David Cameron's misappropriation of the word "privilege"

The Prime Minister says he wants to spread privilege - the IEA's Philip Booth really hopes that isn't what he meant.

Given the constraints of political speech-making, David Cameron's effort earlier this week was reasonable. There was the misunderstanding of international trade that one always gets from politicians when he said that developed countries were in a global race and faced a sink or swim situation. This is a common misconception. But, trade theory is tough, even for those who have the best education money can buy, so this line of reasoning is understandable. Of course, when new nations develop there are more opportunities for specialisation and trade, not fewer. The developing countries get richer and, although there may be some particular industries that suffer problems as a result of changing trading patterns, we are not in a race in some kind of zero sum game. The growth of China and India change the big picture relatively little. With good policy, our economy might grow at two to three per cent per year and with bad policy it might grow at zero to two per cent per year. Our concern should be to have good policy at home - but not because we are in some kind of economic race towards a fixed prize.

David Cameron's second error though, was rather surprising coming from somebody with a degree in PPE from Oxford. One should never be too harsh on politicians in front of a camera. It is easy to use the wrong words or for the words to come out in the wrong order. However, this was a carefully scripted speech written by professionals.

After pointing to his own educational background, Cameron said that he wanted to "spread privilege". I really hope not.

Privilege involves law that benefits the few (though, to interpret the principle more widely, the few could even be the majority). In the Soviet Union, travelling abroad was a privilege. In this country, pension contributions are "tax privileged". Doctors are privileged by laws restricting entry. An expensive education is definitely not a privilege - it is a freedom. It is a freedom that few can exercise but this does not make it a privilege.

What we definitely do not want to do is "spread privilege". Spreading privilege really means creating lots more situations where there are laws in existence for the benefit of the few. However, I am sure that is not what David Cameron intended to argue for; his intention, I am sure, was to say "widen privileges" so that existing privileges are available to more people.

But, even this is not what we should aspire to. The equivalent in the Soviet Union would be to pass a law letting some more people travel. What David Cameron really means is that he wants to "widen opportunity" or, better still, "restrain freedom less". The corporatist interpretation of his aspiration would be that he wants to ensure that education is better for everybody. The liberal (in the proper sense of the word) interpretation is that he wants to give many, many more families the freedom to choose their children's education.

Does any of this matter? Yes, it does. The meanings of words evolve, but those who believe in freedom are used to having words hijacked because it enables the enemies of freedom to make their case in an underhand way. This is why I had to put "in the proper sense of the word" in brackets after using the word "liberal". The word privilege is already used by the left in the education debate in a way that is very damaging. They argue that "higher education should be a right and not a privilege". In fact, this is using the word in the same way as David Cameron uses the word - and this is disastrous in the debate. Under new funding arrangements higher education will become a "freedom". Under old funding arrangements it was a "privilege" because laws had to be passed and regulations made that limited higher education to the few as a result of fiscal constraints (and that higher education was financed by the many for the benefit of the few). In fact, those on the liberal side of the debate are demanding that higher education should be "a freedom and not a privilege". Those on the left are actually arguing that higher education should be "a privilege and neither a freedom nor a right". The last slogan does not trip off the tongue quite as well and I am not sure the left would get much traction from using it - hence their desire to redefine words. It is the left that believe in privilege because, if access to goods and services is free, then that access has to be restricted by law creating a privileged few.

Privilege is inimical to a free society. Indeed, it is the fight against privilege that should define everything that Conservative and Liberal parties should stand for. It was a fight that began with Magna Carta. Please, let us not have a policy of spreading privilege. And please, let us also not help the left in redefining the language of freedom.

Philip Booth is Editorial and Programme Director at the Institute of Economic Affairs

A couple of privileged French fops. Image: Getty Images

Philip Booth is Editorial and Programme Director at the Institute of Economic Affairs.

 

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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