Why workplace democracy must be part of Labour's economic agenda

Strengthening workers' bargaining power can deliver fairer wages and more productive enterprises.

All orthodox economic commentary today is focused on the need for fiscal responsibility. Cutting the deficit is said to be a pre-requisite for growth. On the left, the argument is about short-term stimulus followed by longer-term prudence to get the economy back on track. Unfortunately, a small dose of Keynesianism, while welcome, will leave many of the problems that pre-date the crisis largely untouched.

First, governments of all political hues have failed to halt and reverse the enormous rise in income inequality that took place in the 1980s. Far from being a source of dynamism, excessive inequality is now seen as a cause of economic instability. The IMF argues that the pre-crisis bubble was a result of rising personal indebtedness driven by a growing gap between rich and poor. Their prescription for recovery is equally clear: wages must rise in line with productivity and the bargaining power of those with modest to low incomes must be improved. 

Second, the Labour government was successful in restoring full employment as an objective of public policy. But the net effect of this achievement was to move half a million people from workless to working poverty. Families continued to struggle to make ends meet, despite the minimum wage and tax credits. Wages at the bottom end of the labour market were simply too low.

Third, since 2004, wages for all those below the middle of the earnings distribution have been either frozen or have fallen once inflation is taken into account. Robust growth depends upon a steady stream of consumer demand but consumers are hardly likely to feel upbeat if their living standards are being squeezed.

Obviously the state has a role to pay in solving these problems by making full employment a priority and redistributing through the tax credits system. But the government cannot determine wages for all people at work. Rebalancing bargaining power depends on institutions that can represent workers interests effectively – a relationship that is explored in the Smith Institute’s latest report Just deserts? Poverty and income inequality: can workplace democracy make a difference? (July 2013, Coats). To use the US scholar Jacob Hacker’s formulation, pre-distribution matters.

The centre-left, then, has an opportunity to revive an argument that has been treated with contempt for far too long – that workplace democracy can deliver fairer wages and more productive enterprises. The international evidence is compelling: those countries with a fairer distribution of incomes, like the Nordic states and the Netherlands, have an array of institutions which create an inclusive labour market with decent work for all.

Productivity levels and the extent of innovation in German manufacturing are also looked on with envy by British policymakers. This impressive record is partly a result of effective industrial policy, but it depends just as much on the engagement of workers and their involvement in the process of incremental improvement. Works councils and trade unions, despite their weakened condition, remain central to the integrity of the German system. Britain presents a stark contrast, with an exceptionally low level of employee participation (only Lithuania is worse in the EU).

It would be wrong not to recognise the weakness of trade unions, especially in the private sector, even though the workers covered by collective agreements receive wages around 6% higher than those in a similar non-union firm. There is still a union 'sword of justice' effect, but it has become weaker as membership has fallen. Labour must think radically about how the state can facilitate the growth of effective workplace institutions. There is an irresistible case for learning from the works council models that are to be found in most EU 15 member states.

Rebalancing bargaining power means that the state has to re-establish its role as an exemplary contractor and employer too. The living wage should be used as the pay floor in public procurement and where negotiated rates of pay exist they should be observed by all those in the government’s supply chain, including sub-contractors. Beyond using the government’s contractual powers, the Low Pay Commission (LPC) should be given extended terms of reference to investigate the causes, consequences and cures of low pay. The LPC should also be required to develop principles of affordability, identifying when a rate above the minimum wage could be applied to an industry. And government should sponsor a dialogue on skills and productivity between all stakeholders (including the trade unions) in low wage industries.

The central element of Labour’s story has to be a reconceptualisation of the purposes of economic growth and the role of major corporations. It demands a return to the notion of stakeholding that was rapidly adopted and equally rapidly jettisoned by Tony Blair in the mid-1990s. That the architecture of British capitalism is broken should be a matter of consensus, if 'One Nation' means anything it surely means a broad agreement about the terms under which markets operate. Thoughtful Conservatives like Ferdinand Mount, who served as policy head to Margaret Thatcher, have begun to see the wisdom of two-tier corporate boards on the continental European model.  It would be odd if Labour missed the opportunity to develop an agenda for the reform of British capitalism

While it would be wrong to argue that the electorate have moved decisively to the left, there is a widespread belief that a return to the pre-crisis status quo is unacceptable. The possibility of a progressive post-Thatcherite settlement is tantalisingly close but triangulation and well-intentioned tinkering will prove inadequate to the task. Labour’s alternative has to include a progressive agenda for the world of work. Reducing income inequality and the extent of low pay is essential in convincing a sceptical electorate that the party has a credible economic programme.

David Coats is a research fellow at The Smith Institute

The group's new report can be read here

 

Ed Miliband and Ed Balls at the Labour conference in Manchester last year. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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