The case for increasing wages to cut the welfare bill

Learning from Joseph and the Chocolate Factory.

Writing in today’s Times Philip Collins produces a powerful and eloquent article arguing that we should cut the welfare bill by increasing wages. What’s more, he argues for a more moral form of capitalism to underpin it.

So what’s brought this on? Well, today JRF published our annual Minimum Income Standards report. This research asks members of the public what are the goods and services every household needs to be able to afford in order to achieve a minimum acceptable standard of living in the UK. As Collins notes:

Whether or not you agree that a few pence a week for Blu-tack is necessary, most of the costlier items are hard to dispute and they come to quite a price.

And our research shows the cost of that decent standard of living is rising fast – up 25 per cent over the last five years, higher than the official rate of inflation, which was 17 per cent for the same period. This means people today need much higher earnings just to afford the same standard of living they had five years ago. As Collins argues:

The gap between the minimally decent life and reality is growing. People on low incomes are subject to a higher rate of inflation than those who are a little richer … The gap between the life that people think others should be able to afford, in a rich and lucky country, and the life that most people lead is huge.

So what would it take for people to afford a better standard of living? The research costs the basket of goods and services people say they need for a decent standard of living, and works out what that means for how much you need to earn, once tax and benefits have been factored in. The resulting hourly wage rates are substantially higher than the national minimum wage (which is currently £6.19 per hour). A single person would need to earn £8.16 an hour while a couple with two children would need to earn at least £9.91 an hour each. 

Collins argues employers have responded to this challenge before and they should do so again, learning from historical figures like Joseph Rowntree:

When he opened his chocolate factory in York in 1869, Rowntree established good pay, housing benefits and the first occupational pension scheme for his workers...

He understood that the corporation was and is a public entity, underpinned and given a license to operate by the laws of limited liability. He felt, as all the pioneers of the American joint stock company did too, that his private accumulation came with a public obligation, which he fulfilled by paying his people well.

Low paid jobs remain prevalent in the UK, and a fifth of the workforces is on low pay. This costs us all dear as the state subsidises low income working households through the tax credit system. 

For those employers not persuaded by the moral case for change Collins argues the rate of the minimum wage should be ratcheted up as a backstop, a view that is starting to gain more support. This undoubtedly has to be part of the solution, but alone will not solve the problem. Instead a more comprehensive strategy is required that looks at why we have such an endemic low pay problem in the UK; what is driving up the cost of essential like housing, childcare and energy; and yes, as unpopular as it is right now, how best to support people through the social security and tax systems.

Katie Schmuecker is a Policy and Research Manager at the Joseph Rowntree Foundation (JRF) 

Joseph Rowntree. Photograph: Getty Images
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Relive your worst experiences for $15 an hour: how confessional journalism exploits women writers

The women’s website Bustle asks its writers to fill out a checklist covering every possible personal angle; it puts a low-market value on their most intimate truths.

Let me tell you about the worst thing that ever happened to me, the most terrible thing I’ve ever done. Let me tell you everything there is to know about me, all the buried markers of self that live under my skin. OK not that one, and I’ll keep that one too. I have to have something left over, after all. Even so, I’ve written about being the May Queen at school, and the time I got flashed in an underpass; about having depression as a teenager, and the unplanned pregnancy that became my son.

Actually, I’ve written about that last one twice: my first successful pitch for a comment piece was a response to anti-abortion comments by the then-influential semi-thinker Phillip Blond. It was a kind of pitch I now refer to now as the “what I think about X as a Y”: what I think about abortion as a woman who had and chose to continue an unplanned pregnancy. Experience is capital, and in 2009, I used it to buy my way into writing.

It’s a standard route for women writers, but not usually as formalised as it is at women’s website Bustle, which (as Gawker reported last week) asks its writers to fill out a checklist covering every possible personal angle: “I see a therapist”, “I’ve had group sex (more than three)”, “I used to have a Fitbit but I don’t now”.

Every bit of what you are, granulated and packaged for easy dispersal through a range of stories. It’s an editorial approach that gives rise to a weird, impersonally-personal tone. “Five Reasons I’m Grateful For My Parents’ Divorce”, chirrups a listicle; “that’s why I tried anal sex in the first place”, trills a gif-heavy piece about the benefits of bumming.

That’s just the shallow end of the confessional genre. The ideal online women’s interest story combines a huge, life-changing disclosure with an empowering message. Like this, from xoJane: “I'm Finally Revealing My Name and Face As the Duke Porn Star” (the last line of that one is: “My name is Belle Knox, and I wear my Scarlet Letter with pride”). Or this, from Jezebel: “On Falling In and Out of Love With My Dad” (which concludes like this: “And to the victims of their abuse, I want to say what I have finally been able to understand myself: that my attraction, and what it led to, was not my fault”).

It’s tempting to think of this blend of prurience and uplift as a peculiar product of the internet, but it’s been a staple of women’s publishing forever: the covers of women’s magazines are full of lines like “Raped for 50p and a biscuit!” and “The groom who went ZOOM!” about a jilted bride, exactly as they were when I used to sneak them from my aunt’s magazine rack to read them as a child. The difference is that, in the trashy weeklies, there’s no pretence that trauma is the overture for a career. You get paid for your story, and someone else writes it up. The end.

At Bustle, the rate apparently runs to $90 for a six-hour shift. That feels like a low market value to put on your most intimate truths, especially when the follow-up success you’re investing in might never materialise. The author of the father-daughter incest story for Jezebel told a Slate writer that, despite the huge web traffic her confessional received, her subsequent pitches were ignored. Her journalistic career currently begins and ends with her very grimmest experience.

“Everything is copy” is the Nora Ephron line. But when she said it, she didn’t intend the disclosure economy we live in now. For Ephron, “everything is copy” meant claiming control: “When you slip on the banana peel, people laugh at you. But when you tell people you slipped on the banana peel, it’s your laugh. So you become the hero, rather than the victim of the joke.”

Does the aspiring writer plucked from an editor’s checklist to retail her own Worst Thing Ever get to call the banana skin her own?

The Bustle checklist suggests not. “Don’t put anything on here you don’t want to write about,” it stresses, before adding, “that said, you can always say ‘no’ . . . You might be too busy when an editor approaches you about possibly writing an identity post, or simply not interested, and that’s okay! We won’t be mad!”

Ticking the box basically puts you in a position of assumed consent, but which hopeful young woman would dare to set her boundaries too close when an editor tells her this could be good for her career? (Yes, I know this sounds a bit like a story of sexual harassment. Funny, that.)

So many confessionalist pieces of writing tell stories about women having their limits overridden. Rape and coercion. Abuse and assault. Being talked over and ignored. But the logic of the perpetual confession journalism machine is the same: everything about a woman should be available to use, nothing a woman has to say is valid without a personal claim to authority, repackage their guts as shiny sausages and call it an “identity piece”.

Women writers shouldn’t be waiting for permission to say no. We need to tell our stories on our own terms, and we need to set better terms than $15 an hour and the hope of some exposure. The worst thing that ever happened to me? It’s mine. I’m keeping it.

Sarah Ditum is a journalist who writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman and others. Her website is here.