We need not fear him. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Learning to live with machines

We need to take the idea of a universal basic income seriously.

Hollywood thinks robots are scary. Films like The Terminator, The Matrix and Blade Runner imagine pretty miserable futures for humanity. The dead world of Pixar's WALL-E might just be the bleakest of them all.

We have more to look forward to than dystopia. Automation technology is going to make our lives easier. But it’s also going to put a lot of people out of work. Taxi drivers, journalists and athletes have everything to fear from self-driving cars, algorithmically-generated news and robotic arms that play a decent game of table tennis. The question of how to absorb these legions of unemployed is going to become a major policy issue.

It would be irresponsible to predict that “jobpocalypse” is around the corner. The T-800 is unlikely to replace dentists, rabbis and gym instructors: a recent Oxford University study found that “only” 47 per cent of US employment is at risk of computerisation within the next decade or two. This will relieve those who already have trouble sleeping in an age of proliferating doom scenarios. But it has not stopped Microsoft founder Bill Gates from worrying about our preparedness for a future in which men and women compete with machines for work. Speaking to the American Enterprise Institute, a conservative think tank, earlier this month, Gates argued that we are unready for mass automation:

… technology in general will make capital more attractive than labor over time. Software substitution, you know, whether it’s for drivers or waiters or nurses … It’s progressing … And so, you know, we have to adjust, and these things are coming fast. Twenty years from now, labor demand for lots of skill sets will be substantially lower, and I don’t think people have that in their mental model.

Gates’s solution to the looming unemployment crisis lacks imagination. He thinks governments should prop up demand for unskilled labour by lowering statutory minimum wages and reforming tax codes. In other words, politicians should beg corporations to continue hiring individuals in the meatspace and accept that living standards will stall. What will happen when machines become so cheap as to eliminate the need for paid labour is anyone’s guess. Nobody could accuse philanthropist Gates of indifference towards the poor. But there has to be a better way.

An unconditional basic income offers one way out of this dilemma. The concept is simple: have the state pay a lump cash sum into the bank account of every citizen at a regular interval. A minimum standard of living would thus be guaranteed to all whether or not they participate in the labour force. Goodbye poverty, hello robot martinis.

In a piece written last year for the NS, Alex Hern examined the pros and cons of the basic income principle. He concluded that it makes sense from an economic perspective but will never catch on politically. A universal safety net would upset the balance between capital and labour and offend sensibilities about the moral necessity of work. (Conservatives really should be for a basic income, if only because it would eliminate the bureaucracy needed to distribute means-tested transfer payments like pension credit. Milton Friedman was a great advocate of the so-called negative income tax.)

The Swiss may be about to prove Alex wrong when they vote on implementing a basic income of 2,500 francs per month. The rest of us will be more receptive to reform when the machines arrive in earnest and put half of society on the street. Automation will make some of us so fabulously wealthy that we shouldn't think twice about spreading the wealth.

Until then, basic income must become part of our policy vocabulary. Agitation for a higher minimum wage yielded encouraging results at the last Budget. A growing number of employers are adopting living wage policies. Basic income represents the next demand for anyone interested in wealth equality, whether or not they think the robots are coming. Indeed, a recent Rolling Stone article called universal social security one of the five economic reforms Millennials should be fighting for. That story generated over 50,000 Facebook likes and 10,000 comments. Radical income redistribution is a way off. It may never arrive. But it's something worth talking about.

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser