Even after Thatcher, the Conservatives never learned the benefits of redistribution

Sometimes you want to make everyone better off, not just the rich.

One of the clips of Thatcher which has been passed around in the days since her death is this one, of two exchanges from her last speech in the House of Commons on 22 November 1990. In it, she attacks the left-wing focus on equality by arguing that that focus ends up resulting in making the poor poorer – just by less than it makes the rich poorer:

I've never understood why it's an exchange held in quite such high regard – the bit at the end, where she starts making graphs with her hands, is a particularly excruciating bit of political communication – but the point does stick home. It's not that common to hear arguments for the poor to be made poorer, but it remains the case that policies which help both rich and poor are argued against on the grounds that they help the rich more.

There's good reasons for this, of course. As Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett's book The Spirit Level documents exhaustively, in developed nations like our own, a huge number of social, political and health outcomes are dictated by equality, not absolute wealth. So even given the fact that Thatcher's legacy was of the poor getting richer, the fact that that it included a massive increase in inequality may have meant that poor people were worse off at the end of her premiership than the beginning.

But if hurting the poor to hurt the rich more is a trap for socialists, there's a sort of parallel problem that Conservatives fall prey to: an opposition to redistribution which prevents them enacting policy combinations that help everyone.

A new paper by economists David Autor, David Dorn, and Gordon Hanson, titled "Untangling Trade and Technology: Evidence from Local Labor Markets", compares and contrasts the effects of trade and technology on employment. On the face of it, it doesn't matter to you whether you lose your job because a robot can do it cheaper, or because a Chinese labourer can do it cheaper: you still don't have your job, and your employer has more money. But in actual fact, the two have markedly different macroeconomic effects:

Trade exposure reduces overall employment and shifts the distribution of employment between sectors, [but] exposure to technological change has substantially different impacts, characterized by neutral effects on overall employment and substantial shifts in occupational composition within sectors.

Trade in particular is found to impose "particularly large" employment losses on workers without college education; but even technological change, which is neutral on "overall employment", has the effect of destroying middle income jobs while bolstering high- and low-paid labour.

Of course, all of that is background to the strong evidence that technological change and free trade make society as a whole richer. The problem isn't with the lack of gains – it's with the distribution of those gains.

How do you deal with good gains and a bad distribution? You bank the gains, and fiddle with the distribution. Cut taxes – or boost tax credits – at the bottom end of the income distribution, and pay for it with higher taxes at the top end. Or even just leave taxes at the top the same, and use the fact that the rich are getting richer – and thus paying more tax – to (more than) compensate the poor for the losses.

This is the lesson that Thatcher, and the Conservatives who have followed her, never learned. It's more than just economic good sense: it's politically useful, too, to be able to tell everyone that they will be made better off. Think how much easier the debate over immigration would be if the Tories could point to a tax cut – for the poor – which was funded through the increased gains migration brings.

In the language of economics, there are very few pareto-optimal policies left; the number of changes you can do which help everyone, as opposed to helping some and harming others, has dropped close to zero. But a good bundle of policies can still make everyone better off – and that bundle will nearly always include redistribution of wealth.

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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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times