What does a left-wing 'rebalancing' look like?

To stand apart from Cameron and Clegg, Miliband needs a radical agenda for the bottom half of the labour market.

With a little over two years until the next general election, Labour's objectives for economic reform feel ambitious yet vague. We can all sign up to the UK being a bit less reliant on the financial sector, but then what? When people on the left talk about rebalancing the economy we need to understand what it is we are trying to rebalance and how - and say loud and clear why the right's version of rebalancing will fail. This weekend Ed Miliband needs to respond to this challenge, when he addresses the Fabian New Year Conference on his plans for 'one nation' Britain.

In his recent speeches, Miliband has used words like "responsibility" and "rebalancing" a lot, but they raise as many questions as they answer. Economic rebalancing can’t be achieved by a few eye-catching attacks on gas companies or millionaires’ pension funds. Reforming capitalism so that it works in everyone’s interests, which is what ‘one nation’ must mean, implies the UK turning its back on its 30-year mid-Atlantic experiment and transforming itself into a mainstream north European economy.

The coalition loves to talk about our unbalanced public finances but every pound borrowed is a pound lent, so Miliband must retort that excessive saving by companies is the flip-side of excessive public borrowing. Labour should promise to unwind the economic forces which have led companies to accumulate and lend so much cash, by creating the conditions in which firms want to investment for the long-term. This will mean sweeping reforms to the financial system whose short-termism has incentivised corporate executives to deliver fast profits not long-term value.

Labour also needs to expose the coalition’s ill-disguised plot to turn temporary deficit reduction into a permanent contraction of the state. Rather than aiming for public spending to return to the long-term average of 42 to 43 per cent of GDP, the chancellor plans a retreat from the crisis peak of 47 per cent all the way down to 39 per cent. Miliband has little choice but to argue for a different path because he believes that public spending matters for economic growth as well as social justice. For George Osborne’s cuts make it almost impossible to spend decent amounts on infrastructure, housing, science or skills.

The coalition has set the terms of the debate so well that retaining public spending at more than 40 pence in the pound has become a controversial proposition. But with Obama-style tax rises for the rich, Labour can set out an alternative route to sound public finances that avoids ’overshooting’ Britain’s historic levels of spending.

This is not to say that Miliband should defend every corner of public spending. This week’s debate on benefit uprating focused on how many working families receive tax credits, but it dwelt little on why so much money needs to be spent topping up low pay in the first place. The truth is that Britain has the highest share of low paid workers in any EU country outside eastern Europe. The Treasury would save huge sums on in-work benefits if rather than having 21 per cent of workers on low pay we could match Finland’s eight per cent.

So Labour’s next priority for a rebalanced economy must be a radical agenda for the bottom half of the labour market. Jobs need to be designed and people trained so work is more productive and secure, which in turn can bring about better pay and progression. This is about culture not just economics, because there are huge disparities in the pay, status and value of low earning  ’women’s work’ across Europe.

Labour must accept that transforming the bottom of the labour market will take change within companies, including laws to require greater worker representation and ownership. And Miliband should say that if industrial sectors and supply-chains do not work together to improve conditions he will impose new public solutions like wage councils or training levies.

But he also needs to promise a decent floor on low pay for everyone. Miliband has talked a lot about the ‘living wage’ but has never quite embraced it as a national policy.  This week he should promise an ‘escalator’ to take the minimum wage, in small increments over five years, to the level of the living wage, which is £7.45 per hour today. Even for the worst hit sector, hospitality, this would mean an increase in payroll costs of a little more than one per cent per year.

If Labour’s ‘one nation’ version of economic rebalancing is to mean anything, it must be about reducing the entrenched inequality of the British labour market and making it harder for employers to make a profit through public subsidies on poverty pay. To stand apart from Cameron and Clegg, this should be Miliband’s first step in a concrete plan to change the character of British capitalism and take the country towards the mainstream of northern European economies.

Andrew Harrop is general secretary of the Fabian Society and editor of the Fabians’ new pamphlet The Great Rebalancing: how to fix the broken economy

"We can all sign up to the UK being a bit less reliant on the financial sector, but then what?" Photograph: Getty Images.

Andrew Harrop is general secretary of the Fabian Society.

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In defence of orientalism, the case against Twenty20, and why Ken should watch Son of Saul

My week, from Age Concern to anti-semitism.

Returning late from a party I never much wanted to go to, I leap up and down in the middle of the Harrow Road in the hope of flagging down a taxi, but the drivers don’t notice me. Either they’re haring down the fast lane or they’re too preoccupied cursing Uber to one another on their mobile phones. My father drove a black cab, so I have a deep loyalty to them. But there’s nothing like being left stranded in NW10 in the dead of night to make one reconsider one’s options. I just wish Uber wasn’t called Uber.

Just not cricket

Tired and irritable, I spend the next day watching sport on television – snooker, darts, cricket, anything I can find. But I won’t be following the Indian Premier League’s Twenty20 cricket again. It’s greedy, cynical, over-sponsored and naff. Whenever somebody hits a boundary, cheerleaders in cast-off gym kit previously worn by fourth-form Roedean girls wave tinsel mops.

Matches go to the final over where they’re decided in a thrashathon of sixes hit by mercenaries wielding bats as wide as shovels. Why, in that case, don’t both teams just play a final over each and dispense with the previous 19? I can’t wait for the elegant ennui of a five-day Test match.

Stop! Culture police!

I go to the Delacroix exhibition at the National Gallery to shake off the sensation of all-consuming kitsch. Immediately I realise I have always confused Delacroix with someone else but I can’t decide who. Maybe Jacques-Louis David. The show convincingly argues that Delacroix influenced every artist who came after him except Jeff Koons, who in that case must have been influenced by David. It’s turbulent, moody work, some of the best of it, again to my surprise, being religious painting with the religion taken out. Christ’s followers lamenting his death don’t appear to be expecting miracles. This is a man they loved, cruelly executed. The colours are the colours of insupportable grief.

I love the show but wish the curators hadn’t felt they must apologise for Delacroix finding the North Africans he painted “exotic”. Cultural studies jargon screams from the wall. You can hear the lecturer inveighing against the “appropriating colonial gaze” – John Berger and Edward Said taking all the fun out of marvelling at what’s foreign and desirable. I find myself wondering where they’d stand on the Roedean cheer-leaders of Mumbai.

Taking leave of the senses

My wife drags me to a play at Age Concern’s headquarters in Bloomsbury. When I see where she’s taking me I wonder if she plans to leave me there. The play is called Don’t Leave Me Now and is written by Brian Daniels. It is, to keep it simple, about the effects of dementia on the families and lovers of sufferers. I am not, in all honesty, expecting a good time. It is a reading only, the actors sitting in a long line like a board of examiners, and the audience hunched forward in the attitude of the professionally caring.  My wife is a therapist so this is her world.

Here, unlike in my study, an educated empathy prevails and no one is furious. I fear that art is going to get lost in good intention. But the play turns out to be subtly powerful, sympathetic and sharp, sad and funny; and hearing it read engages me as seeing it performed might not have done. Spared the spectacle of actors throwing their bodies around and singing about their dreams against a backdrop painted by a lesser, Les Mis version of Delacroix, you can concentrate on the words. And where dementia is the villain, words are priceless.

Mixing with the proles

In Bloomsbury again the next day for a bank holiday design and craft fair at Mary Ward House. I have a soft spot for craft fairs, having helped run a craft shop once, and I feel a kinship with the designers sitting bored behind their stalls, answering inane questions about kilns and receiving empty compliments. But it’s the venue that steals the show, a lovely Arts and Crafts house, founded in the 1890s by the novelist Mary Ward with the intention of enabling the wealthy and educated to live among the poor and introduce them to the consolations of beauty and knowledge. We’d call that patronising. We’re wrong. It’s a high ideal, to ease the burden of poverty and ignorance and, in Ward’s words, save us from “the darker, coarser temptations of our human road”.

An Oscar-winning argument for Zionism

Speaking of which, I am unable to empty my mind of Ken Livingstone and his apologists as I sit in the cinema and watch the just-released Academy Award-winning Son of Saul, a devastating film about one prisoner’s attempt to hold on to a vestige of humanity in a Nazi death camp. If you think you know of hell from Dante or Michelangelo, think again. The inferno bodied forth in Son of Saul is no theological apportioning of justice or deserts. It is the evisceration of meaning, the negation of every grand illusion about itself mankind has ever harboured. There has been a fashion, lately, to invoke Gaza as proof that the Holocaust is a lesson that Jews failed to learn – as though one cruelty drives out another, as though suffering is forfeit, and as though we, the observers, must choose between horrors.

I defy even Livingstone to watch this film, in which the Jews, once gassed, become “pieces” – Stücke – and not grasp the overwhelming case for a Jewish place of refuge. Zionism pre-dated the camps, and its fulfilment, if we can call it that, came too late for those millions reduced to the grey powder mountains the Sonderkommandos were tasked with sweeping away. It diminishes one’s sympathy for the Palestinian cause not a jot to recognise the arguments, in a world of dehumanising hate, for Zionism. Indeed, not to recognise those arguments is to embrace the moral insentience whose murderous consequence Son of Saul confronts with numbed horror. 

This article first appeared in the 05 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The longest hatred