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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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue