The dangers of payment-by-results in probation

Grayling's reforms show the coalition hasn't learned from the failure of the Work Programme.

Today the Justice Secretary, Chris Grayling, set out the coalition’s latest payment-by-results (PBR) scheme. Originally developed as a way of contracting out back-to-work employment services, this public services version of ‘no win, no fee’ is going to be extended to the probation service in an attempt to bring down reoffending.

The idea is simple – services once delivered by the state are contracted out to private and voluntary sector providers, but a big chunk of these providers’ fees are only paid if they achieve certain outcomes. So in the Work Programme around 80 per cent of the fee is paid only once an unemployed person has been supported into a sustainable job. In the probation service, the measure of success will be reoffending rates. The state only shells out if private companies do what they promise. What could possibly go wrong?

The answer is, unfortunately, quite a lot, as the Work Programme has shown a couple of years into the original contracts. And none of the lessons it’s thrown up seem to have been taken on board.

First, PBR is essentially a way of the state contracting out risk and uncertainty. In order to come up with the right price tag, the state needs to be able to price that risk. The problem comes when public commissioners have no idea about levels of risk involved in what they’re commissioning – and when contractors themselves have no control over some of the biggest risks like the state of the economy in the Work Programme. This is one reason why Work Programme contractors are likely to find themselves in difficulties – the original contracts built in overly optimistic assumptions about the labour market. So the contracts are too stretching and if they are stuck to, the government in effect will be underpaying for services given the economic backdrop.

Does it really matter? Surely underpayment is no skin off the state’s nose. But this is far too simplistic. There’s too much at stake with unemployment – the Work Programme providers really are too big to fail, which some of them may do if they fail to meet outcomes set out in their contracts. That’s arguably even more true in the case of probation services, where public safety is at stake. This implicit guarantee at least partially erodes the point of PBR as a risk transfer mechanism. And it muddies accountability. If the economy’s doing worse than expected – which affects reoffending as well as unemployment – who’s responsible for contractors not meeting their outcomes?

Second is the impact of payment-by-results on the voluntary sector. These PBR contracts couldn’t be more distant from the notions of "big society" or devolution – the proposals for the probation scheme are for just a handful of contracts covering huge swathes of the country. Only large private companies are able to absorb the risks involved in going for a contract of this size, which is why it is the Sercos and A4Es of this world delivering the Work Programme rather than even the largest charities involved in welfare to work. The idea is that these big contractors subcontract to the voluntary sector. Yet the Work Programme contracts have been structured in such a way that private providers can cream off the ‘safe’ payment not linked to outcomes and pass on more – not less – risk to the small voluntary organisations with whom they subcontract. The result is that far from building up voluntary sector capacity, PBR risks squeezing it at the expense of big companies. No wonder the sector is outraged.

The third fundamental problem with PBR is that it discourages knowledge-sharing of what works – whether that’s getting people back into work, improving kids’ reading or reducing reoffending. Initial data on the Work Programme shows there is big variance in the performance of different companies. What are some doing that’s more effective than others? This is a question of huge public interest. Yet PBR means that companies – far from sharing best practice across the public sector – have a commercial interest in protecting their recipes for success. This is one example of where there is a real tension between the profit motive and public interest, and it needs to be managed.

None of this to suggest that there is anything inherently wrong with private sector delivery of public services. Of course the public sector could stand to gain from intelligently incorporating some learning from the private sector if it’s done in the right way. But it’s just as ridiculous to say the private sector is always better at delivering public services than it is to say it’s always worse.

Unfortunately, the state has a history of making some pretty bad deals with the private sector – from PFI deals gone wrong to the public-private venture capital funds that lost huge amounts of money in the 1990s and 2000s. All of these examples highlight the importance of getting the relationship - and, crucially, the contract that structures that relationship – between the public and private sector right. But unfortunately for those who adopt a ‘private sector good, public sector bad’ mantra, that’s probably trickier to do than delivering efficient services in the first place. It’s a great shame the coalition shows no indication of learning the lessons from the Work Programme – and it means there’s a real risk PBR ends up being the PFI story of the 2010s.

Justice Secretary Chris Grayling speaks at last year's Conservative conference in Birmingham. Photograph: Getty Images.

Sonia Sodha is head of policy and strategy at the Social Research Unit and a former senior policy adviser to Ed Miliband. She tweets @soniasodha.

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Rarely has it mattered so little if Manchester United won; rarely has it been so special they did

Team's Europa League victory offers chance for sorely needed celebration of a city's spirit.

Carlo Ancelotti, the Bayern Munich manager, memorably once said that football is “the most important of the least important things”, but he was only partly right. While it is absolutely the case that a bunch of people chasing around a field is insignificant, a bunch of people chasing around a field is not really what football is about.

At a football match can you set aside the strictures that govern real life and freely scream, shout and cuddle strangers. Football tracks life with such unfailing omnipresence, garnishing the mundane with regular doses of drama and suspense; football is amazing, and even when it isn’t there’s always the possibility that it’s about to be.

Football bestows primal paroxysms of intense, transcendent ecstasy, shared both with people who mean everything and people who mean nothing. Football carves out time for people it's important to see and delivers people it becomes important to see. Football is a structure with folklore, mythology, language and symbols; being part of football is being part of something big, special, and eternal. Football is the best thing in the world when things go well, and still the best thing in the world when they don’t. There is nothing remotely like it. Nothing.

Football is about community and identity, friends and family; football is about expression and abandon, laughter and song; football is about love and pride. Football is about all the beauty in the world.

And the world is a beautiful place, even though it doesn’t always seem that way – now especially. But in the horror of terror we’ve seen amazing kindness, uplifting unity and awesome dignity which is the absolute point of everything.

In Stockholm last night, 50,000 or so people gathered for a football match, trying to find a way of celebrating all of these things. Around town before the game the atmosphere was not as boisterous as usual, but in the ground the old conviction gradually returned. The PA played Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds, an Ajax staple with lyrics not entirely appropriate: there is plenty about which to worry, and for some every little thing is never going to be alright.

But somehow the sentiment felt right and the Mancunian contingent joined in with gusto, following it up with “We’ll never die,” – a song of defiance born from the ashes of the Munich air disaster and generally aired at the end of games, often when defeat is imminent. Last night it was needed from the outset, though this time its final line – “we’ll keep the red flag flying high, coz Man United will never die" – was not about a football team but a city, a spirit, and a way of life. 

Over the course of the night, every burst of song and even the minute's silence chorused with that theme: “Manchester, Manchester, Manchester”; “Manchester la la la”; “Oh Manchester is wonderful”. Sparse and simple words, layered and complex meanings.

The match itself was a curious affair. Rarely has it mattered so little whether or not United won; rarely has it been so special that they did. Manchester United do not represent or appeal to everyone in Manchester but they epitomise a similar brilliance to Manchester, brilliance which they take to the world. Brilliance like youthfulness, toughness, swagger and zest; brilliance which has been to the fore these last three days, despite it all.

Last night they drew upon their most prosaic aspects, outfighting and outrunning a willing but callow opponent to win the only trophy to have eluded them. They did not make things better, but they did bring happiness and positivity at a time when happiness and positivity needed to be brought; football is not “the most important of the least important things,” it is the least important of the most important things.

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