There is no longer a "jobs puzzle": Britain's labour market improvement has stagnated

Unemployment has stalled – and other statistics are even worse.

A mesofact is a piece of knowledge which changes slowly. The term was coined by Samuel Arbesman, who describes it as lying somewhere between a fact which stays the same – like the height of Everest – and a fact which is constantly in flux – like the weather. The example Arbesman gives is of the population of the world; when I was a child, I learned it was 6 billion people. When my mother was a child, it was around half that. Yet it isn't a fact which changes fast enough that we bother rechecking every time we state it; and so the truth runs away from us.

It's a similar risk to the one I brought up in April, about the risks of imprecision. It may be easier to estimate things like the cost of welfare fraud to the economy as "small" or "large"; but if you present merely qualitative values, then the ability to continuously refine them if they change in small increments is lost. It's hard enough to keep track of the fact that the world's population increased by a billion in the last ten years; it would be that much harder to work out when it went from "large" to "very large".

I am reminded of this by yesterday's unemployment figures. It seems that there is a mesofact developing, which is that unemployment is falling quickly. It's been a puzzle in British economics for a while: there is job growth, but no economic growth. Why is that?

We've given various suggestions here, raging from productivity collapse to underemployment; and today, the BBC's Stephanie Flanders offers the possibility that it's due to falling wages.

But I worry that Britain's economic commentariat are struggling to explain a fact which just is no longer the case. Take a look at the unemployment rate since February 2008:

You can clearly see the steady decline which prompted the debate. Between Nov 2011 and Nov 2012, the unemployment rate fell nearly continuously, from 8.4 per cent to 7.7 per cent. Against the background of an economy which was stagnant, and sometimes actually contracting, that was a mystery.

But for the last six months, that fall has halted. Unemployment is actually sitting at 7.8 per cent in the latest release, for the three months to April, 0.1 per cent higher than its low. There is no mystery. Our economy is weak, and so is our labour market. Unemployment is stuck at over two per cent above its pre-crisis norm. That's a disaster.

There is one important statistic where the narrative of continued, slow, improvement does shine through; that's the vacancy rate, the number of people unemployed for every vacancy:

It stands at 4.9 people, the lowest since February 2009. That's good news; but talking about the vacancy rate exposes another flaw in government thinking. Whenever the rate is substantially higher than one, discussing unemployment as a personal failing is utterly nonsensical. If every job available was filled instantly, there would still be over 2 million people unemployed.

So why even bother with policies like the Work Programme, which aim to increase the employability of people without jobs? The vacancy rate shows that the most important thing to do is increase the supply of jobs, not increase the employability of unemployed people.

Speaking to Work Programme providers, they highlight a different aim of the scheme. Rather than targeting unemployment in general, the point of skills-based training is to get people in long-term unemployment back into work – even if that means they take a job which would otherwise have gone to someone who has been unemployed for a shorter length of time.

But that's where the worst news of all in yesterday's release comes in. Because since the government began its workfare blitz, the proportion of unemployed people out of work for over a year has gone up:

If you need a reminder of how scarring long-term unemployment is, just remember this paper from April:

The first thing employers look at is how long you've been out of work, and that's the only thing they look at if it's been six months or longer.

The labour market isn't getting better. And on the most important measure of all, it's getting much, much worse.

Stephen Hester, just the latest unemployed Briton. 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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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