Meet Mr Predistribution: Jacob Hacker

An interview with the Yale political scientist behind Ed Miliband's big idea.

For this week's New Statesman, I interviewed Jacob Hacker, the Yale political scientist who coined the term "predistribution". The concept, referring to how governments should seek to create more equal outcomes even before collecting taxes and paying out benefits (before redistribution, in other words), attracted the attention of Westminster last year after Ed Miliband used it in an interview with the NS and a speech to Policy Network. 

The derision followed swiftly. His use of the term, described by the then director of Policy Exchange, Neil O’Brien, as "the sort of stupid made-up word that only a policy wonk could love", was presented as proof that the man who won the Labour leadership contest on a promise to "speak human" had given up on doing so. During a memorable session of Prime Minister’s Questions, David Cameron sarcastically declared: "I say that the Labour Party has no plans, but on this occasion I can reassure the House that it has, and the new plan is called predistribution. What I think that means is that we spend the money before we actually get it, which I think the Right Honourable Gentleman will find is why we are in the mess we are in right now." Alluding to Yes Minister’s hapless Jim Hacker, he added: "His new guru, the man who invented predistribution, is called – and I am not making this up –he is called Mr J Hacker."

Such was the mockery that when Miliband met Hacker in Portcullis House last month he began by apologising. 

"Ed was very funny," Hacker told me, "He said: 'I'm sorry if I screwed up the term for you.' I said: 'Are you kidding?' I’m an academic; I’ve had one idea that’s broken into public consciousness in American political debate and that’s the public option [the proposal to set up a state run health insurance agency] . . . I’m not used to having my ideas discussed by politicians. So I said, 'You can talk about it as much as you want. I’m sorry if it made people think that you’re a policy wonk.'"

It was when a friend sent him a YouTube clip of Cameron’s PMQs riff that he realised the influence the term was having. "My first reaction was: 'This is so cool!' I am personally being attacked by the Prime Minister of Britain – what more could I ask for? My second reaction was: 'Who is J Hacker?' I had to go and look up the reference and now, knowing the reference, it was actually a very good joke and I can see why George Osborne was laughing so hard in the background. It made me think that British parliamentary discussions are a lot more interesting than American ones."

He reflects, however, that it represented a missed business opportunity. "The punchline of [Cameron’s] joke was, 'I have seen the latest book by Jacob Hacker. It’s entitled The Road to Nowhere and that’s where this idea will take us.' And I was deeply offended by that. While I loved being attacked in the House of Commons, the fact that he said the book that I’d written as my undergraduate thesis at Harvard and was published in 1997, that that was my latest book, deeply offended me, because I could have used the free publicity for Winner-Take-All Politics [published in 2010] at the time."

The political and economic case for predistribution is a persuasive one. The financial crisis and the resultant surge in the deficit, which the OBR forecasts will stand at £108bn (5.9 per cent of GDP) in 2014-2015, Labour can no longer hope to spend its way to social democracy. At the same time, the increasing public hostility to conventional welfare policies limits the scope for a strategy centred on redistribution. "In a society that grows ever more unequal, you cannot sustain the social contract simply by taking from some of the fortunate, the affluent, and redistributing to the rest of the society. It just doesn’t work politically," Hacker told me. "It doesn’t work because it creates an environment in which the middle is more likely to be resentful towards those at the bottom, who are the largest beneficiaries of public transfers, than they are towards those at the top, despite the fact that the rich are really the ones who have rigged the game."

He was sharply critical of New Labour and the Third Way approach of “letting the market be the market and mopping up afterwards”. By tolerating the excesses of the City in the belief that its lucre could be redistributed through the tax credit system, Tony Blair and Gordon Brown created the conditions for the crash and ultimately failed to stem the rise in inequality. As Stewart Wood, who served as an adviser to Brown between 2001 and 2010, reflected when we spoke separately: "We were doing remedial work, rather than getting to the root of the things that drive unequal outcomes. Predistribution allows you to address the forces that create less efficiency and greater inequality, which often go together."

But would a predistributive policy agenda look like? That's the question I'll answer in my next post on Hacker. 

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Yale professor Jacob Hacker first used the term "predistribution" at a Policy Network conference in Oslo in 2011. Image: Dan Murrell.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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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