Aagamee Manushya Party / Human Future Party

 We the members believe: 

1. Human knowledge and understanding are limited. We believe in a sceptical examination of all philosophies, knowledge systems and their methods.
2. Life on planet earth appears on a downward spiral and all attempts should be made to prevent the extinction of the human race and its environment.
3. Achievement of political power is crucial to achieving our objectives and all methods are fair.
4. Land, labour, money, risk… are fictitious concepts and we will aim to search for better fictions to prevent the extinction of the human race and its environment.

 The above principles will be used to guide our approach to any issue.

 Membership:

Anybody can become a member of the party by affirming to the above four values and paying the requisite joining fee and annual membership charges.

 Anybody can leave the party by submitting their resignation to the appropriate authority in the party with six months notice.

 The party will evolve disciplinary policies after ascertaining that a member has violated its founding values.

 Governance:

 The party will have a Chairperson, a General Secretary and a Treasurer as a leadership troika. The troika will take decisions to achieve the party’s values. Each officer will have a vote each to decide on all operational issues and decisions can be made by a majority vote. Pursuing a consensus should always be the initial approach.

 On issues relating to the values of the party, these maybe amended with a 75% majority of the general membership.

 The leadership troika will have a term of three years. Elections will be held for each post every three years.

 The party may be dissolved with a 80% vote of the general membership.

 

Application form to join Aagamee Manushya Party / Human Future Party

 

 

I:                                                                                        

residing at:

 

 

hereby affirm:

 

1. Human knowledge and understanding are limited. We believe in a sceptical examination of all philosophies, knowledge systems and their methods.
2. Life on planet earth appears on a downward spiral and all attempts should be made to prevent the extinction of the human race and its environment.
3. Achievement of political power is crucial to achieving our objectives and all methods are fair.
4. Land, labour, money, risk… are fictitious concepts and we will aim to search for better fictions to prevent the extinction of the human race and its environment.

 

I wish to join The Aagamee Manushya Party / Human Future Party and promise to work in a diligent manner to propagating its values and beliefs.

 

I enclose the amount                                                              towards membership and annual subscription charges.

 

 

 

 

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Four lessons the Carillion crisis can teach business, government and us

Larry Elliott in The Guardian


Carillion’s collapse was capitalism in action. Profits are the reward for taking risks, and sometimes the risks materialise. Carillion’s problem was not that its profits were too high, but that they were too low when things started to go wrong. In a free-market system, it’s that simple.

Except that it isn’t quite that simple in this case, because much of Carillion’s work was for the government: building roads and hospitals, running prisons, providing school meals. Whitehall didn’t want the company to go bust, so bunged it a few new contracts when it was already in trouble in the hope that something would turn up. Instead, Carillion staggered on for six months as a zombie company before the banks pulled the plug.

What’s more, the directors of the company took steps to shield themselves from financial risk. The Institute of Directors – which strongly believes in free markets and the profit motive – described a 2016 change to pay policy that made it harder to claw back bonuses as “highly inappropriate”, which of course it was. The company’s workforce, its subcontractors and its pensioners have not been so fortunate.


PFI has been an attempt to prove that it is possible to get world-class public services on the cheap. This is a delusion

Jeremy Corbyn says the demise of Carillion is a watershed moment, and he could well be right. The reputation of business is already at a low ebb and the Carillion saga has everything to get the public fired up: mismanagement, dividends for shareholders and boardroom fat-cattery leading to job losses, pension cuts and more expensive public services. Voter resistance to local councils taking previously outsourced services back in house is likely to be minimal.

The time has come to have a hard look at the private finance deals that have been the vehicle of political choice for delivering infrastructure projects – and, increasingly, public services – for the past quarter of a century. Public-private partnerships started as an accounting wheeze in John Major’s government when it needed a way to prevent spending on capital investment boosting high borrowing built up in the early 90s recession.

‘Gordon Brown (left), chancellor under Tony Blair (right), needed to find a way of building new schools and hospitals promised in opposition.’ Photograph: WPA Pool/Getty Images

But the Conservatives became less wedded to them when an improving economy led to an improvement in the public finances as the 90s wore on. It was Labour’s arrival in office in 1997 that gave private finance a new lease of life. Gordon Brown, Tony Blair’s chancellor, pledged to stick to the tough spending targets inherited from the Tories for two years, but still needed to find a way of building the new schools and hospitals promised in opposition. PFI (the private finance initiative ) – under which the private sector would pay for a new project up front and be paid back by the government over the coming decades – was the answer.

PFI, essentially a live-now pay-later approach, was always an expensive way to fund infrastructure, and the private sector did well out of them.

Life became a lot tougher after 2010, when the coalition government decided its first priority was to reduce a budget deficit at 10% of GDP. Spending on infrastructure was cut, and private sector contractors such as Carillion found Whitehall more miserly when negotiating contracts. Local government, which bore the brunt of government spending cuts, came under pressure to outsource services to save money.

Austerity and PFI was an unhappy marriage. To be sure, taxpayers saved money by getting the private sector to provide services more cheaply. But savings came at a price. Prisoners turned up late for court appearances; schools were built to a lower specification; PFI contractors cut corners to save money whenever they could because the bids put in to win contracts were barely enough to cover their costs. This was a race to the bottom, and Carillion won it.
George Osborne, who masterminded the coalition’s austerity strategy, says the problem was a failure to use more small- and medium-sized companies instead of relying on the big beasts. This is absurd: only large outfits could contemplate taking on large PFI contracts. And in many cases, multifaceted companies such as Carillion used profits from one sector to subsidise losses elsewhere in their portfolios.Q&A
How are you being affected by the Carillion liquidation crisis?Show

There are lessons to be learned from Carillion’s collapse, but the idea that SMEs should be building billion-pound hospitals is not one of them. Lesson one is that governments can have austerity or they can have PFI, but not both together. For the past eight years, it has been possible for the state to borrow for long periods at historically low interest rates. This would have been – and still is – a more cost-effective way of financing big infrastructure projects.

London libraries assess impact of Carillion collapse


Lesson two is that the state is not well equipped to manage big infrastructure projects. There are plenty of examples – the abandonment of the NHS IT project at a cost of £12bn, for example – of official incompetence. Whitehall’s handling of Carillion has left a lot to be desired. No matter what Labour says, the private sector will inevitably have a big role in the delivery of major projects. Even under a Corbyn-led government, there would inevitably be a role for it.

Given that, lesson three is the need to rethink company law. Trade unions felt the full force of the law when they were deemed to have acted badly in the late 70s and 80s; a similar approach for corporate wrongdoing is long overdue. It might simply mean enforcing existing laws more strongly, but the step that would send a shiver through boardrooms would be the end of limited liability for directors of limited companies. Limited liability is supposed to encourage entrepreneurship. In Carillion’s case it seems to have created moral hazard.

The final lesson is for the public. PFI has been an attempt to prove that it is possible to get world-class public services on the cheap. This is a delusion. If we want world-class public services, one way or another they will have to be paid for.

Public Benefit Company to replace Public Limited Company

Three-quarters of British voters want our rail, gas and water renationalised but it’s expensive – there is a business model that offers the best of both worlds


Will Hutton in The Guardian

Public ownership is fashionable again. Turning over Britain’s public assets, lock, stock and barrel into private ownership and relying only on light-touch regulation to ensure they were managed to deliver a wider public interest was always a risky bet. And that bet has not paid off.

Recent polls show an astonishing 83% in favour of nationalising water, 77% in favour of electricity and gas and 76% in favour of rail. It is not just that this represents a general fall in trust in business. The privatised utilities are felt to be in a different category: they are public services. But there is a widespread view that demanding profit targets have overridden public service obligations. And the public is right. 

Thames Water, under private equity ownership, has been the most egregious example, building up sky-high debts as it distributed excessive dividends to its private-equity owners via a holding company in Luxembourg, a move designed to minimise UK tax obligations. As the Cuttill report highlighted, at current rates of investment it will take Thames 357 years to renew the London’s water mains: it takes 10 years in Japan.

Equally, BT’s investment in universal national high-speed broadband coverage has been slow and inadequate, while few would argue that the first target of the rail operators has been quality passenger service – culminating in the most recent scandal of Stagecoach and Virgin escaping their contractual commitments. Most commuters, crowded into expensive trains, have become increasing fans of public ownership. Jeremy Corbyn’s commitment to renationalisation surprised everyone with its popularity.

The trouble is, it’s expensive: at least £170bn on most estimates. Of course the proposed increase in public debt by around 10% of GDP will be matched by the state owning assets of 10% of GDP, but British public accounting is not so rational. The emphasis will be on the debt, not the assets, and in any case there are better causes – infrastructure spending – for which to raise public debt levels.

And once owned publicly, the newly nationalised industries will once again be subject to the Treasury’s borrowing limits. If there are spending cuts, their capital investment programmes will be cut. What voters want is the best of both worlds. Public services run as public services, but with all the dynamism and autonomy of being in the private sector, not least being able to borrow for vital investment. It seems impossible, but building on the proposals of the Big Innovation Centre’s Purposeful Company Taskforce, there is a way to pull off these apparently irreconcilable objectives – and without spending any money.

The government should create a new category of company – the public benefit company (PBC) – which would write into its constitution that its purpose is the delivery of public benefit to which profit-making is subordinate. For instance, a water company’s purpose would be to deliver the best water as cheaply as possible and not siphon off excessive dividends through a tax haven. The next step would be to take a foundation share in each privatised utility as a condition of its licence to operate, requiring the utility to reincorporate as a public-benefit company.


Regulators, however good their intentions, too easily see the world from the view of the industry they regulate

The foundation share would give the government the right to appoint independent non-executive directors whose role would be see that the public interest purposes of the PBC were being discharged as promised.

This would include ensuring the company remained domiciled in the UK for tax purposes and guaranteeing that consumers, social and public benefit interests came first.

The non-executive directors would engage directly with consumer challenge groups whose mandate is to be a sounding board for consumer interests but at present are little more than talking shops, and deliver an independent report to an office of public services each year, giving an account of how the public interest was being achieved. It is important to have an independent third party: regulators, however good their intentions, too easily see the world from the view of the industry they regulate.

Because the companies would remain owned by private shareholders, their borrowing would not be classed as public debt. The existing shareholders in the utility would remain shareholders, and their rights to votes and dividends would remain unimpaired. So there would be no need to compensate them – no need, in short to pay £170bn buying the assets back. Indeed, the scope to borrow could be used to fund a wave of new investment in our utilities.

But the new company’s obligation would be to its users first and foremost, and would be free to borrow free from any Treasury constraint. Nor would any secretary of state get drawn into the operational running of the industries – one of the major reasons Attlee-style nationalisation failed. Inevitably decisions get politicised. 

The aim would be to combine the best of both the public and private sectors. If companies do not deliver what they have promised, there should be a well-defined system of escalating penalties, starting with the right to sue companies and ending with taking all the assets into public ownership if a company persistently neglected its obligations. But the cost would be very much lower, because the share price would fall as it became clear it was operating illegally.

Britain would have created a new class of company. Indeed, there is the opportunity to start now. If Virgin and Stagecoach are unable to fulfil their contractual obligations on the East Coast line, the company should be reincorporated as a public benefit company. The shareholders would remain, but the newly constituted board would take every decision in the interests of the travelling public guaranteed by the independent directors, empowered consumer challenge groups and the office of public services – so that the taxpayer can trust her or his money is spent properly. Corbyn and John McDonnell have a way of delivering what the electorate want – and still keeping the industries off the public balance sheet. The circle can be squared.

Why too much choice is stressing us out

Stuart Jeffries in The Guardian

Once upon a time in Springfield, the Simpson family visited a new supermarket. Monstromart’s slogan was “where shopping is a baffling ordeal”. Product choice was unlimited, shelving reached the ceiling, nutmeg came in 12lb boxes and the express checkout had a sign reading, “1,000 items or less”. In the end the Simpsons returned to Apu’s Kwik-E-Mart.

In doing so, the Simpsons were making a choice to reduce their choice. It wasn’t quite a rational choice, but it made sense. In the parlance of economic theory, they were not rational utility maximisers but, in Herbert Simon’s term, “satisficers” – opting for what was good enough, rather than becoming confused to the point of inertia in front of Monstromart’s ranges of products.

This comes to mind because Tesco chief executive Dave Lewis seems bent on making shopping in his stores less baffling than it used to be. Earlier this year, he decided to scrap 30,000 of the 90,000 products from Tesco’s shelves. This was, in part, a response to the growing market shares of Aldi and Lidl, which only offer between 2,000 and 3,000 lines. For instance, Tesco used to offer 28 tomato ketchups while in Aldi there is just one in one size; Tesco offered 224 kinds of air freshener, Aldi only 12 – which, to my mind, is still at least 11 too many.

Now Lewis is doing something else to make shopping less of an ordeal and thereby, he hopes, reducing Tesco’s calamitous losses. He has introduced a trial in 50 stores to make it easier and quicker to shop for the ingredients for meals. Basmati rice next to Indian sauces, tinned tomatoes next to pasta.

What Lewis is doing to Tesco is revolutionary. Not just because he recognises that customers are time constrained, but because he realises that increased choice can be bad for you and, worse, result in losses that upset his shareholders.

Scrapping 30,000 products ... Tesco chief executive Dave Lewis is streamlining the supermarket experience. Photograph: Neil Hall/Reuters

But the idea that choice is bad for us flies in the face of what we’ve been told for decades. The standard line is that choice is good for us, that it confers on us freedom, personal responsibility, self-determination, autonomy and lots of other things that don’t help when you’re standing before a towering aisle of water bottles, paralysed and increasingly dehydrated, unable to choose. That wasn’t how endless choice was supposed to work, argues American psychologist and professor of social theory Barry Schwartz in his book The Paradox of Choice. “If we’re rational, [social scientists] tell us, added options can only make us better off as a society. This view is logically compelling, but empirically it isn’t true.”

Consider posh jams. In one study cited by Schwartz, researchers set up two displays of jams at a gourmet food store for customers to try samples, who were given a coupon for a dollar off if they bought a jar. In one display there were six jams, in the other 24: 30% of people exposed to the smaller selection bought a jam, but only 3% of those exposed to the larger selection did.

Now consider – and there’s no easy way to say this – your pension options. Schwartz found that a friend’s accounting firm was offering 156 different retirement plans. Schwartz noted that there was a shift of responsibilities from employer to employee in this seemingly benign transfer of choice: “When the employer is providing only a few routes to retirement security, it seems important to take responsibility for the quality of those routes. But when the employer takes the trouble to provide many routes, then it seems reasonable to think that the employer has done his or her part. Choosing wisely among those options becomes the employees’s responsibility.”

Posh jam conundrum ... too many options can be baffling. Photograph: Graham Turner for the Guardian

But that’s the problem. Which of us, really, feels competent to choose between 156 varieties of pension plan? Who wouldn’t rather choose to lie in a bath of biscuits playing Minecraft? And yet, at the same time, we are certain that making a decision about our workplace pensions is an important one to get right. But instead of making that choice, Schwartz says, many defer it endlessly. One of his colleagues got access to the records of Vanguard, a gigantic mutual-fund company, and found that for every 10 mutual funds the employer offered, rate of participation went down 2% – even though by not participating, employees were passing up as much as $5,000 a year from the employer who would happily match their contribution.

But even if we do make a choice, Schwartz argues, “we end up less satisfied with the result of the choice than we would be if we had fewer options to choose from”. When there are lots of alternatives to consider, it is easy to imagine the attractive features of alternatives that you reject that make you less satisfied with the alternative that you’ve chosen.

Increased choice, then, can make us miserable because of regret, self-blame and opportunity costs. Worse, increased choice has created a new problem: the escalation in expectations. Consider jeans. Once there was only one kind, says Schwartz – the ill-fitting sort that, fingers-crossed, would get less ill-fitting once he wore and washed them repeatedly. Now, what with all the options (stone-washed, straight-leg, boot-fit, distressed, zip fly, button fly, slightly distressed, very distressed, knee-holed, thigh-holed, knee and thigh-holed, pretty much all holes and negligible denim), Schwartz feels entitled to expect that there is a perfect pair of jeans for him. Inevitably, though, when he leaves the store, he is likely to be less satisfied now than when there were hardly any options.

In the good old days there was just one kind of jeans ... Photograph: Ben Margot/AP

Schwartz’s suggestion is that, at a certain point, choice shifts from having a positive relationship with happiness to an inverse one. So, what’s the answer? “The secret to happiness is low expectations,” he says, sensibly.

No wonder, then, we aren’t happy. In the 10 years since Schwartz wrote his book, the ideology of unlimited choice has expanded into unlikely areas – schools, sex, parenting, TV – and expectations have risen as a result. Equally importantly, new tactics have developed to help consumers deal with the downsides of choice. For instance, Schwartz notes, there is an increasing reliance on recommendation engines to help people cope with choice. “The internet hath created a problem that it is now trying to solve,” he says.

One of the areas affected is dating. Relationships are being treated like any other product – online we can browse and compare prospective sexual partners.

“I think dating sites are now the most common path for meeting romantic partners, and the overwhelming amount of choice that dating sites have created is a real problem,” says Schwartz. One of those problems was noted by the comedian Aziz Ansari in his book Modern Romance. In it, a woman recounts meeting a man on the dating app Tinder, then spending the journey to their first date swiping through the service to see if anyone better was available. Failure to commit to a date or a relationship can itself be a choice – indeed, the sociology professor who helped Ansari with his book, Eric Klinenberg, wrote Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone to account for those who have stepped off the treadmill of dating, the nightmare of having more choice but less reason to choose. Hence, too, Japan’s soshoku danshi or herbivore men who, so corrupted by the endless choices offered by online pornography, are no longer interested in real sex or romantic relationships. Psychologist Philip Zimbardo fears that, thanks to how online pornography is offering more choices for masturbatory satisfactions, becoming more interactive and immersive, choosing real-life romantic relationships will become even less appealing.

BT vying with Sky for football coverage is good news, right? Not necessarily ... Photograph: Rex Shutterstock

There’s another problem with choice: it can be more apparent than real – that is, a seeming increase in choice masks the fact that you’re paying more for the same stuff you had before. My Guardian colleague Barney Ronay identified this when he considered football on TV recently. The ostensibly good news is that BT Sport is competing with Sky for football rights. It now exclusively shows European Champions League football, which should mean more choice, lower customer outlay and more joy, shouldn’t it? But if you are already a Sky Sports subscriber (or, perhaps more pertiniently, watched the free-to-air games on ITV), it means the opposite. If Barney wants to watch the same amount of football as last year, he will now have to pay more.

That sort of phenomenon repeats itself across TV more generally. To watch all the good stuff on TV now involves paying money in the form of monthly subscriptions to Amazon Prime, Netflix, Sky, BT and Blinkbox, as well as having a Freeview box. But who can afford that kind of outlay? A decade ago everything you could ever wish to watch was on Sky (if you were prepared, admittedly, to pay a monthly subscription to Murdoch). A decade before that, all good TV was on terrestrial, so once you had paid for the telly and the licence you were set. What is sold to us as increased choice has thus made us poorer and, if Ronay’s experience is anything to go by, more disappointed. As Ronay says: “for the captive consumer this isn’t really a proper choice at all, but an opportunity to spend the same and get less, or alternatively spend more and get the same.”

UK TV: how much does it cost to watch everything?



Anger at this state of affairs is comprehensible to anyone who lives in an advanced western society in 2015 and has to choose between mobile phone plans, schools, and water, gas and electricity suppliers – not to mention minimally distinguishable prospective dates. Admittedly these are the choices typical of decadent westerners in the era of late capitalism, but that thought doesn’t make the burden of choice any easier to bear.

Consider electricity, says Professor Renata Salecl, author of The Tyranny of Choice. “Privatisation of electricity did not bring the desired outcome – lesser prices, better service – however, it did contribute to the anxiety and feeling of guilt on the side of the consumers. We feel that it is our fault we are paying too much and we are anxious that a better deal is just around the corner. However, while we are losing valuable time doing research on which provider to choose, we then stop short of actually making the choice.”

So we do nothing, and corporations profit from this inertia.

All of this confounds the idea that human beings act in such a way that they maximise their wellbeing and minimise their pain. “People often act against their wellbeing. They also rarely make choices in a rational way.”

The political idea of allowing parents to choose between schools was to apply the presumed rigour of the market to education so that underperforming schools would improve or close. Standards would rise and formerly illiterate brats in key stage II would relax after double quantum physics by dancing around the maypole singing settings of Horace’s verse in Latin, just like in Michael Gove’s dreams.

 Education has become a consumer good, and could all go wrong ... Illustration from Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist. Mansell/Time Life Pictures/Getty Images

So education has become a consumer good, and my daughter’s is something I’m encouraged to think about as though it were a trip to the shops to buy shoes. Can I buy the best education for my daughter, possibly by moving house, lying about my real address or selling a kidney for private schooling? I’m not sure, but one thing I am becoming increasingly convinced of is what Salecl says: “Ideology that convinces us that everyone can make it if only he or she makes the right choice relies on blindness – we do not see that social constraints stop us making out of our lives what we wish for. And when we think about choice as a primarily individual matter, we also become blind about broader social, political choices.”

What she means, I think, is that the ideology of choice makes us forget that some things shouldn’t be bought and sold, and they are the most important things of all. What’s more, having made a decision, we don’t want to hear we have got our choices wrong. “We are constantly under the impression that life choices we made after careful planning should bring us expected results – happiness, security, contentment – and that with better choices, traumatic feelings that we have when dealing with loss, risk and uncertainty can be avoided.” No wonder, then, that Slacel’s most recent work is on the power of denial and ignorance. “When people are overwhelmed by choice and when they are anxious about it, they often turn to denial, ignorance and wilful blindness.”

Schwartz demurs, arguing that some extensions of choice can be a good thing. When I tell him about the preponderance of academies and free schools that, seemingly, increase choice for British parents, he says a similar phenomenon, charter schools, has arisen in the US. “There is something good about this, since public education in much of the US is dreadful, and competition might make it better. But there is no doubt it is stressing parents out big time.”

As with choosing a pension, choosing a school leaves scope for regret, shame and fear of missing out. And, in extremis, the terrifying sense that I might inadvertently choose an option that will mess up my daughter’s future.

Challenging the rhetoric of choice ... Jeremy Corbyn. Photograph: Mary Turner/Getty Images

In 2015, though, there are counter-tendencies to the stress-inducing extension of choice. Not only is Tesco reducing its number of products, but the new leader of the Labour party has just been elected on a political platform that, in part, challenges the rhetoric of choice. Jeremy Corbyn proposes to renationalise not just the rail network but public utilities (gas, electricity and water), partly in the hope that the reduction of choice will provide a fairer, less anxiety-inducing experience for their users.

Perhaps, Corbyn’s political philosophy suggests, what we need is not more choice, but less; not more competition but more monopolies. But before you counter with something along the lines of “Why don’t you go and live in North Korea, pinko?” consider this: Paypal founder Peter Thiel argues that monopolies are good things and that competition, often, doesn’t help either businesses or customers. “In the real world outside economic theory, every business is successful exactly to the extent that it does something others cannot. Monopoly is therefore not a pathology or an exception. Monopoly is the condition of every successful business.” Competition, in short, is for losers.

That, of course, doesn’t mean that successful capitalists like Thiel would be supporting Corbyn in his plan to recreate the state monopolies of yore or submit schools once more to local education control, but it does mean the rhetoric of choice and competition is at least being challenged and not only from the political left.

“At least we are talking about a political and economic choice,” says Salecl, “and are not simply following the ‘desires’ of the market.” Perhaps: if she’s right about that, then we are opting for something we haven’t done for a long time.

Change the law on limited liability to control boardroom greed

Boardroom greed: how to bring an errant multinational to heel

Changing the law on limited liability is the nuclear option, but it could force errant firms to repent

• 
• • Larry Elliott
  • The Guardian, Friday 12 December 2014

'The banks, the ­multinational tech companies and the giants of the energy sector are even more powerful than the unions were four decades ago.' Photograph: Matthew Lloyd/Getty Images

Roll the clock back 36 years. It is December 1978 and the so-called winter of discontent is in its early stages. Over the next couple of months the papers will be full of stories about rubbish piling up in the streets and of cancer patients failing to receive treatment. Britain is gripped by widespread industrial action, but public support for strikes is crumbling.

A few months later, in May 1979, a new government arrives in power. Despite failed attempts in the recent past, it decides that something must be done to curb the power of organised labour. Self-regulation has failed, the administration of Margaret Thatcher decides. It is time to use the power of the state to end abuses.

Bit by bit over the next decade the trade unions are systematically weakened. When it comes to the crunch they are not nearly as powerful as they think they are.

So what is the difference between the trade unions in the 1970s and the big corporations today? If anything, the banks, the multinational tech companies and the giants of the energy sector are even more powerful than the unions were four decades ago. And like the unions of yesteryear, business has had opportunities to put its own house in order – and spurned them. For the union general secretary telling Harold Wilson or Jim Callaghan what his members will and will not wear, read the chief executive thumbing his nose at David Cameron or George Osborne.

Meanwhile, the list of corporate scandals is getting longer. We’ve had horsemeat passed off as beef; the rigging of the foreign exchange market; the mis-selling of payment protection insurance; aggressive tax avoidance through webs of offshore shell companies; sweetheart deals between multinationals and Luxembourg. Only yesterday, the Financial Conduct Authority said some pension companies were screwing pensioners by failing to provide them with the best deals on offer.

Meanwhile, the Federation of Small Businesses said a fifth of its member companies had been subject to the bullying demands of big corporations, with many pushed to breaking pointas a result.

Make no mistake, the scandals are damaging. After a parliament marked by times of austerity and falling living standards, trust in executives to do anything but look after their own selfish interests is at a low ebb. Energy companies and banks are as popular with the public as the trade unions were during the winter of discontent. A government that decided to curb corporate power would not lack support from the voters. Osborne’s “Google tax” on the diverted profits of multinationals was the single most popular policy in last week’s autumn statement.

There are, though, differences between now and 1979. One is that the big multinational companies are more powerful than the trade unions were. Another is that Thatcher had a clear idea about what she wanted, whereas today there is no real blueprint for reform.

All this week the Guardian has been trying to fill that vacuum. Our series on taming corporate power is designed to explode the myth that there is nothing that could be done to affect boardroom behaviour. It’s not the ideas that are lacking, it’s the political will to persevere with a process that will be long and difficult.

Step number one should be to use the existing powers of the state, which even in this era of globalisation and footloose capital are considerable. Ministers can break up monopolies, insist that the investment arms of banks are severed from their retail operations and force companies to pay a living wage when they receive public contracts. They should use these powers and add to them. Pharmaceutical companies have to prove that any new drugs they market will not harm the public; the same test should be applied to new products developed by the financial sector.

Step number two involves redressing the imbalance of power between capital and labour. Those troubled by the growing gap between rich and poor, or by the relentless squeeze on wages since the recession, need look no further for an explanation than the decline in trade union power. Evidence shows that those workers still covered by collective agreements earn higher wages, so one possible reform would be to set up new tripartite bodies for wage bargaining in certain sectors, such as contract cleaning.

A future Labour government could also do worse than to dust down the Bullock report from 1977, which called for greater employee participation in the running of companies, for the need to build trust within organisations and for the desirability of Britain learning from the industrial models of other European countries, Germany in particular. This might be done voluntarily, with companies offered the incentive of lower corporation tax for each worker representative on the board, or by statute.

Lower corporation tax is, of course, hardly an incentive for those companies that are paying virtually no corporation tax in the first place. Osborne is rightly frustrated that some multinationals do billions of pounds of business in the UK but still declare nugatory profits, despite the steady reduction in corporation tax. So, step number three involves ensuring that companies pay what is due. The key here is for governments to insist on country-by-country reporting by the Googles and Amazons of this world, because this would ensure that all multinationals would have to declare the countries in which they operated, what the company is called in each location, its financial performance in each country it does business (including inter-company trade), and how much tax it pays to each government. Companies would have to abide by an international financial reporting standard and provide information for all tax jurisdictions. Shining a light on the murkier activities of multinational companies is vital.

Finally, there’s the nuclear option: stripping companies of the protection provided by limited liability. The owners, the shareholders and those running companies wield enormous power but don’t bear full responsibility for their actions because their liability is limited to the size of their investment in a company or partnership. But limited liability is a privilege not a right, and in return for granting it society should get something back in return. The argument the Thatcher government used when it said employers could sue unions for damages caused by strikes was that there was no such thing as a something-for-nothing world, and the same argument applies to companies.

The deal should be that companies get the protection limited liability provides in return for looking after all their stakeholders: the workers they employ, the customers they serve, the companies that form their supply chains, the taxpayers who pay for the transport infrastructure and the education system that businesses require. The deal should not be limited liability in return for boardroom greed, running rings round the taxman and breaking the law.

As Prem Sikka said in this series, any change to limited liability would be fiercely resisted. But even the suggestion of change would concentrate minds. Imagine, for example, that a future government set up a royal commission to look into the issue. Would this lead to companies treating their staff better and paying more tax? You bet it would.

Business giants walk off with our billions. No more something for nothing

The state has the powers to make business serve us better. A north London borough is leading the way

•  
• • Aditya Chakrabortty
  • The Guardian, Tuesday 9 December 2014

Illustration by Matt Kenyon

A few weeks ago, I had the disconcerting experience of sitting in a smart room full of clever people who sincerely held a silly idea. We had been gathered together by a big charity to discuss its research on inequality, and talk naturally turned to Britain’s free-market economy. Some praised the free market, others longed to reform it: all agreed it was central to the UK being one of the most unequal economies in the rich world.

The famous political philosopher worried whether the free market was eroding our ethics; the gentle wonk from a rightwing thinktank thought that tempering it would turn a dynamic economy into an arthritic one. The British people now saw themselves as free-marketeers, argued the strategist from a giant consultancy; try telling that to the Occupy protesters in Parliament Square, retorted the environmentalist at his elbow.

Economists, politicians, academics: all well read and well meaning. But what was this free market they each took for granted? It had nothing to do with the tap water in our glasses – that came from the local monopoly, Thames Water. Nor did it apply to the trains that delivered some of my fellow diners – many rail services face no direct competition.

And what about the lights and heating? Nearly three decades on from the start of liberalisation, 90% of the gas and electricity piped into our homes is still controlled by an oligopoly of six huge suppliers who contend for our custom by trying to bamboozle us with their tariffs.

Few conceits are more cherished by our political classes than the notion that this is a free-market economy. To the right it is what makes Britain great. For the left it is what they are up against. And for the rich it is what justifies their huge pay packets: after all, they have earned it.

When asked for his view of western civilisation, Gandhi said he thought it would be a very good idea. I feel much the same way about the free market: I’m genuinely curious to see what such a mythical beast looks like. But that term, however widely accepted and advertised, has little to do with today’s Britain. The economy most of us experience – everything from who collects our bins, to how we commute to work, to that new school attended by the kids – is often not a free market at all. Instead, it’s a bog of privately run monopolies; of public projects and services outsourced to businesses for years, even decades, at a time; and massive taxpayer subsidies handed to the corporate sector with fewer questions asked than of disabled people wondering where their living allowance has gone.

Grasp that, and the question of how to tame corporate power becomes easier to answer. If corporations rely on the public for a sizeable chunk of their revenues and power, then we should start asking what they are doing for us in return. Do businesses deserve the privileges given them by society?

You almost never hear this question from any politician. What you get instead is the kind of cant served up by David Cameron at last year’s Conservative conference: “It’s not the government that creates jobs. It’s businesses that get wages in people’s pockets, food on their tables, hope for their families and success for our country.”

Really? Cameron can’t be looking at the same economy as the rest of us. In Britain businesses take £85bn a year from the public in grants, subsidies, insurance schemes, preferential credit and government services. That’s the corporate welfare bill as totted up by Kevin Farnsworth, senior lecturer in social policy at the University of York, and he admits it’s on the conservative side. Add on the various subsidies for too-big-to-fail banks and you’re well in excess of a hundred billion. Nor does he include the most fundamental privilege society affords the investors in a business such as Tesco: that of limited liability, which means they only stand to lose the value of their shares, and no more. We could argue for limited liability, but let’s not pretend it’s anything less than a substantial underwriting of shareholder enterprises.

If it is business that gives, and government that takes, then how does Cameron account for privatisation and outsourcing? Take the farce that is the rail industry, where taxpayers stump up billions for the infrastructure and the upgrades, while tycoons such as Richard Branson and Brian Souter put in hardly any investment, and always have the option in hard times of walking away. That is what GNER did with the East coast mainline that the public had to step in and save – and which the government has justawarded to Branson and Souter.

The same wacky logic of low risk, low investment applies in outsourcing. G4S can’t provide the security for the Olympics, Serco can’t lay on the staff for an out-of-hours GP service in Cornwall – but never mind, both still get to bid and win more public sector work. Under this coalition the money spent on outsourcing has doubled to £88bn,creating a whole string of what Margaret Hodge at the public accounts committee calls “quasi-monopolies”.

The fashionable thing to say is that in a globalised economy states can’t keep up with businesses. That is to get the relationship the wrong way round. The reality is that states often give businesses their revenues and so their power. More than that: markets are created by states, who provide the infrastructure, the transports and the rule of law.

So let’s start asking businesses what they’ve done for us recently. If the state is going to subsidise the rail industry (and we will, until it’s eventually renationalised), ministers should insist not just on an intermittently punctual train service and a token contribution to the Treasury, but also better pay and conditions for staff, decent training, and a commitment to sourcing equipment in Britain.

This is what the Centre for Research in Socio-Cultural Change terms “social licensing” in its latest book, The End of the Experiment. The academics’ suggestions have been followed by one council in north London, Enfield. Officers and researchers sat down and worked out how much money its 300,000 residents sent the way of big businesses: 11 Tesco stores, for instance, provided the PLC with around £8m of its annual profit. And what did the area get back? Not very much, but the highlight included a community toilet scheme and some charitable giving from the supermarket’s corporate social responsibility department.

And so the council has started asking big businesses, such as utility firms, what they had done for Enfield recently. They’ve begun hassling banks to lend more to local businesses, the likes of British Gas to give more of their local work to local contractors with local staff – or run the risk of being named and shamed in the local press. It may sound small, but imagine if the same approach were taken by Holyrood or Cardiff – or by Westminster.

Taming corporate power: the key political issue of our age

Big business and its lobbyists have taken control of our politics. But there is an alternative. In the first of a new series, here’s how we can take on the fat cats

• 
• • George Monbiot
  • The Guardian, Monday 8 December 2014

Illustration by George Monbiot

Does this sometimes feel like a country under enemy occupation? Do you wonder why the demands of so much of the electorate seldom translate into policy? Why parties of the left seem incapable of offering effective opposition to market fundamentalism, let alone proposing coherent alternatives? Do you wonder why those who want a kind and decent and just world, in which both human beings and other living creatures are protected, so often appear to be opposed by the entire political establishment?

If so, you have encountered corporate power – the corrupting influence that prevents parties from connecting with the public, distorts spending and tax decisions, and limits the scope of democracy. It helps explain the otherwise inexplicable: the creeping privatisation of health and education, hated by the vast majority of voters; the private finance initiative, which has left public services with unpayable debts; the replacement of the civil service with companies distinguished only by incompetence; the failure to re-regulate the banks and collect tax; the war on the natural world; the scrapping of the safeguards that protect us from exploitation; above all, the severe limitation of political choice in a nation crying out for alternatives.

There are many ways in which it operates, but perhaps the most obvious is through our unreformed political funding system, which permits big business and multimillionaires in effect to buy political parties. Once a party is obliged to them, it needs little reminder of where its interests lie. Fear and favour rule.

And if they fail? Well, there are other means. Before the last election, a radical firebrand said this about the lobbying industry: “It is the next big scandal waiting to happen ... an issue that exposes the far-too-cosy relationship between politics, government, business and money ... secret corporate lobbying, like the expenses scandal, goes to the heart of why people are so fed up with politics.” That, of course, was David Cameron, and he’s since ensured that the scandal continues. His Lobbying Act restricts the activities of charities and trade unions but imposes no meaningful restraint on corporations.

Ministers and civil servants know that if they keep faith with corporations in office they will be assured of lucrative directorships in retirement. As head of HMRC, the UK government’s tax-collection agency, Dave Hartnett oversaw some highly controversial deals with companies such as Vodafone and Goldman Sachs, apparently excusing them from much of the tax they seemed to owe. He now works for Deloitte, which advises companies such as Vodafone on their tax affairs. As head of HMRC he met one Deloitte partner 48 times.

Corporations have also been empowered by the globalisation of decision-making. As powers, but not representation, shift to the global level, multinational business and its lobbyists fill the political gap. When everything has been globalised except our consent, we are vulnerable to decisions made outside the democratic sphere.

The key political question of our age, by which you can judge the intent of all political parties, is what to do about corporate power. This is the question, perennially neglected within both politics and the media, that this week’s series of articles will attempt to address. I think there are some obvious first steps.

A sound political funding system would be based on membership fees. Each party would be able to charge the same fixed fee for annual membership (perhaps £30 or £50). It would receive matching funding from the state as a multiple of its membership receipts. No other sources of income would be permitted. As well as getting the dirty money out of politics, this would force political parties to reconnect with the people, to raise their membership. It will cost less than the money wasted on corporate welfare every day.

All lobbying should be transparent. Any meeting between those who are paid to influence opinion (this could include political commentators like me) and ministers, advisers or civil servants should be recorded, and the transcript made publicly available. The corporate lobby groups that pose as thinktanks should be obliged to reveal who funds them before appearing on the broadcast media; and if the identity of one of their funders is relevant to the issue they are discussing, it should be mentioned on air.

Any company supplying public services would be subject to freedom of information laws (with an exception for matters deemed commercially confidential by the information commissioner). Gagging contracts would be made illegal, in the private as well as the public sector (with the same exemption for commercial confidentiality). Ministers and top officials should be forbidden from taking jobs in the sectors they were charged with regulating.

But we should also think of digging deeper. Is it not time we reviewed the remarkable gift we have granted to companies in the form of limited liability? It socialises the risks that would otherwise be carried by a company’s owners and directors, exempting them from the costs of the debts they incur or the disasters they cause, and encouraging them to engage in the kind of reckless behaviour that caused the financial crisis. Should the wealthy authors of the crisis, such as RBS chief Fred Goodwin or Northern Rock’s Matt Ridley, not have incurred a financial penalty of their own?

We should look at how we might democratise the undemocratic institutions of global governance, as I suggested in my book The Age of Consent. This could involve dismantling the World Bank and the IMF, which are governed without a semblance of democracy, and cause more crises than they solve, and replacing them with a body rather like the international clearing union designed by John Maynard Keynes in the 1940s – whose purpose was to prevent excessive trade surpluses and deficits from forming, and therefore international debt from accumulating.

Instead of treaties brokered in opaque meetings (of the kind now working towards atransatlantic trade and investment partnership) between diplomats and transnational capital – which threaten democracy, the sovereignty of parliaments and the principle of equality before the law – we should demand a set of global fair trade rules. Multinational companies should lose their licence to trade if they break them.

Above all, perhaps, we need a directly elected world parliament, whose purpose would be to hold other global bodies to account. In other words, instead of only responding to an agenda set by corporations, we must propose an agenda of our own.

This is not only about politicians, it is also about us. Corporate power has shut down our imagination, persuading us that there is no alternative to market fundamentalism, and that “market” is a reasonable description of a state-endorsed corporate oligarchy.

We have been persuaded that we have power only as consumers, that citizenship is an anachronism, that changing the world is either impossible or best effected by buying a different brand of biscuits. Corporate power now lives within us. Confronting it means shaking off the manacles it has imposed on our minds.