Britain: our divided nation

The income gap between rich and poor goes on getting bigger, yet we seem remarkably unconcerned

Income inequality is at a historic high in Britain, but according to new research from the Joseph Rowntree Foundation, the public is becoming pessimistic about the possibility of changing this. In a report last month on British attitudes to inequality, the social policy research charity found that although a large and enduring majority of people think the income gap between rich and poor is too large, there is little understanding about the extent of inequality in Britain and a poor grasp of how wide the gap has become in recent years.

People still express concern about unequal distribution of wealth, but are clear that they don't want to pay higher taxes. Many consider today's income inequalities unfair but equally they firmly believe that people get what they deserve. Most significantly, among complex and, the report's authors admit, contradictory results, they found a strong pessimism that poverty would fall within the next ten years.

The extent to which inequality has increased has been well documented in recent years. An Institute for Public Policy Research report in May showed that the proportion of wealth held by Britain's richest 10 per cent rose from 47 per cent in the 1990s to 54 per cent in 2004. And another report, from the Rowntree Foundation in July, noted that over the past 15 years, more households had fallen below the poverty line. In 2001, one in four households was classed as "breadline poor".

But though a large majority of Britons still find the growing income gap unacceptable, we appear less certain now than before Labour came to power in 1997. Back in 1993, 87 per cent agreed that the income gap was too large. In 2004, only 73 per cent found the (even greater) gap unacceptable.

More worrying for policymakers who believe in increasing equality as a social goal is that the public appears confused and ignorant about the extent of the problem. The Rowntree Foundation describes the general knowledge of actual distribution of wealth as "limited".

"The gap between high- and low-paid occupations is far greater than people think it should be, or would consider appropriate," the authors write. For example, asked what they think a chairman of a large national corporation earns, most would say about £125,000. A more appropriate salary, they believe, would be about £75,000. In fact, at the time of the research (2004), the real average salary of a chairman of large national corporation was £555,000. Similarly, those questioned thought an Appeal Court judge would be overpaid at £80,000 and should earn £50,000; the actual salary then was £139,900. Despite the old Tory gibe of "the politics of envy", the public tends to estimate the pay gap rather benignly. The Rowntree Foundation's respondents believed that the income of a company chairman was 12.5 times higher than that of an unskilled worker. In fact, it was more than 40 times higher.

Nor does the public hold particularly trenchant or united views on how to deal with huge pay discrepancies. Support for wealth redistribution increased between 1985 and 1995 - two years before Labour came to power - but then declined substantially from 44 per cent in 1996 to 32 per cent in 2004.

Karen Rowlingson, professor of social policy at the Uni versity of Birmingham and co-author of the Rowntree Foundation report, told the New Statesman that this may be connected to values in the UK. "These are a bit of a mix between Europe and America. [Britons] think that if you work hard you can make it, and therefore if you don't succeed it is because you haven't worked hard enough."

The report points out that even those who agree the income gap is too large may not believe that governments should intervene to force a redistribution of wealth. Younger people are the most hostile to redistribution, Rowlingson finds: "Scepticism of young people towards inequality in general and redistribution in particular is quite worrying."

She elaborates: "Taking from the rich and giving to the poor is not something that most people in the UK want. They are more willing to invest in services, like education and health."

Why this lack of support for redistribution? Certainly, the "r" word was banned from Labour vocabulary for some time, even if the reality was that, as chancellor, Gordon Brown practised redistribution by stealth to avoid even deeper inequalities. The Office for National Statistics showed in May that Brown used tax credits, for example, to boost incomes for the less well-off. The former Treasury financial secretary John Healey told the BBC recently that, as a result of such policies, families from the poorest fifth of the population were £3,000 a year better off than in 1997.

But a culture hostile to equality was created by remarks such as that of Prime Minister Tony Blair in 2005: "It's not that I don't care about the gap [between high and low incomes], so much as I don't care if there are people who earn a lot of money. They're not my concern. I do care about people who are without opportunity, disadvantaged and poor."

With such statements, the Labour Party failed to combat the public's gloomy view that inequality is inevitable.

"You cannot have equality of opportunities when people don't start from the same point. Inequality is a barrier to aspirations," says Rowlingson.

Will the former redistributive chancellor change the culture? His March Budget was short on handouts and, in response to new statistics on child poverty, he concentrated on measures to encourage parents to work. There is little parliamentary push for major tax realignments. The Liberal Democrat shadow secretary for children, schools and families, David Laws, recently said: "It is a national disgrace that Britain is the developed country where your chances in life are most dependent on your family background." But the Lib Dems have abandoned as a party their policy of a 50p rate of income tax for those with incomes above £100,000.

The Conservatives, too, who talked of redistribution in 2005, have recently been silent on the issue.

The Rowntree Foundation findings suggest that Britain risks falling into a gulf of apathy made even deeper by ignorance of the true nature of our current economic segregation.

"In Africa, the feeling you cannot do anything about things is called compassion fatigue," says Rowlingson. "Leaders have to prove action against inequality is possible."

Rich and poor

1997 "The boundaries of the welfare state are going to have to change"
Tony Blair, days before becoming prime minister

2001 "It's not a burning ambition for me to make sure that David Beckham earns less money"
Tony Blair, rejecting higher tax rates for the rich

2006 "I don't think making the top 1 per cent richest poorer makes the 10 per cent poorest richer"
David Cameron, leader of the opposition

2007 "This Budget was an opportunity to rebalance the tax system in favour of the less wealthy and the Chancellor has failed to do that"
Menzies Campbell on Gordon Brown's final Budget as chancellor

This article first appeared in the 13 August 2007 issue of the New Statesman, Road fix

Show Hide image

An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State