Being out of work harms your health – even if it's because you've retired

A new report finds that, after a small boost in health, retirement isn't as refreshing as many think.

A curious thing has been happening with regard to retirement patterns in developed countries: we have been living longer and retiring earlier. Between 1968 and 1999, employment amongst 60-64 year old men fell from 80 per cent to 50 per cent – although it has picked up a little since. In Italy, an incredible 80 per cent of 60-64 year olds are not in employment. This has all happened during a period when life expectation has increased dramatically. In many EU countries, a significant number of people could well spend more time in retirement than working.

Of course, as we get more prosperous we would expect to have more leisure. But there comes a point when financing a longer retirement from a shorter working life becomes unsustainable. Most EU countries, with their state pension schemes designed so that the taxes of the declining working generation pay the pensions of the older generation, have reached the point where huge financial burdens are likely to fall on the next generation of workers. One way to square the circle is to promote more private and funded pension provision. However, one of the few countries that was pursuing this policy – the UK – has now decided to change tack and increase state pensions whilst reducing incentives for private provision.

This leaves working longer as the only safety valve in the system. And many countries have, indeed, been raising state pension ages. However, a concern often expressed by those campaigning against such changes is that it will lead to more ill health. It is argued that people will suffer from stress and will not have the physical capacity to continue their working lives without damaging their health further.

Much of the evidence in this area has been mixed. The indications were that retirement and ill health were correlated but it could be that people who are not well tend to retire early. A new IEA study manages to untangle the evidence. It finds that there can be an immediate “holiday effect” from retirement whereby health improves. However, health then deteriorates after a while. It is found that, over the long term, retirement increases the probability of suffering from depression by 40 per cent and the probability of having at least one diagnosed physical condition by about 60 per cent.

This provides considerable evidence that there can be a “win-win” from the government raising the state pension age much more rapidly. Currently, the government expects to raise the state pension age to 68 by about 2047. By that time, in fact, life expectation at retirement will actually increase – longevity is increasing quicker than the state pension age is being raised. A higher state pension age could lower healthcare costs as well as reduce state pension costs. Secondly, the government should deregulate labour markets – especially for older people. Reducing the risks to employers of hiring older people is likely to widen the range of working opportunities available to them – especially with regard to part-time work. Finally, it is important to ensure that state incapacity benefits are used as a route back into work wherever possible and not used as an early retirement option. The government seems to be making good progress here but, if anything, on the first two policy options it seems to be going backwards.

A notable retiree says goodbye to his old workplace. Photograph: Getty Images

Philip Booth is Editorial and Programme Director at the Institute of Economic Affairs.

 

GETTY
Show Hide image

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