The political problem of parents priced out of work

The government is slowly waking up to the crisis in affordable childcare.

With the economic climate looking unremittingly bleak, government will have to focus on ways to ease the pain for people on low and middle incomes feeling the famous squeeze. One area that has grabbed ministers' attention is the rising cost of childcare. This is problematic not just because it is a drain on parents' income, but because it can even discourage them from going to work. Eleven per cent of full-time mothers say they stay at home because they can't afford the costs of childcare. Twenty-four per cent of those using childcare say they struggle to meet the cost.

Those statistics -- and plenty more that are equally interesting -- are contained in a new pamphlet by the Social Market Foundation thinktank. It catalogues in some detail the factors that have driven up the cost of childcare as a proportion of household income. Funding and benefits that were introduced at the end of the John Major government (the ability to discount childcare costs from income when applying for housing benefit, for example) and during the Labour government (childcare vouchers, free nursery hours and tax credits) have been frozen or cut, while costs have risen. Meawnhile, as general wages have stagnated, ever more households are relying on two incomes to make ends meet. I recommend the pamphlet -- it isn't too long and is full of useful data -- for a more detailed account of what has happened.

The bottom line is that government will have to step in and rebuild some of the lost subsidy or face more women -- and some men too -- dropping out of the labour market just to look after their children, which is bad for the economy and, in terms of developmental research cited in the report, bad for kids too.

This is an issue that poses a bit of a problem for Iain Duncan Smith, whose Universal Credit (UC) is supposed to make work a more lucrative and attractive option for people currently on benefits. As currently modelled, the UC contains a disincentive for second earners in households with children going back to work (their benefits will be withdrawn faster than would be the case when there is just one earner in a household.) This is either a mistake or, just possibly, the result of a small "c" conservative prejudice about what constitutes a healthy family set-up -- ie. reflecting a view that "second earners", usually mums, should be staying at home with their kids. Official government policy, of course, is to get as many people who can work into work as quickly as possible.

In any case, the government is desperately trying to work out ways to make childcare more affordable, which means finding ways to move money around within a limited pot. Then there is the secondary problem of who in the coalition gets the credit for helping families pay for nursery places. I've written before that this is an area where Nick Clegg and IDS compete for the right to sound compassionate. It is plainly within the DWP remit, but it is Clegg who has flagged up the problem and pushed it at "quad" level -- that is, the committee of four top ministers who coordinate coalition policy.

I understand that an announcement on more childcare support is ready, but that it has been delayed by arguments over who in the coalition should have the privilege of doling out goodies when there is so much doom and gloom dominating the rest of the news agenda.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue