Generation Strains

The generational divide isn't just in how much we get, but also how much we want to give.

Ed Miliband’s comments in a recent interview that "redistribution is important but it's not the only route to social justice" could be more important than even he realises. New research shows not just that there has been an overall decline in support for redistribution of wealth through the tax and benefits system, but that we may be witnessing a generational shift in attitudes. Younger generations are less supportive of redistribution than their parents.

The overall decline in support for redistribution is relatively well understood. The percentage of the population agreeing with the statement, "the government should spend more money on welfare benefits for the poor, even if it leads to higher taxes," peaked in 1989 and has been on a broad, downward trajectory ever since. More people disagreed than agreed with the statement for the first time in 2007.

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But it is the second, generational, aspect that poses perhaps the most profound, long-term questions about Britain’s welfare settlement. Not only are younger generations less supportive of redistribution than older ones, but attitudes appear to remain steady within cohorts over time. There is little sign of a "lifecycle effect", in which our attitudes become more like those of our parents as we grow older. The implication is that the declining public support for redistributive policies may not be cyclical but rather a glimpse of the future.

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These are the initial findings of an ongoing study of attitudes towards welfare. Should this generational shift be replicated across the welfare state – with, for example, greater scepticism towards public pensions and elderly care – the implications could be seismic. Redistributive policies in particular and welfare state in general, require buy-in from significant proportions of society to remain sustainable. Changes in attitudes are therefore at least as important as demographic and financial pressures – not least because they will shape our collective response to them.

In the short-term the government has guaranteed a "triple lock" to protect the generosity of pensions; in the medium term a "triple block" of austerity, ageing and attitudes could force us to reconsider our current models of provision. In such a scenario, policymakers would have no option but to face up to some big questions. What has caused this fragmentation of support between the generations? Is it linked to people’s own experiences of the welfare state, or to wider social currents that policy has far less purchase on? Can it be reversed? If not, what are the policy responses that are consistent both with changing attitudes and long-standing policy commitments?

"The social democratic project is not just about spending more money" Miliband recently insisted. "We have surely learnt that it is not enough merely to keep funding more and more generous tax credits", urged David Cameron before the last election. Governments cannot depend solely on "the power of the central state to shift money around", argued Nick Clegg in the same year. Miliband, Clegg and Cameron had all better hope they are right. Two "A"s – austerity and ageing – already cast a long shadow over social welfare policy. We may be seeing the emergence of a third equally significant pressure: attitudes.

Pensioners in Blackpool. Photograph: Getty Images

Bobby Duffy is managing director of the Ipsos MORI social research institute and Duncan O’Leary is deputy director of Demos.

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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism