Who ate all the pie?

The impact of rising pay inequality will be felt throughout the UK economy.

You probably won't be too surprised to hear that for a long time many workers have been receiving an ever smaller portion of the fruits of economic growth. But if we are to properly understand the 'trickle-up' tendencies of British capitalism we need to not only register the depressing headline but get under the surface of what brought it about.

A new report out today does exactly that: it shows that there has been a sharp fall in the share of GDP going to those in work on below average earnings at the same time as the highest earners have received an ever larger share of the national economic pie. This is not just about stagnant wages over recent years - though that has made matters worse. This runs deeper. Over a generation the wages of the bottom half of the working population have shrunk to 10 per cent of GDP, whist the top 1 per cent have seen a 50 per cent increase in their share.

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Source: Resolution Foundation 2011

So far, so predictable, you may think. But the explanation of this challenges some popular assumptions. One view, firmly held by some on the left, is that the long-term decline in wages as a share of GDP is simply the flipside of more of our national income taking the form of corporate profit. There is some truth in this - it is estimated that it accounts for around 10 per cent of the long-term wage squeeze experienced by the bottom half of earners - but this is not nearly as much many people think. (And the share of 'profit' in national accounts is if anything over-stated as it also reflects payments to the growing army of the self-employed - which isn't really what most people think of 'capital').

Another view, more often heard from those on the right and from business, is that workers' wages have been under pressure because of rising burdens on employers, such as higher national insurance contributions, which have borne down on pay. These costs have certainly risen. But again, this can be overstated: it accounts for an estimated 15 per cent of the reduced share of GDP paid out in wages to those on below average earnings.

A more predictable, and potent, explanation of why the bottom half of workers have been losing out involves rising pay inequality: of the total sum paid out in wages, a far greater share is now going to the top half of earners than used to be the case -- and within the top half, it is the top 10 per cent that have done best, and within the top 10 per cent it is the richest 1 per cent who have really cleaned up. Not surprisingly if we focus on changes in wages since the late 1990s then the role of the finance sector is key, with a staggering proportion of all of the gains to the top 10 per cent of earners in Britain flowing to a small number of people in that sector.

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Source: Resolution Foundation 2011

Take a longer view of pay inequality, going back to the 1970s, and a slightly different picture emerges. Part of the increase reflects the fact that jobs have gravitated over time from relatively 'equal' sectors like manufacturing into 'unequal' sectors like finance. But the bigger story is that almost all sectors have contributed to the rise in pay inequality: we can't pin it all on bankers. Regardless of where you work, the gap between the top and bottom is likely to have grown.

Shining a light on these trends helps focus minds on the long-term prospects for low-to-middle earners within our economy. Of course, some will just shrug their shoulders at all this. For them, growing economic inequality amongst the working population is simply what happens in advanced market economies - get over it. But many economists - and not just those on the left - are increasingly unsettled about where all this is headed. After all, you don't exactly have to be a class warrior (or even a social democrat) to believe that a country in which the wage share of the bottom half of earners is constantly falling is likely to be an increasingly volatile one: both in the economic sense, as ever more people consume all they earn, fail to save for the future, and rely on debt to try and ensure their living standards rise in line with the wider economy. And volatile in a wider political sense too. If a generation grows up believing that there is likely to be little personal gain from economic growth then they may not think the policies (and parties) that advocate the measures that generate higher prosperity are desirable or even legitimate.

Equally, you don't have to be a free-market fundamentalist to question the feasibility of the state doing ever more to compensate for escalating wage inequality through more redistributive tax and benefit policies. My own view is that there is very little prospect of the next Labour government -- or any other government for that matter - doing much more to reduce inequality via redistributive tax and benefit policies than was the case prior to 2010. This means that those who worry about inequalities in long-term living standards need to shift from a narrow focus on tax and benefit policies to the much thornier issues of achieving rising real wages and employment rates.

Anyone who claims to want a rising-tide economy, in which the gains from growth are widely shared, must recognise that this can't mean the bottom half of wage-earners being left with an ever smaller slice of the pie. Whatever tomorrow's much anticipated GDP figures turn out to be, this is the real economic question of our times. Business as usual won't do.

Gavin Kelly is chief executive of the Resolution Foundation.

Gavin Kelly is a former adviser to Downing Street and the Treasury. He tweets @GavinJKelly1.

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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