Crisis? What crisis?

The Tories are playing on unfounded fears about the Budget deficit

Yesterday the Conservatives marked the launch of their election campaign by plastering locations around Britain with huge pictures of David Cameron's head. In the posters, the head appears concerned but resolute; next to it floats the legend, "We can't go on like this. I'll cut the deficit, not the NHS", as if in some way these two things were direct alternatives to one another.

Meanwhile, the Financial Times asked 79 economists what they considered to be the three biggest risks to the economy. Thirty-seven of them warned that the Budget deficit puts the UK at risk of a fiscal crisis.

So, for the other 42 economists, the risk of fiscal crisis didn't even make it into their top three. But even when its use is unjustified, the word "crisis" has a headline-generating resonance that "slow recovery in world trade" or "risk of an inexperienced new chancellor" (both worries that also came up in the FT's poll) just can't match. Robert Skidelsky made the point in an interview with the NS's culture editor, Jonathan Derbyshire, back in November:

Has the bailout shifted the problem from a banking crisis to a fiscal crisis?
I don't think there is a fiscal crisis. I think it's an invention.

By politicians?
Yes. Someone like George Osborne gets away with leaving out assumptions behind his arguments because he's not confronted with them. He's interviewed a lot, but people haven't really nailed him. There hasn't been enough debate about the stimulus and national debt.

Asked about the FT's poll in an email exchange this morning, Lord Skidelsky made the same point again: "Talk of a looming fiscal crisis is greatly exaggerated. There is no risk to government solvency in the short run."

There's no question that £178bn, the current deficit, is a very big number. But that doesn't mean that reducing it should be the government's top priority. Part of it "will disappear automatically as the economy starts to grow, and extra revenues come in" -- something that whoever is in charge next year will no doubt take credit for anyway. As for the rest, action will have to be taken in the long run. As Lord Skidelsky says: "No one wants a sick patient to stay on antibiotics too long. But to withdraw the treatment too soon risks a serious relapse."

 

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Leader: The angry middle

As a sense of victimhood extends even to the middle classes, it makes Western democracies much more difficult to govern.

Two months after the United Kingdom’s vote to leave the European Union, it remains conventional wisdom that the referendum result was largely a revolt by the so-called left behind. Yet this is not the full picture. Many of the 52 per cent who voted Leave were relatively prosperous and well educated, yet still angry and determined to deliver a shock to the political system. We should ask ourselves why the English middle class, for so long presumed to be placid and risk-averse, was prepared to gamble on Brexit.

Populism has long appealed to those excluded from political systems, or from a share in prosperity. In recent years, however, its appeal has broadened to young graduates and those on above-average incomes who also feel that they have not benefited from globalisation. The sense of middle-class victimhood has become a major strand in Western politics.

In the United States, middle-class anger has powered support for Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump. The former drew his activist base mostly from young liberals. And while Mr Trump’s success in the Republican primaries was often attributed to a working-class insurrection against “the elites”, exit poll data showed that the median yearly income of a Trump voter was $72,000, compared with a national average of $56,000. (For supporters of Hillary Clinton, the figure was roughly $61,000.) It is not the have-nots who have powered Mr Trump’s rise, but the have-a-bits.

In the UK, similar forces can be seen in the rise of Jeremy Corbyn. Indeed, research shows that three-quarters of Labour Party members are from the top social grades, known as ABC1. About 57 per cent have a degree.

Mr Sanders, Mr Trump and Mr Corbyn have very different policies, ideologies and strategies, but they are united by an ability to tap into middle-class dissatisfaction with the present order. Some of that anger flows from politicians’ failure to convey the ways in which society has improved in recent years, or to speak truthfully to electorates. In the UK and much of the West, there have been huge gains – life expectancy has risen, absolute poverty has decreased, teenage pregnancy has fallen to a record low, crime rates have fallen, and huge strides have been made in curbing gender, sexual and racial discrimination. Yet we hear too little of these successes.

Perhaps that is why so many who are doing comparatively well seem the most keen to upset the status quo. For instance, pensioners voted strongly to leave the EU and are the demographic from which Ukip attracts most support. Yet the over-65s are enjoying an era of unprecedented growth in their real incomes. Since 2010, the basic state pension has risen by over four times the increase in average earnings. 

Among young people, much of their anger is directed towards tuition fees and the iniquities of the housing market. Yet, by definition, tuition fees are paid only by those who go into higher education – and these people receive a “graduate bonus” for the rest of their lives. Half of school-leavers do not attend university and, in a globalised world, it is their wages that are most likely to be undercut by immigration.

However, we should not be complacent about the concerns of the “angry middle”. The resentment exploited by Donald Trump is the result of 40 years of stagnant median wages in the United States. In Japan and Germany, median wages have not increased in the past two decades. In the UK, meanwhile, the median income for those aged 31-59 is no greater than it was in 2007, and those aged 22-30 are 7 per cent worse off, according to the Institute for Fiscal Studies.

To compound the problem, the wealthy keep getting wealthier. In 1980, American CEOs were paid 42 times the wage of the average worker. They are now paid 400 times as much. In the UK, the share of household income going to the top 1 per cent has more than doubled since 1979. Because of our hyperconnected, globalised media culture, we see more of the super-rich, fuelling feelings of resentment.

As a sense of victimhood extends even to the middle classes, it makes Western democracies much more difficult to govern, with voters oscillating between populists of the left and the right. The political centre is hollowing out. Rather than pander to the populists, we must do more to quell the politics of victimhood by addressing the root of this corrosive sense of grievance: entrenched inequality. 

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser