Inflation is worst for the worse off

"Essentials" increased in price by far more than the CPI last year.

Money broker Tullett Prebon has created an index of price inflation in "essentials" in Britain, which it's calling (unsurprisingly) the Tullett Prebon UK Essentials Index. It defines "essential" goods as:

  • Food, alcohol and tobacco
  • Council tax, water charges and home insurance
  • The costs of domestic heating and power, principally gas and electricity
  • Fuel, road tax and vehicle insurance
  • Train, bus and other public transport fares

(Yes, alcohol and tobacco are essentials.) Between them, those components make up 40 per cent of the RPI, with the other sixty per cent being non-essentials.

Defining the difference lets us take a look at how bad inflation is hitting just the act of day-to-day living. Tullett Prebon estimates inflation in essentials was 3.7 per cent over 2012, well above the CPI, which increased by 2.8 per cent. And, since wages have been rising below even CPI, the price of essentials has soared in comparison to income:

Between 2007 and 2012, nominal incomes expanded by 10% whilst the cost of essentials soared by more than 33%, meaning that the average working person would have been 17% worse off if he or she had spent the whole of their income on essentials.

Of course, few people do spend their entire income on essentials. However, with real incomes under pressure, and with the prices of essentials now increasing at annual rates of close to 4%, the proportion of household incomes going into essentials is clearly rising, and is set to continue to do so.

As the chart below makes clear, this is entirely a post-recession phenomenon:

It's been known that inflation is worse for the worse off for quite some time now, but it's largely been a fact bandied around by the far left. The Communist Party of Britain — that's the one which publishes the Morning Star — produced a Working Class Price Index in 2010, which made much the same point. That pegged inflation for the working class (which included a broad mixture of non-essentials as well) at over 10 per cent for some years.

This isn't quite the same point as the one made by those at the intersection of compassionate conservatism and inflation hawkishness, which is that high inflation disproportionately hits the poor. That may or may not be true — I'm inclined to think it does, but not as much as high unemployment and low growth does, and insofar as inflation hawks call for that trade-off they're being disingenuous — but what is true is that whatever the headline rate of inflation is, if you're poor, life is getting more expensive much faster than that indicates.

One final point (I think made originally by Left Outside) is that a closer look at the categories which count as essentials reveals a far greater extent of government control over prices than is normal. Council tax, road tax and almost all public transport fares are set (in aggregate) by the government; a massive proportion of the cost of alcohol, tobacco, fuel and heating and power is similarly driven by taxation.

As a result, standard understanding of inflation goes out the window. There is no intrinsic link between monetary policy and the rate of inflation for "essentials", because the prices aren't set by the market. It's a rare situation where the government could have its cake and eat it; it could implement expansionary monetary policy to boost demand, while at the same time capping, temporarily, rises in those direct regressive taxes and fares to below inflation.

But for that to happen, there first needs to be wider understanding of the problem. That's why the essentials index is an important piece of research, and worth keeping an eye on.

Updated to replace the giant picture of some rice with the chart which was actually supposed to be there.

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.

Getty
Show Hide image

France is changing: an army stalks the streets and Boris Johnson wanders the Tuileries

Will Self on the militarisation of France, and Boris Johnson at the Foreign Office.

At the corner of the rue D’Hauteville and the rue de Paradis in the tenth arrondissement of Paris is a retro-video-games-themed bar, Le Fantôme, which is frequented by some not-so-jeunes gens – the kind of thirtysomethings nostalgic for an era when you had to go to an actual place if you wanted to enter virtual space. They sit placidly behind the plate-glass windows zapping Pac-Men and Space Invaders, while outside another – and rather more lethal – sort of phantom stalks the sunlit streets.

I often go to Paris for work, and so have been able to register the incremental militarisation of its streets since President Hollande first declared a state of emergency after last November’s terrorist attacks. In general the French seem more comfortable about this prêt-à-porter khaki than we’d probably be; the army-nation concept is, after all, encrypted deep in their collective psyche. The army was constituted as a revolutionary instrument. France was the first modern nation to introduce universal male conscription – and it continued in one form or another right up until the mid-1990s.

Even so, it was surprising to witness the sang-froid with which Parisians regarded the camouflaged phantoms wandering among them: a patrol numbering eight ­infantrymen and women moved up the roadway, scoping out doorways, nosing into passages – but when one peered into Le Fantôme, his assault rifle levelled, none of the boozing gamers paid the least attention. I witnessed this scene the Saturday after Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel ran amok on the Promenade des Anglais in Nice – it was a little preview of the new state of emergency.

On Monday 18 July the French premier, Manuel Valls, was booed at a memorial service for the victims of the Nice attacks – while Marine Le Pen has been making all the populist running, whipping up anxieties about the enemy within. For many French, the events of the past week – including the failed Turkish coup – are steps along the way limned by Michel Houellebecq in his bestselling novel Submission; a via dolorosa that ends with La Marianne wearing the hijab and France itself annexed by a new caliphate.

Into this febrile drama comes a new player: Boris Johnson, the British Foreign Secretary. What can we expect from this freshly minted statesman when it comes to our relations with our closest neighbour? There is no doubt that Johnson is a Francophile – I’ve run into him and his family at the Tuileries, and he made much of his own francophone status during the referendum campaign. In Paris last winter to launch the French edition of his Churchill biography, Johnson wowed a publication dinner by speaking French for the entire evening. He was sufficiently fluent to bumble, waffle and generally avoid saying anything serious at all.

Last Sunday I attended the Lambeth Country Show, an oxymoronic event for which the diverse inhabitants of my home borough gather in Brockwell Park, south London, for jerked and halal chicken, funfair rides, Quidditch-watching, and “country-style” activities, such as looking at farm animals and buying their products. Wandering among ancient Rastafarians with huge shocks of dreadlocks, British Muslims wearing immaculate white kurtas blazoned with “ASK ME ABOUT ISLAM” and crusty old Brixton punks, I found it quite impossible to rid my mind of the Nice carnage – or stop wondering how they would react if armed soldiers were patrolling, instead of tit-helmeted, emphatically unarmed police.

I stepped into the Royal Horticultural Society marquee, and there they were: the entire cast of our end-of-the-pier-show politics, in vegetable-sculpture form and arrayed for judging. There was Jeremy Corbyn (or “Cornbin”) made out of corncobs – and Boris Johnson in the form of a beetroot, being stabbed in the back by a beetroot Michael Gove. And over there was Johnson again, this time rendered in cabbage. The veggie politicians were the big draw, Brixtonians standing six-deep around them, iPhones aloft.

The animal (as opposed to the vegetable) Johnson has begun his diplomatic rounds this week, his first démarches as tasteless and anodyne as cucumber. No British abandonment of friends after Brexit . . . Coordinated response to terror threat . . . Call for Erdogan to be restrained in response to failed coup . . . Blah-blah, whiff-whaff-waffle . . . Even someone as gaffe-prone as he can manage these simple lines, but I very much doubt he will be able to produce rhetorical flourishes as powerful as his hero’s. In The Churchill Factor: How One Man Made History, Johnson writes of Winnie overcoming “his stammer and his depression and his ­appalling father to become the greatest living Englishman”. Well, I’ve no idea if Bojo suffers from depression now but he soon will if he cleaves to this role model. His Churchill-worship (like so many others’) hinges on his belief that, without Churchill as war leader, Britain would have been ground beneath the Nazi jackboot. It may well be that, with his contribution to the Brexit campaign, Johnson now feels he, too, has wrested our national destiny from the slavering jaws of contingency.

Of course the differences between the two politicians are far more significant: Johnson’s genius – such as it is – lies in his intuitive understanding that politics, in our intensely mediatised and entirely commoditised era, is best conceived of as a series of spectacles or stunts: nowadays you can fool most of the people, most of the time. This is not a view you can imagine associating with Churchill, who, when his Gallipoli stratagem went disastrously wrong, exiled himself, rifle in hand, to the trenches. No, the French people Johnson both resembles and has an affinity for are the ones caught up in the virtual reality of Le Fantôme – rather than those patrolling the real and increasingly mean streets without. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt