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Cameron's Achilles' heel

Can the Conservatives handle the economy? The current opposition front bench is the least financiall

Every few months an invitation arrives on my desk to a meet a member of the shadow cabinet at an event organised by the "Conservative City Circle". These events, held in distinctive City locations such as the Mansion House, are designed to introduce movers and shakers in the Square Mile to David Cameron, George Osborne and other senior Conservatives.

The "cocktail parties", as they are engagingly described on the group's website, are a direct descendent of the "prawn cocktail offensive" conducted by Tony Blair and Gordon Brown in the run-up to the 1997 election. The Blair-Brown approach was designed to demonstrate to the world of finance that Labour had changed. Not only had new Labour taken on the trade unions and faced them down, but a new Labour government would recognise the importance of finance to Britain's economy. The free-market reforms and privatisations of the Thatcher era, which had been so bitterly opposed, would be left intact.

What is curious about the Conservative City Circle's 1950s-style cocktail parties and working groups is that they are needed at all. Historically, the idea of the Tories having to reach out to business and the City would have been risible. Business flocked to the party's doors and few self- respecting FTSE 100 companies would have omitted their hefty donations to the Conservative Party or think tanks with Tory connections.

Conservative frontbenchers didn't need to reach out to the City to be known and trusted, because they were of the City. The old merchant banks, such as N M Rothschild, were hothouses of Conservative talent. Not because they were inherently political, but because a City training in bids and deals, trading, privatisations and the like was considered an excellent education for future politicians. The idea was to establish a career, make enough money if possible and then put those talents to use in the House of Commons and government.

How much things have changed. When Peter Buckley, chairman of the publicly quoted Cayzer family vehicle Caledonian Investments (which owns a big stake in the investment bank Close Brothers), chose earlier this year to attack Labour and support the Tories, he attracted a torrent of criticism from corporate governance mavens.

In a note to shareholders, Buckley wrote: "Shorn of integrity and economic competence, rooster Brown has even less feathers than rooster Blair and lacks the latter's knack of preening himself." He backed up his words with the promise of a £75,000 corporate contribution to the Conservatives.

In fact, one of new Labour's greatest achievements - or betrayals - has been its seduction of business and the City grandees. In the Blair-Brown era, the succession of top business leaders willing to serve as policy advisers was stunning. And it hasn't stopped under Brown and Darling,

It was no coincidence that the rescue of Halifax Bank of Scotland (HBOS) by Lloyds TSB was partly cooked up a City grandee - Sir Victor Blank, chairman of Lloyds - in a "chance meeting" with the Prime Minister at a reception hosted by Citigroup, one of the world's largest banks. Nor that the top figures at both banks - Blank and Lord Stevenson, chairman of HBOS - are both regarded as business pals of Labour.

Indeed, the former chief executive of Halifax, Sir James Crosby, is the person Labour is counting on to deliver groundbreaking reforms to Britain's creaking mortgage market.

The remarkable fact is that the current Tory front bench, which within 18 months could be assuming the reins of political power at a moment of unprecedented economic turbulence, is among the least City-savvy in a generation. This is why it needs to go out and look for financial and business experience through the "City Circle".

"The problem for the Conservatives is that the front bench is largely made up by a new breed of professional politicians who know very little about anything except PR and politics," remarks Dr Andrew Hilton, director of the independent think-tank, Centre for the Study of Financial Innovation (CSFI).

Hands-on experience

Hilton is scathing about the current Conservative leadership. "The lack of financial experience is a big lacuna. The route now is straight out of Oxford and Cambridge, into PR or political research and, before you know it, they've made it on to the front bench," he says. Asked to name a prominent Tory with the requisite financial experience, he could only suggest David Gauke, MP for South West Hertfordshire, who worked for a leading City law firm, but hardly registers among the top-ranking Conservatives.

Among the new Tory frontbenchers, David Cameron, the son of a stockbroker, is one of the few who can claim that knowledge of the financial world courses through his veins. His hands-on business experience stems from his short period as communications director of the tele v ision franchise Carlton, now part of ITV.

His time at Carlton stored up troubles for Cameron among the notoriously hard-to-please financial press. The BBC's influential former business editor Jeff Randall, now an editor-at-large for the Daily Telegraph, is among his sternest critics. "In my experience," he noted in the paper, "Cameron never gave a straight answer when dissemblance was a plausible alternative."

The shadow chancellor, George Osborne, also has a "trade" background. The quoted family firm Osborne & Little is a favourite among interior designers for its catholic collection of wallpaper and soft furnishing designs. Osborne is thus familiar with the travails of medium-sized firms in a globalised world and, to his credit, he has surrounded himself with informed thinkers such as Matthew Hancock, formerly of the Bank of England.

When the Northern Rock crisis first broke a year ago, Osborne was quick to embrace the idea of an old-fashioned Bank of England-organised rescue, where City banks would offer a lifeboat to a failing bank. This is precisely what has happened with Alliance & Leicester, Bradford & Bingley and, most recently, HBOS. Osborne was also supportive of Mervyn King's proposals for a strengthened deposit insurance scheme at a time when Labour has dithered and delayed.

But there is no hiding the fact that, unlike previous Tory shadow and real chancellors, his experience and knowledge of finance is negligible. Oliver Letwin, shadow chancellor under Mich ael Howard, may have lacked political gravitas, but he came with the stamp of N M Rothschild. Ken Clarke was a heavyweight political operator with commercial experience gained as a lawyer, and John Major had climbed through the ranks at Standard Chartered, one of the nation's most successful banking concerns. Even Norman Lam ont could boast a career at N M Rothschild from 1968 to 1979.

As PM, Margaret Thatcher was surrounded with people with serious City and business experience. Peter Walker was a junior partner in the asset-stripping bank Slater Walker, William Waldegrave was a Dres dner Kleinwort Benson veteran, Michael Heseltine an entrepreneur who founded one of the UK's most successful private companies, Hay- market Publishing, and so on. Thatcher also had her late husband Denis, a former senior executive of his family business Burmah Oil (since swallowed up by BP), to whisper in her ear.

David Davis, a senior executive at Tate & Lyle, was one of the few business heavyweights in Cameron's shadow cabinet, but he now adorns the back benches after his decision to seek re-election on an erosion of freedoms platform. The shadow trade secretary Alan Duncan boasts a period as an "oil trader" on his CV. But one would been hard-pressed to judge, from his performance on the BBC's Question Time a week ago, what his understanding is of the scale of the financial crisis facing Britain.

Among the leading City figures now at Cameron's elbow is Michael Spencer, the extrovert chief executive of Icap, an electronic broker and City derivatives trading firm which has been suggested as a potential merger partner for the London Stock Exchange. As treasurer for the Tories, Spencer has been in perpetual motion in recent times.

When I visited him at his offices in the months after the credit crunch hit, he was entertaining an exclusive group of high-street bank chairmen whom he was seeking to persuade of the wisdom of supporting Cameron and his team. His success in the City, in one of the most volatile periods of recent times, has won him credibility among his fellow financiers. He is also one of the City's most accomplished philanthropists, with a particular devotion to Africa. But because of recent personal problems, it is unlikely that he will play a very prominent role at conference.

At a time of unprecedented financial turmoil, almost certainly the greatest banking crisis since the Great Depression, Tory expertise in the increasingly complex and globalised world of finance seems thin on the ground. Vince Cable, the Liberal Democrat economic spokesman, demonstrated throughout the current crisis that it is possible constructively to oppose and come up with credible ideas without talking the economy down. But Cable has hands-on knowledge of business from his period as chief economist of Shell.

The Conservatives' failure to say anything significant about the current catastrophe is unsurprising, when it falls so far outside the comfort zone of their present front bench.

This article first appeared in the 29 September 2008 issue of the New Statesman, The crash of 2008

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The age of loneliness

Profound changes in technology, work and community are transforming our ultrasocial species into a population of loners.

Our dominant ideology is based on a lie. A series of lies, in fact, but I’ll focus on just one. This is the claim that we are, above all else, self-interested – that we seek to enhance our own wealth and power with little regard for the impact on others.

Some economists use a term to describe this presumed state of being – Homo economicus, or self-maximising man. The concept was formulated, by J S Mill and others, as a thought experiment. Soon it became a modelling tool. Then it became an ideal. Then it evolved into a description of who we really are.

It could not be further from the truth. To study human behaviour is to become aware of how weird we are. Many species will go to great lengths to help and protect their close kin. One or two will show occasional altruism towards unrelated members of their kind. But no species possesses a capacity for general altruism that is anywhere close to our own.

With the possible exception of naked mole-rats, we have the most social minds of all mammals. These minds evolved as an essential means of survival. Slow, weak, armed with rounded teeth and flimsy nails in a world of fangs and claws and horns and tusks, we survived through co-operation, reciprocity and mutual defence, all of which developed to a remarkable degree.

A review paper in the journal Frontiers in Psychology observes that Homo economicus  might be a reasonable description of chimpanzees. “Outsiders . . . would not expect to receive offers of food or solicitude; rather, they would be fiercely attacked . . . food is shared only under harassment; even mothers will not voluntarily offer novel foods to their own infants unless the infants beg for them.” But it is an unreasonable description of human beings.

How many of your friends, colleagues and neighbours behave like chimpanzees? A few, perhaps. If so, are they respected or reviled? Some people do appear to act as if they have no interests but their own – Philip Green and Mike Ashley strike me as possible examples – but their behaviour ­attracts general revulsion. The news is filled with spectacular instances of human viciousness: although psychopaths are rare, their deeds fill the papers. Daily acts of kindness are seldom reported, because they are everywhere.

Every day, I see people helping others with luggage, offering to cede their place in a queue, giving money to the homeless, setting aside time for others, volunteering for causes that offer no material reward. Alongside these quotidian instances are extreme and stunning cases. I think of my Dutch mother-in-law, whose family took in a six-year-old Jewish boy – a stranger – and hid him in their house for two years during the German occupation of the Netherlands. Had he been discovered, they would all have been sent to a concentration camp.

Studies suggest that altruistic tendencies are innate: from the age of 14 months, children try to help each other, attempting to hand over objects another child can’t reach. At the age of two, they start to share valued possessions. By the time they are three, they begin to protest against other people’s violation of moral norms.

Perhaps because we are told by the media, think tanks and politicians that competition and self-interest are the defining norms of human life, we disastrously mischaracterise the way in which other people behave. A survey commissioned by the Common Cause Foundation reported that 78 per cent of respondents believe others to be more selfish than they really are.

I do not wish to suggest that this mythology of selfishness is the sole or even principal cause of the epidemic of loneliness now sweeping the world. But it is likely to contribute to the plague by breeding suspicion and a sense of threat. It also appears to provide a doctrine of justification for those afflicted by isolation, a doctrine that sees individualism as a higher state of existence than community. Perhaps it is hardly surprising that Britain, the European nation in which neoliberalism is most advanced, is, according to government figures, the loneliness capital of Europe.

There are several possible reasons for the atomisation now suffered by the supremely social mammal. Work, which used to bring us together, now disperses us: many people have neither fixed workplaces nor regular colleagues and regular hours. Our leisure time has undergone a similar transformation: cinema replaced by television, sport by computer games, time with friends by time on Facebook.

Social media seems to cut both ways: it brings us together and sets us apart. It helps us to stay in touch, but also cultivates a tendency that surely enhances other people’s sense of isolation: a determination to persuade your followers that you’re having a great time. FOMO – fear of missing out – seems, at least in my mind, to be closely ­associated with loneliness.

Children’s lives in particular have been transformed: since the 1970s, their unaccompanied home range (in other words, the area they roam without adult supervision) has declined in Britain by almost 90 per cent. Not only does this remove them from contact with the natural world, but it limits their contact with other children. When kids played out on the street or in the woods, they quickly formed their own tribes, learning the social skills that would see them through life.

An ageing population, family and community breakdown, the decline of institutions such as churches and trade unions, the switch from public transport to private, inequality, an alienating ethic of consumerism, the loss of common purpose: all these are likely to contribute to one of the most dangerous epidemics of our time.

Yes, I do mean dangerous. The stress response triggered by loneliness raises blood pressure and impairs the immune system. Loneliness enhances the risk of depression, paranoia, addiction, cognitive decline, dem­entia, heart disease, stroke, viral infection, accidents and suicide. It is as potent a cause of early death as smoking 15 cigarettes a day, and can be twice as deadly as obesity.

Perhaps because we are in thrall to the ideology that helps to cause the problem, we turn to the market to try to solve it. Over the past few weeks, the discovery of a new American profession, the people-walker (taking human beings for walks), has caused a small sensation in the media. In Japan there is a fully fledged market for friendship: you can hire friends by the hour with whom to chat and eat and watch TV; or, more disturbingly, to pose for pictures that you can post on social media. They are rented as mourners at funerals and guests at weddings. A recent article describes how a fake friend was used to replace a sister with whom the bride had fallen out. What would the bride’s mother make of it? No problem: she had been rented, too. In September we learned that similar customs have been followed in Britain for some time: an early foray into business for the Home Secretary, Amber Rudd, involved offering to lease her posh friends to underpopulated weddings.



My own experience fits the current pattern: the high incidence of loneliness suffered by people between the ages of 18 and 34. I have sometimes been lonely before and after that period, but it was during those years that I was most afflicted. The worst episode struck when I returned to Britain after six years working in West Papua, Brazil and East Africa. In those parts I sometimes felt like a ghost, drifting through societies to which I did not belong. I was often socially isolated, but I seldom felt lonely, perhaps because the issues I was investigating were so absorbing and the work so frightening that I was swept along by adrenalin and a sense of purpose.

When I came home, however, I fell into a mineshaft. My university friends, with their proper jobs, expensive mortgages and settled, prematurely aged lives, had become incomprehensible to me, and the life I had been leading seemed incomprehensible to everyone. Though feeling like a ghost abroad was in some ways liberating – a psychic decluttering that permitted an intense process of discovery – feeling like a ghost at home was terrifying. I existed, people acknowledged me, greeted me cordially, but I just could not connect. Wherever I went, I heard my own voice bouncing back at me.

Eventually I made new friends. But I still feel scarred by that time, and fearful that such desolation may recur, particularly in old age. These days, my loneliest moments come immediately after I’ve given a talk, when I’m surrounded by people congratulating me or asking questions. I often experience a falling sensation: their voices seem to recede above my head. I think it arises from the nature of the contact: because I can’t speak to anyone for more than a few seconds, it feels like social media brought to life.

The word “sullen” evolved from the Old French solain, which means “lonely”. Loneliness is associated with an enhanced perception of social threat, so one of its paradoxical consequences is a tendency to shut yourself off from strangers. When I was lonely, I felt like lashing out at the society from which I perceived myself excluded, as if the problem lay with other people. To read any comment thread is, I feel, to witness this tendency: you find people who are plainly making efforts to connect, but who do so by insulting and abusing, alienating the rest of the thread with their evident misanthropy. Perhaps some people really are rugged individualists. But others – especially online – appear to use that persona as a rationale for involuntary isolation.

Whatever the reasons might be, it is as if a spell had been cast on us, transforming this ultrasocial species into a population of loners. Like a parasite enhancing the conditions for its own survival, loneliness impedes its own cure by breeding shame and shyness. The work of groups such as Age UK, Mind, Positive Ageing and the Campaign to End Loneliness is life-saving.

When I first wrote about this subject, and the article went viral, several publishers urged me to write a book on the theme. Three years sitting at my desk, studying isolation: what’s the second prize? But I found another way of working on the issue, a way that engages me with others, rather than removing me. With the brilliant musician Ewan McLennan, I have written a concept album (I wrote the first draft of the lyrics; he refined them and wrote the music). Our aim is to use it to help break the spell, with performances of both music and the spoken word designed to bring people together –which, we hope, will end with a party at the nearest pub.

By itself, our work can make only a tiny contribution to addressing the epidemic. But I hope that, both by helping people to acknowledge it and by using the power of music to create common sentiment, we can at least begin to identify the barriers that separate us from others, and to remember that we are not the selfish, ruthless beings we are told we are.

“Breaking the Spell of Loneliness” by Ewan McLennan and George Monbiot is out now. For a full list of forthcoming gigs visit:

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood