

Because they are not owned by external shareholders, they can put the interests of their customers first. Worldwide, customer-owned banks have been far safer than shareholder and state-owned banks over the last five years. No less importantly, your money is reinvested locally rather than going into the global carousel of bonuses and high finance. If you switch banks to an ethical bank, your money is being used for good – so it is not just fair to you but fair to others.

Since the campaign launched, around half a million people have switched accounts. The UK had long been the country with the lowest switching rate in Europe. More than the actions of any regulator, the Move Your Money campaign, in tune with the times, has changed that. And it is still early days.

Madeleine is one I know of many that have switched to the Co-operative Bank in recent months. "The online banking is different, but it all meets my needs and the switching was pretty simple." The switching process is far smoother than people may fear. You ask your new bank to set it in train and within 10 days of the application being approved, all your standing orders and arrangements should be transferred and up and running. 

Sandra has switched to Nationwide, one of fifty building societies still operating in the UK. She found that "banks are only interested if you have a lot of money and, as pensioners we don’t have a lot. But Nationwide was different. I know they want your money, I’m not saying they don’t, but they have more time for you, to explain the ins and outs."

Credit unions, which are financial co-operatives for savings and loans, are also among the providers that have benefited from switching as the larger credit unions now offer current accounts or debit cards that give access to ATM networks.

Ethical Investment should not just be about feeling good or having something to talk about at a dinner party but changing the way the financial system works. The call to move your money is a genuine and positive opportunity to make the banking system as a whole better.

Make it the one thing that you do this week.

Ed Mayo is Secretary General of Co-operatives UK

The Move Your Money campaign outside a Barclays. Photograph: Getty Images

Ed Mayo is Secretary General of Co-operatives UK

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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad