Government lays groundwork for slashing minimum wage

The Government has instructed the Low Pay Commission to consider the impact of the minimum wage on “employment and the economy”.

The Telegraph suggests that the government is considering freezing or cutting the minimum wage if it starts to cost jobs or damage the economy. Christopher Hope reports:

The minimum wage for millions of people could have to be capped or frozen in future if it risks damaging jobs or the economy, the Government has said.

It has told the Low Pay Commission, which sets the minimum wage, that it must formally consider its impact on “employment and the economy”, before agreeing future increases.

The change, which will be written into the Commission’s new terms of reference, raises the prospect of the first ever across-the-board freeze or cut in the minimum wage for everyone if the economic uncertainty continues.

Let's leave aside, for the moment, the fact that the minimum wage has risen below inflation – and thus faced an across-the-board cut in real terms – every year since the recession. The Low Pay Commission is, it seems, perfectly capable of examining the level of the minimum wage and deciding it's too high, and has done that four years in a row.

When you look at the actual history of the minimum wage in the UK since its introduction in 1999, the key thing that stands out is how few negative effects it has had at all. As Tory MP Matthew Hancock told the Resolution Foundation last week:

The standard argument against the minimum wage is that a minimum wage would price people out of jobs. But the academic analysis doesn’t back it up. The analysis of the impact of minimum wages is one of the most studied areas of economics.

There are so many studies that economists now publish studies of studies, bringing all the data together. Two of the most recent, which together analysed 91 studies, found that “the minimum wage has little or no discernible effect on the employment prospects of low-wage workers.”

Many reasons are cited by the study, including increased pay raising the efficiency of the workforce, and the very small impact of minimum wage increases on the total pay bill. After all, work is a team effort. Working out how much of a firm’s revenue is down to which member of the team is an imprecise art at best. Just as with high pay, the question of just rewards is important.

A phrase favoured by right-wing economists is that it is "economics 101 that the minimum wage increases unemployment". Going by the available evidence, it seems like there's a reason economics 101 is followed up by economics 201 and economics 301.

But while the information we have suggests that the Low Pay Commission has handled its task well, that doesn't mean we should ignore the possibility that a minimum wage set too high might damage employment. Indeed, that's clearly something the Low Pay Commission examines, as it explains the real-terms cuts coinciding with the recent spike in unemployment. The Government telling the Commission to "formally consider" employment and growth is just an emphasis on areas formerly implicitly covered.

But the minimum wage would have a strong rationale even if it did slight harm to growth and employment. After all, all expectations were that there would be a slight increase in unemployment after we introduced it in 1999, and although that didn't happen, it wouldn't have been the wrong decision if it did.

You can rationalise a minimum wage which slightly harms employment by asking what the role of the welfare state actually is. If it's to help people of low incomes across the board, then the key thing is to get everyone into work no matter how badly paid, and top their quality of life up to an acceptable level. If, conversely, it's a safety net to help those out of work, then there's not much to be said for the prospect of people in work still needing help. To put it in the Blairite language with which it was promoted, the minimum wage is about making work pay. If work doesn't pay, and is subsequently made unviable by a – still very low – minimum wage, then it's not the biggest hit ever taken.

Similarly, a slight hit to growth caused by the minimum wage can again work out OK, especially if redistributionist policies ensure that the paid from that hit is taken by the rich. Compare it, for instance, to tax. It is widely accepted that there is a deadweight loss to taxation – that is, the act of taxing people reduces their incomes by more than the amount of revenue received. Nonetheless, we do it, because we think it might be worth turning a pound in a rich person's pocket into 90p in the hand of someone poor. And the same is true of the minimum wage – the unambiguous winners of it are working poor people, and if the hit is taken by people richer than them, that might be a decision worth taking. Every policy has trade-offs, and requiring the minimum wage to have absolutely no negative effects is holding it to a standard no other policy could live up to.

The Government's instruction to the Low Pay Commission to do something they are already doing will hopefully remain just that. But if it becomes the start of a whispering campaign to suggest that minimum wage laws are making us all worse off, remember that they aren't; and that even if they were making some of us worse off, it might well be worth it given those whose lives they improve.

Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism