Investment in education is key to reducing the deficit

Spending on higher education yields a long-term economic benefit for Britain.

One of the strangest claims in the current debate on education is that raising student fees will enable British universities to compete internationally. If we take just the "elite" universities, this is already happening – four out of the world's top 20 universities are British.

As ever, the devil is in the detail. If you sift closely through the Browne review, you will see he recommends that no extra resources be made available for higher education, the proposed increase in fees being designed to compensate for the withdrawal of funds from central government.

If the government follows Browne's advice, the chronic underfunding of higher education will deepen and Britain will fall further behind our economic competitors. In the space of eight years, the UK has gone from having the third-highest graduation rate among industrialised countries to languishing in 15th place, according to the latest OECD survey.

This irrational approach mirrors the economic debate, which has become dominated by the Budget deficit. However, the deficit is a symptom of the economic crisis, not its cause. And cutting spending will depress activity further, which will depress tax revenues and lead to deficit widening.

Education can and must be allowed to play a leading role in any revival. However, for that to happen, the government needs to follow the advice of the OECD, which recently recommended increasing investment in higher education to create jobs and raise tax revenues.

Annual spending on higher education in Britain is £23bn, for which the Treasury gets back an estimated return of £60bn. This arises from various sources, including jobs, exports, innovation, royalties and so on. There is also a long-term economic benefit, which is slightly harder to measure, that comes from a more highly educated and productive population.

That £60bn is a return on investment and highlights the madness of cutting spending on higher education. Spending cuts will lose jobs, exports and innovation.

The cuts are all made in the name of being fiscally responsible, getting the deficit under control and not living beyond our means – the economic saws of Thatcherism. Yet not only will the economy suffer as a result of education cuts, but government finances will deteriorate as result.

This arises from two effects. First, taxes will fall as a result of a weaker economy. Second, spending will end up higher as the government is forced to shell out millions in welfare payments to those denied places in education and made redundant from university jobs, including teachers and clerical, cleaning and catering staff.

If we look closely, the government's economics simply do not add up. A £1bn cut in spending on higher education leads to £2.6bn in decreased activity. This decrease in activity leads to both lower tax revenues and higher government spending, as mentioned above.

The same process also operates in reverse – an increase of investment in higher education will produce a positive net return to government finances through increased activity and the higher tax revenues, as well as the lower welfare payments that flow from it. Every £1bn increase in investment in this sector would produce a positive return to government finances, which could be used either to reduce the Budget deficit or to fund further much-needed investment, for even greater return.

Sally Hunt is general secretary of the University and College Union and Michael Burke is a former senior international economist for Citibank London.

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The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era