Miliband, Obama & "middle-out economics"

The Labour leader follows the President in growing the economy from the middle classes.

Yesterday, Ed Miliband laid out his cards on his economic vision. He argued that to get to the kind of strong and steady economic growth that will lower unemployment and support deficit reduction: “the starting point is that the recovery will be made by the many not just by a few at the top,” he said.

One reading of this speech is that he is talking about economic growth only to cover for a concern over fairness. Thus, the mansion tax can be interpreted as a way to make sure that the rich pay their fair share, but this really may have nothing to do with growth. But, another reading of the speech is that he — like President Obama — is pushing for a debate about economics that is based on facts, not fiction. Middle out economics or an economics that begins with the many, not the few may sound like good old-fashioned political pandering, but, in fact, there is solid economic evidence for this perspective.

Both Miliband and Obama are pushing against a story of what makes the economy grow that goes like this: Cut taxes or reduce “red tape” or regulation on those who are the “job creators” and they will invest more and hire more employees and the economy will grow. For decades, this trickle-down logic has been an unvarying constant in the political discourse in both the US and the UK. Yet, this model has failed both nations repeatedly and most colossally over the past few years of deep recession and sputtering recovery.

It’s not just that the trickle-down model isn’t fair and that progressive leaders don’t like the idea of giving tax cuts to millionaires while too many struggle to make ends meet, although that may be true. The deeper problem is that this model isn’t consistent with the evidence on what makes an economy grow.

If you ask any group of economists - left, right, center - what drives economic growth, they will give you a list of ideas that will fall into a few categories: the level of demand for goods and services, the skills and educational level of the potential workforce, the quality of the infrastructure, the potential for innovators to bring ideas to market, the quality of governance in both public and private institutions, and access to financial capital, including access to debt and savings.

That’s a long and complex list. The trickle-down story certainly plays a role in how much individuals can save — higher taxes means less savings. But, that’s clearly only one small piece of the puzzle. And, it’s a piece that may stand in opposition to the others: cutting taxes for millionaires may give them each a little more money to invest, but that means less money for schools to educate the next generation of employees, less investments in updated infrastructure that will improve the productivity of private investment, or less funding to support innovation.

The fact is that it is the business owners job to always focus on the bottom line. It’s their job to boost their productivity or sales to add profits to their bottom line. A tax cut helps them do that in the short-run. But, even the best businesses cannot on their own address the gaps in educational attainment, make sure that high finance doesn’t become too big to fail, or address climate change.

Focusing on growing the economy from the middle out is a better reflection of what economists know about what makes an economy grow and thrive. Over the past couple of years, my colleagues and I have been sifting through economics papers and talking to leading economists around the world about this question. We have found that there is a growing body of research pointing to the conclusion that high inequality hinders economic growth and stability through a variety of mechanisms. While there isn’t one perfect, econometrically unimpeachable paper that proves that the economy grows from the middle out, there’s a lot out of research out there - from top tier institutions - pointing to the conclusion that the strength and size of the middle has a strong effect on the all the key factors that propel the economy forward.

For both Britain and the US, the best bet for the economy is on the middle. Both nations have won before on building an economy from the middle out and by developing and investing in the skills and infrastructure necessary to support broad-based growth. That's the winning hand.

Photograph: Getty Images

Heather Boushey is a Visiting Fellow at IPPR and senior economist at the Centre for American Progress in Washington DC

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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad