Are we catching the US disease?

The average American household has failed to benefit from the recent era of economic growth and risi

In the 1970s, the policy and political elite obsessed about the 'British disease' -- the failure of our system of industrial relations, and its impact on UK prosperity relative to our competitors, above all the US. Forty years on, their concern should be whether we have caught the 'US disease': the failure of the broad mass of US households on low to middle incomes, the middle-class in American parlance, to benefit from the recent era of economic growth and rising productivity. Typical US family incomes today are at the same level as they were in the late 1980s, and median wages have flat-lined for an even longer period.

As the chart shows, the US has long had a problem with sharing -- that is, sharing out the proceeds of growth.

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Source: Machin, Centre for Economic Performance

The question is: are we catching their bug? Over the last decade the UK (as well as other countries like Germany) has started to show more US-like tendencies, as the relationship between economic growth and the pay rises going to the ordinary worker has weakened.

graph

Source: Resolution Foundation

There's no consensus as to what explains this great American stagnation. The easy bit is to point the finger at US policy mistakes that have certainly made matters much worse. Regressive tax policy, motivated by trickle-down theories; together with weak regulation motivated by a belief in the infallibility of markets, undermined their fiscal position, fuelled inequality and magnified economic instability. And the nature of the US political system itself poses a barrier to economic progress, with the efforts of President Obama -- like those of other Presidents -- being thwarted by deep and intractable political gridlock.

But to appreciate the deeper causes of the problem, we also need to consider the longer term hollowing out of the US jobs market. Leading US economist Jared Bernstein, who is in the UK this week to speak to a major conference on how the UK can avoid the US fate, puts it this way:

The developments that have hurt the US middle class -- and they are related -- are high levels of inequality and weak employment growth. Together, they have created a wedge between growth and broadly shared prosperity. UK policy makers take note: pushback on these forces or be prepared for a prolonged middle income squeeze.

The chart below demonstrates Bernstein's point. Each decade since World War II has seen fast employment growth (usually consisting of a dip during a downturn followed by strong growth as the economic cycle picks up). But prior to the recent recession, there was almost no employment growth: the jobs market was already flat-lining before it went into freefall.

graph 3

There are plenty of potential reasons for this decline -- the rise of an ever sharper focus on shareholder value, and more intense competition from China and India are both regularly blamed.

But the most likely villain is the changing relationship between technology and the jobs market. A leading view is that the rate of technological change has slowed down since the 1970s, and the new innovations which have occurred, particularly in ICT, are far less job-rich than was the case in previous waves of technological change (an argument advocated by US economist Tyler Cowen in his Great Stagnation). Another argument, set out in the latest zeitgeist e-book from the US, Race Against the Machine by Erik Brynjolfsson and Andrew McAfees, is that digital technology is changing faster than many workers can keep up with, rapidly encroaching into new sectors of the economy, leaving many workers economically displaced and disadvantaged (read this to see where these two perspectives converge and diverge).

If either of these are an accurate diagnosis, it's more than a bit worrying for the UK. We are of course exposed to precisely the same technological trends as the US; and prior to the recession we were already exhibiting many of the symptoms of a polarising labour market. Worse still, these long-term and underlying challenges are being made worse by short-term policy mistakes.

For now, our focus is rightly on injecting life into an economy with chronically weak domestic demand, whose main export market is in crisis. Beyond this, we need to contemplate how to avoid the US disease which, if caught, could mean that living standards for much of the country could be divorced from any future growth for a generation to come.

 

Gavin Kelly is a former Downing Street adviser to Gordon Brown and Tony Blair. He tweets @GavinJKelly1.

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Relive your worst experiences for $15 an hour: how confessional journalism exploits women writers

The women’s website Bustle asks its writers to fill out a checklist covering every possible personal angle; it puts a low-market value on their most intimate truths.

Let me tell you about the worst thing that ever happened to me, the most terrible thing I’ve ever done. Let me tell you everything there is to know about me, all the buried markers of self that live under my skin. OK not that one, and I’ll keep that one too. I have to have something left over, after all. Even so, I’ve written about being the May Queen at school, and the time I got flashed in an underpass; about having depression as a teenager, and the unplanned pregnancy that became my son.

Actually, I’ve written about that last one twice: my first successful pitch for a comment piece was a response to anti-abortion comments by the then-influential semi-thinker Phillip Blond. It was a kind of pitch I now refer to now as the “what I think about X as a Y”: what I think about abortion as a woman who had and chose to continue an unplanned pregnancy. Experience is capital, and in 2009, I used it to buy my way into writing.

It’s a standard route for women writers, but not usually as formalised as it is at women’s website Bustle, which (as Gawker reported last week) asks its writers to fill out a checklist covering every possible personal angle: “I see a therapist”, “I’ve had group sex (more than three)”, “I used to have a Fitbit but I don’t now”.

Every bit of what you are, granulated and packaged for easy dispersal through a range of stories. It’s an editorial approach that gives rise to a weird, impersonally-personal tone. “Five Reasons I’m Grateful For My Parents’ Divorce”, chirrups a listicle; “that’s why I tried anal sex in the first place”, trills a gif-heavy piece about the benefits of bumming.

That’s just the shallow end of the confessional genre. The ideal online women’s interest story combines a huge, life-changing disclosure with an empowering message. Like this, from xoJane: “I'm Finally Revealing My Name and Face As the Duke Porn Star” (the last line of that one is: “My name is Belle Knox, and I wear my Scarlet Letter with pride”). Or this, from Jezebel: “On Falling In and Out of Love With My Dad” (which concludes like this: “And to the victims of their abuse, I want to say what I have finally been able to understand myself: that my attraction, and what it led to, was not my fault”).

It’s tempting to think of this blend of prurience and uplift as a peculiar product of the internet, but it’s been a staple of women’s publishing forever: the covers of women’s magazines are full of lines like “Raped for 50p and a biscuit!” and “The groom who went ZOOM!” about a jilted bride, exactly as they were when I used to sneak them from my aunt’s magazine rack to read them as a child. The difference is that, in the trashy weeklies, there’s no pretence that trauma is the overture for a career. You get paid for your story, and someone else writes it up. The end.

At Bustle, the rate apparently runs to $90 for a six-hour shift. That feels like a low market value to put on your most intimate truths, especially when the follow-up success you’re investing in might never materialise. The author of the father-daughter incest story for Jezebel told a Slate writer that, despite the huge web traffic her confessional received, her subsequent pitches were ignored. Her journalistic career currently begins and ends with her very grimmest experience.

“Everything is copy” is the Nora Ephron line. But when she said it, she didn’t intend the disclosure economy we live in now. For Ephron, “everything is copy” meant claiming control: “When you slip on the banana peel, people laugh at you. But when you tell people you slipped on the banana peel, it’s your laugh. So you become the hero, rather than the victim of the joke.”

Does the aspiring writer plucked from an editor’s checklist to retail her own Worst Thing Ever get to call the banana skin her own?

The Bustle checklist suggests not. “Don’t put anything on here you don’t want to write about,” it stresses, before adding, “that said, you can always say ‘no’ . . . You might be too busy when an editor approaches you about possibly writing an identity post, or simply not interested, and that’s okay! We won’t be mad!”

Ticking the box basically puts you in a position of assumed consent, but which hopeful young woman would dare to set her boundaries too close when an editor tells her this could be good for her career? (Yes, I know this sounds a bit like a story of sexual harassment. Funny, that.)

So many confessionalist pieces of writing tell stories about women having their limits overridden. Rape and coercion. Abuse and assault. Being talked over and ignored. But the logic of the perpetual confession journalism machine is the same: everything about a woman should be available to use, nothing a woman has to say is valid without a personal claim to authority, repackage their guts as shiny sausages and call it an “identity piece”.

Women writers shouldn’t be waiting for permission to say no. We need to tell our stories on our own terms, and we need to set better terms than $15 an hour and the hope of some exposure. The worst thing that ever happened to me? It’s mine. I’m keeping it.

Sarah Ditum is a journalist who writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman and others. Her website is here.