Canary Wharf skyscrapers on the Isle of Dogs. Photograph: Getty Images.
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Why "skin in the game" could be the key to reforming markets

Those with the power to make decisions on your behalf should share in the risks, not just enjoy the rewards.

"We are all in this together" has become the political catchphrase of this parliament. The phrase has come back to haunt a government that has introduced tax breaks for millionaires in an era of austerity, but Labour’s critique runs wider than this. Our argument at the next election will be about the way our economy works so that we tackle the causes of the cost-of-living crisis, not just the government’s priorities on tax and spend.

The campaign for a living wage embodies this idea. The question is not just whether tax credits can be protected, but whether companies will pay people a wage they can get by on. The debate on energy prices is another example. The job is not just to fund winter fuel payments but to reform the energy market so that customers are not taken for a ride. Occupational pensions typify the challenge: the difference between a 1 per cent and a 1.5 per cent charge from a provider can be tens of thousands of pounds more in a pension pot at the end of a working lifetime. Sharing in prosperity is about how our economy works, not just what the government spends.

In this context, a new paper by Duncan O'Leary published this week by the think-tank Demos is a welcome contribution to the debate. The paper explores a new idea for reforming markets: "skin in the game". The phrase comes from Warren Buffet, who demands that people investing his money have some of their own money at risk. They must have some skin in the game. The principle is that people who have the power to make decisions on your behalf should share in the risks, not just enjoy the rewards. Only then can they be truly accountable.

In the US, the government is already experimenting with the skin in the game idea. Banks can no longer package up and sell on all the debt from the mortgages they offer. They must retain some skin in the game: 5 per cent of every mortgage must stay on their balance sheets. The idea is that lenders start to consider not just whether they can sell a loan on to others in the market, but whether the loan itself is a good one. The hope is that more skin in the game will encourage more responsible lending.

O'Leary explores what this idea might mean in different policy areas. Is it right, for example, that half of FTSE 100 chief executives are not invested in the pension schemes that more than 90 per cent of their new staff are auto-enrolled into? Would companies pay more attention to pension charges if they were coming out of the CEOs pocket too? Is it sustainable that ratings agencies are paid by the organisations whose financial products they are rating? Should at least some of the fees be held back and paid according to how accurate the ratings prove? Perhaps some skin in the game would lead to greater accuracy.

The idea has the most obvious applications in finance. Is it fair that all financial services companies should pay the same industry levy to fund debt advice, regardless of their lending practices? Shouldn’t the lenders who drive people to debt advice, through hiking up rates when people miss payments, contribute more? Some skin in the game might encourage lenders to adopt a less adversarial approach with their customers.

But O'Leary also examines what it might mean in other areas too. Could companies be given more of a stake in whether the staff they make redundant find work when they leave? Could the skin in the game idea improve back-to-work support for those who find themselves off work through illness or accident? In Holland, for example, companies must pay up to an extra year’s sick pay if they do not take reasonable steps to reintegrate staff who suffer illness or disability. Here we have around 300,000 people flowing from work onto state benefits each year because of health-related issues, adding to the welfare bill.

The value of the skin in the game idea is twofold. First, it avoids the kind of top down micro-management that belongs to the politics of the last century, not this one. The task is to ensure that we really are "all in this together", but through reforming the incentives within markets, not tying business up in complex rules and regulation. The skin in the game idea has a simplicity to it that is attractive. Second, the principle seeks to prevent problems occurring and to align power and accountability where they have become detached from one another. Both are organising principles of Labour’s policy review that I lead, whether in the public or private sectors.

For Britain to become the global standard for an inclusive economy we must create a system that is fair from the start. The policy review will need to look at the skin in the game principle in more detail. But at first sight it looks like a key ingredient in the "recipe for responsible capitalism".

Jon Cruddas is Labour's policy review coordinator and MP for Dagenham

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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.