Over ten per cent of Britain's possible labour is wasted

Combining underemployment and unemployment shows the output gap is much bigger than previously estimated.

Our own economics editor, David Blanchflower, has a new paper out today co-authored with David Bell of the University of Stirling, taking a deeper look at underemployment.

Increasingly, the issue is being understood as one of the major crises in the UK today. It explains how our unemployment rates have recovered far more quickly than GDP growth would lead us to expect, as well as providing a hypothesis about the UK's falling productivity levels (if full-time permanent workers have are more productive than part-time and temporary workers, then high underemployment would hinder the UK's productivity).

While it's usually better to be under-employed than unemployed (because the number of people who are actually better off on benefits is vanishingly small), it's no walk in the park. At best, underemployment results in wasted potential in the same way as unemployment, with people who could work more not having the choice. And working for one day a week is much less than a fifth as good as working for all five: you can't buy a weekly travelcard, meaning commuting costs more; you can't build up expertise or connections at work; and you spend the vast proportion of your income on essentials, leaving little left over after the bills are paid (a problem that also afflicts people in full-time employment, of course).

On top of that, as Jonathan Portes points out, underemployment is an issue which overwhelmingly affects young people (of whom 1 in 5 are already unemployed):

In 2012, 30 per cent of those aged 16 to 24 that did have jobs wished to work longer hours. This means that the labour market for the young is even more difficult than the raw unemployment rates imply. Even if there was an upturn in demand, employers would likely extend the hours of existing workers before taking the risk of hiring new young employees.

But the thing is, despite underemployment being such an important issue, we don't have any great way to measure it. The unemployment figures include statistics asking people in part-time and temporary positions whether they'd rather be in full-time permanent jobs, which is a good start, but it's an overly simplistic measure (what about part-timers who want to stay part time but have more hours?), and it fails to properly capture the interplay between un- and under-employment.

Separately, the annual Labour Force Survey asks respondents whether they are looking for more hours of work at the same pay, and how many hours they are actually working; but those measures are even harder to compare to the unemployment data, and are far too infrequent to be of much use.

That's where Blanchflower and Bell step in. By combining those two measures with the general unemployment rate, they have put together an "underemployment" index. They write:

Like the unemployment rate, it is expressed as a percentage. It can be thought of as measuring the ratio of net unemployed hours to total available hours assuming that the hours preferences of the employed at current wages are met.

If everyone who was employed was working exactly the number of hours they wanted to be, then the index would be the same as the unemployment rate. In fact, it can fall below the unemployment rate, in times when the majority of employed workers would rather reduce their hours – and that's how it was in the boom years. But once the great recession hit, the index diverged markedly:

It's an important measure, because it reflects not only the "external" labour market that most of us see – unemployed people hunting for jobs – but also the "internal" labour market: people with work, negotiating with their employers for more or less work. As a result, the authors write:

This index gives perhaps a broader estimate of the extent of underused capacity in the economy – the output gap – than a simple measure based on the unemployment rate.

The policy implications, they write, are clear. Taking a narrow view, the ONS needs to pick up the ball on this, and start publishing the data alongside the broad unemployment index. But in the broader sense:

There is very substantial spare capacity in the labour market; the implication being that if demand were higher, output could easily be higher, and it could be higher without exerting any significant upward pressure on real wages. So any further stimulus, whether fiscal or monetary, would not be inflationary. People want to work.

Looking at underemployment as well as unemployment confirms that the stagnation Britain has experienced is unlikely to be purely, or even mainly, structural. Stimulus is likely to lead to more employment, not more inflation; and so it should be done as soon as possible.

Staff in a dispatch centre package goods to ship. Shift workers are frequently underemployed. 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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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