What we can learn from Scandinavia about equality

A talk in Norway by one of the authors of the bestselling "Spirit Level" is highly revealing.

Anyone who has read The Spirit Level -- Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett's statistical bestseller explaining why greater equality results in happier, safer and generally nicer societies -- will know that many of the charts the authors produce plot income inequality from low to high along the x-axis, and some other health or social variable, such as teenage births or educational performance, along the y-axis.

And they will know that, on such charts, the Scandinavian countries almost always keep themselves out of trouble in the bottom left-hand corner of the graph. They have relatively low levels of inequality, and accordingly they are less afflicted by the problems to which Wilkinson and Pickett draw attention.

How intriguing, then, to attend a talk given by Richard Wilkinson in Oslo on Thursday, during the book's launch in Scandinavia. Would an argument that generally holds the Scandinavian model up as an exemplar hold up to scrutiny itself from Scandinavians?

 

Double-edged sword

There are certainly many people in Norway who would argue against the claims of The Spirit Level. In particular, the right-wing parties (FrP and Høyre) question the extent to which a highly redistributive social model is even any longer sustainable. Whetting the appetite further, it was one of their members of parliament, Torbjørn Røe Isaksen -- an exponent of Hayek -- who had been asked to respond to Wilkinson's talk.

And highly revealing it was, too. Many of the arguments Isaksen put forward were of the standard denialist nature (correlation is not the same as causation; there is no proof that redistribution actually creates better living conditions; and so on). Most of these critiques can be countered easily enough. His argument that new technologies available in the richest countries are allowing us to live longer, for example, is predicated on the marginal gains in life years enjoyed by a select group of individuals and entirely overlooks the opportunity cost of the years of life lost in rich societies as a result of the pursuit of those few extra months by the wealthiest.

Taken on its own terms, Isaksen's critique pointed to little more than the safe assumption that he is probably against health-care reform in the US.

But the broader implications of a Scandinavian politician's critique of Wilkinson and Pickett's thesis are both important and relevant to the present political moment in the UK. Not least, they ought to be given careful thought by those Labour politicians now brandishing The Spirit Level as a manual of good practice as they go about their electioneering.

First is the ease with which the findings of the book can be turned against it. The general logic underlying Isaksen's argument, for example, was that The Spirit Level was entirely correct in its diagnosis of the natural tendency to division in society and he was grateful (politically speaking) for the proof. Thus do all those painstakingly compiled (and painful to contemplate) charts put together by Wilkinson and Pickett become a tool in the opposition's hands.

Isaksen was more than happy to agree with Wilkinson's analysis of society's "natural" tendency to division, for example, because it allowed him to claim that, for this reason, there was no reason to believe that more redistribution would actually result in greater long-term equality.

This may be flawed reasoning, but neither pointing out the degree of inequality that arises under governments of the right (or of the left-neoliberalist persuasion) nor even -- it seems -- actually attaining a high degree of redistributive equality, as has been achieved in Scandinavia, appear to be capable of overcoming it. In the UK, for example, David Cameron has got on very nicely with his Broken Britain line. And in Norway, a fear of the power of the right's anti-redistribution agenda of the past ten to 15 years has led the Norwegian left to slash taxes on capital income and stockholders' dividends, while in power. As Magnus Marsdal of the think tank Manifest points out, Norway's Gini coefficient has been steadily rising as a result.

Second is the issue of what the arguments against greater redistribution of income most conspicuously overlook. Here, too, there are lessons for the UK, particularly in the context of discussion around the top rate of income tax and taxes on bonuses, say.

 

Principles of care

One of the things that has helped slow the effect of recent reversals in the actual amount of income redistributed in Norway, in particular, is the much greater sense of social cohesion that exists in the country. This is not the result of the shops there being shut on Sundays, or the lack of a financial sector, but the consequence of many years of redistributive policies reaching deep into the fabric of society and nourishing its bones.

Deep down, Norway and the other Scandinavian societies still have it right because there is a host of other social policies (affordable childcare and longer paternity leave for men among them) that are sustainable on the back of a redistributive economy, but which themselves provide the basis for a more caring society. And it is care -- as a political philosophy, and as most convincingly argued by the likes of the American scholar Joan Tronto -- that provides the basic capital for mending broken societies.

This is the argument that now needs to be won in the UK. The important points made by The Spirit Level cannot get us all the way there. Moreover, they are liable to be misappropriated by the right unless the left finds a way of mobilising popular consensus around what people have in common, as much as around the things they are divided by.

Wilkinson was given a telling-off during the questions that followed his talk for at times seeming to get caught up in the almost scientific nature of the social divisions he was describing. That was probably justified, as socio-economic tendencies are not natural laws, no matter how strong the correlation.

But in keeping with the spirit of his point -- that the relationship between inequality and social ills is at least entirely statistically significant, and more so, it is morally compelling -- perhaps we also need an easy way of remembering what it is that can help us overcome such inequalities: one that needs to be remembered, it seems, in Norway, Sweden and Denmark as much as it still needs to be learned in the UK.

So here it is. E=MC2: Equality = More Care Squared.

Follow the New Statesman team on Twitter.

Getty
Show Hide image

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.

0800 7318496