Trust in me? A lot of people did, in the end. Photo: Getty Images
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What is "trust" anyway, and why did Labour lose it?

You can't win if people don't trust you - but "trust" is rather more complicated than you might think.

 

Elections look like popularity contests but aren’t.  The contestants in reality TV are only asking you to like them.  Politicians are asking for your vote so that they can act on your behalf.  That is an act of trust – and trust is a very specific concept, one that fascinates economists and psychologists.  Following Labour's disastrous performance at this election, rebuilding trust seems like an urgent task. For the Liberal Democrats it seems like an almost hopeless one. But for every party, re-establishing trust means understanding what trust is, how it is built and how it is lost.
Economists have developed “trust games” to try and measure how people trust.They normally involve the first player being asked if they want to trust the second player with some money.  Whatever the first player hands to their partner, the experimenter triples it.  So if you really trust your partner, you would give them all your money and expect them to split the profits between the two of you.  But it is your partner who decides how to divide the money at the end and, if they want, they could keep the lot for themselves.  How much would you give if you were playing with your best friend? How much with a stranger?
Building on that thinking, economists understand trusting as taking risks. There are two kinds of risk involved.  Suppose a stranger asks to borrow ten pounds.   The risk is all about the stranger’s intentions: are they really going to pay you back? The second type of risk is different: are you able to deliver what you promise?  If someone comes to you asking for a big investment in their new business idea, it doesn't matter if they are your best friend, you are naturally going to have a few Dragon's Den-style questions about whether this idea will work before you trust them with your life savings.
In politics, we talk vaguely about being seen as competent and “on your side” but using the tools of economics we can be more precise: when do voters think the risk comes from a politician’s motives, and when do they think that the risk comes from a politician’s abilities?  When politicians ask to be trusted to do something popular, like cut crime or grow the economy, motive isn’t normally an issue, but ability definitely is.  When politicians ask to be trusted to do something less obviously popular, like defend a minority or act responsibly with the country’s money, then motive looms larger than ability.
But this economical split between motive risks and competence risks is not the whole story. Neurologists have found that our brains look very different when we are playing trust games against another human being than when they are just playing them against a computer.  For example, the hormone oxytonin affects how we play the game through the “selective deactivation [of] fear circuitry”, but it only does this when playing against other people, but not against a computer. People are “betrayal averse”: they do more to avoid risks caused by other people than they do to avoid risks that come from impersonal things. And perhaps most importantly for politics, when we’re dealing with someone we trust, we think more quickly and automatically.

Anyone frustrated with how the Tories got away with playing fast and loose with fiscal responsibility in the last weeks of the election might look to our neurological wiring to explain why this largely escaped scrutiny.
It is hard to understand who is competent and who isn’t so we use quick proxies – heuristics - to guide us. High school and university students in Australian and New Zealand rated American political candidates on how competent their faces seemed and the results were a scarily accurate forecast of the election results.   Short of plastic surgery, parties resort to other substitutes like winning the endorsements of business leaders and those who are perceived, rightly or wrongly, to have the expertise needed to sort the competent from the incompetent.
Addressing risks that come from suspicion of your motives means acting “irrationally”.  I trust Jamie Oliver's restaurant to use quality ingredients because I believe he is passionate about food and would be ashamed and embarrassed if his food wasn't up to scratch. Where motives are in question, politicians need to show they would be irrationally furious or wracked with guilt if the trust were to be broken. Indeed, at least one theory suggests that the ability of emotions to demonstrate trustworthiness is a key reason why they evolved. Similarly, psychologists focus on “strain-test” situations when one member of a couple wants, say, to take up a great job offer in a different country. If one partner sacrifices what is “rationally” in their interest then it sends a powerful signal about their relationship - but how often would politicians be persuaded to act against their own immediate interest for the sake of building trust in the long term?
For every party, there is a subtle but important tasks of differentiating between the areas where voters need to be convinced of the party's motives and where its abilities are the bigger issue.  In my party, there’s often a tendency for Labour’s centrists to see the problems entirely in terms of competence, while the left sees things entirely in terms of motive. But pulling on the wrong lever does little to address the problem. If people think you aren’t motivated to be careful with public money, another fifteen-point plan won’t address their concerns.  And if people already think you are deeply committed to the health service, ever-more-emotive rhetoric isn’t going to convince people you have the ability to make it work better for patients. 

Winning back trust will be a long road for Labour but it’s starts by putting more passion into our talk of responsibility and more competence into our talk about social justice.

 

Daily Mail
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Who "speaks for England" - and for that matter, what is "England"?

The Hollywood producer Sam Gold­wyn once demanded, “Let’s have some new clichés.” The Daily Mail, however, is always happiest with the old ones.

The Hollywood producer Sam Gold­wyn once demanded, “Let’s have some new clichés.” The Daily Mail, however, is always happiest with the old ones. It trotted out Leo Amery’s House of Commons call from September 1939, “Speak for England”, for the headline on a deranged leader that filled a picture-free front page on David Cameron’s “deal” to keep Britain in the EU.

Demands that somebody or other speak for England have followed thick and fast ever since Amery addressed his call to Labour’s Arthur Greenwood when Neville Chamberlain was still dithering over war with Hitler. Tory MPs shouted, “Speak for England!” when Michael Foot, the then Labour leader, rose in the Commons in 1982 after Argentina’s invasion of the Falklands. The Mail columnist Andrew Alexander called on Clare Short to “speak for England” over the Iraq War in 2003. “Can [Ed] Miliband speak for England?” Anthony Barnett asked in this very magazine in 2013. (Judging by the 2015 election result, one would say not.) “I speak for England,” claimed John Redwood last year. “Labour must speak for England,” countered Frank Field soon afterwards.

The Mail’s invocation of Amery was misconceived for two reasons. First, Amery wanted us to wage war in Europe in support of Hitler’s victims in Poland and elsewhere and in alliance with France, not to isolate ourselves from the continent. Second, “speak for England” in recent years has been used in support of “English votes for English laws”, following proposals for further devolution to Scotland. As the Mail was among the most adamant in demanding that Scots keep their noses out of English affairs, it’s a bit rich of it now to state “of course, by ‘England’. . . we mean the whole of the United Kingdom”.

 

EU immemorial

The Mail is also wrong in arguing that “we are at a crossroads in our island history”. The suggestion that the choice is between “submitting to a statist, unelected bureaucracy in Brussels” and reclaiming our ancient island liberties is pure nonsense. In the long run, withdrawing from the EU will make little difference. Levels of immigration will be determined, as they always have been, mainly by employers’ demands for labour and the difficulties of policing the borders of a country that has become a leading international transport hub. The terms on which we continue to trade with EU members will be determined largely by unelected bureaucrats in Brussels after discussions with unelected bureaucrats in London.

The British are bored by the EU and the interminable Westminster arguments. If voters support Brexit, it will probably be because they then expect to hear no more on the subject. They will be sadly mistaken. The withdrawal negotiations will take years, with the Farages and Duncan Smiths still foaming at the mouth, Cameron still claiming phoney victories and Angela Merkel, François Hollande and the dreaded Jean-Claude Juncker playing a bigger part in our lives than ever.

 

An empty cabinet

Meanwhile, one wonders what has become of Jeremy Corbyn or, indeed, the rest of the shadow cabinet. The Mail’s “speak for England” leader excoriated him for not mentioning “the Number One subject of the hour” at PM’s Questions but instead asking about a shortage of therapeutic radiographers in the NHS. In fact, the NHS’s problems – almost wholly caused by Tory “reforms” and spending cuts – would concern more people than does our future in the EU. But radiographers are hardly headline news, and Corbyn and his team seem unable to get anything into the nation’s “any other business”, never mind to the top of its agenda.

Public services deteriorate by the day, George Osborne’s fiscal plans look increasingly awry, and attempts to wring tax receipts out of big corporations appear hopelessly inadequate. Yet since Christmas I have hardly seen a shadow minister featured in the papers or spotted one on TV, except to say something about Trident, another subject that most voters don’t care about.

 

Incurable prose

According to the Guardian’s admirable but (let’s be honest) rather tedious series celeb­rating the NHS, a US health-care firm has advised investors that “privatisation of the UK marketplace . . . should create organic and de novo opportunities”. I have no idea what this means, though it sounds ominous. But I am quite certain I don’t want my local hospital or GP practice run by people who write prose like that.

 

Fashionable Foxes

My home-town football team, Leicester City, are normally so unfashionable that they’re not even fashionable in Leicester, where the smart set mostly watch the rugby union team Leicester Tigers. Even when they installed themselves near the top of the Premier League before Christmas, newspapers scarcely noticed them.

Now, with the Foxes five points clear at the top and 7-4 favourites for their first title, that mistake is corrected and the sports pages are running out of superlatives, a comparison with Barcelona being the most improbable. Even I, not a football enthusiast, have watched a few matches. If more football were played as Leicester play it – moving at speed towards their opponents’ goal rather than aimlessly weaving pretty patterns in midfield – I would watch the game more.

Nevertheless, I recall 1963, when Leicester headed the old First Division with five games to play. They picked up only one more point and finished fourth, nine points adrift of the league winners, Everton.

 

Gum unstuck

No, I don’t chew toothpaste to stop me smoking, as the last week’s column strangely suggested. I chew Nicorette gum, a reference written at some stage but somehow lost (probably by me) before it reached print.

Editor: The chief sub apologises for this mistake, which was hers

Peter Wilby was editor of the Independent on Sunday from 1995 to 1996 and of the New Statesman from 1998 to 2005. He writes the weekly First Thoughts column for the NS.

This article first appeared in the 11 February 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The legacy of Europe's worst battle