Showing posts with label rich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rich. Show all posts
Tuesday, 21 May 2024
Wednesday, 10 April 2024
Tuesday, 20 February 2024
Sunday, 11 February 2024
Tuesday, 19 December 2023
The world’s richest countries in 2023
From The Economist
Comparing the wealth of nations is harder than you might think. Countries with lots of people tend to have bigger economies, but that does not mean that individual incomes are high. Dollar income per person is the most common metric for sorting countries into rich and poor, but it does not account for international differences in prices. Nor does it account for how many hours people have to work to earn their wage. To provide a fuller picture, The Economist has created a global rich list using the latest available data on three measures: dollar income per person, adjusted income for local prices (known as purchasing-power parity, or ppp), and income per hour worked. See where each country ranks below.
The findings show how fickle economics can be. Take America. Its gdp is by far the largest at market exchange rates. But its income per person is only the seventh highest in the world, and eighth when adjusting for local prices. When accounting for the long workdays and limited holiday, it drops to 11th. China—the world’s second-largest economy in nominal terms—comes 65th by gdp per person and 96th by hours worked. Other countries with gruesome work cultures also see big shifts: South Korea ranks 31st on our first measure and 30th on our second, but 47th on our third.
In much of western Europe the trend goes in the opposite direction: places such as Belgium, Germany and Sweden fly up the rankings when their lower prices or enviable work-life balance are taken into account. Wages in Luxembourg go the furthest in local prices. And Norway has the world’s highest average income per hour worked. (See the top 20 countries in the chart above.)
These calculations will be imprecise. ppp conversions, for example, struggle to capture differences in the quality of goods and services. Methods for calculating hours worked may differ; it is especially hard to estimate them for poor countries with large informal sectors (read our full methodology here). And the data from some countries cannot be trusted. Some countries (notably China) have very high savings rates, so even their ppp-adjusted gdp per hour will not reflect their living standards. The ranking also captures people’s average incomes (what they earn), not their assets (what they already have). But the comparison offers a more complete assessment of the world’s richest countries than a focus on any single measure—it shows where your money goes furthest, and where long hours may not always pay off.
Sunday, 17 September 2023
It’s a tragedy of modern plutocratic Britain: if you want to rise, follow the Piers Morgan playbook
George Monbiot in The Guardian
It was one of the abiding mysteries of public life. How did Piers Morgan rise so far? I see him as a buffoon, a bully, a windbag. Yet, despite scandals that would have killed most people’s careers, he rose like a methane bubble in a slurry lagoon, occupying some of the most prestigious and lucrative positions in the media. This week, reflecting on the life and abuses of the plutocrat Mohamed Al Fayed, Private Eye magazine produced an explanation. It came from Morgan himself, writing about Fayed in 1999. “I’ve always made it a strict rule in life to ingratiate myself with three categories of people: newspaper owners, potential newspaper owners and billionaires. And since Mohamed Al Fayed is a billionaire and would love to own a newspaper, sucking up to him seems an extremely sensible move.”
The strategy is not unusual. But voicing it is. Morgan expressed the unspoken rule of public life out loud. If you want to get ahead, grovel to billionaires, especially those who own the media. The obvious coda to the rule is: “because they are the people with real power”.
Plenty of rules are broken without consequence. You can appear on the BBC while hiding your financial interests, breaking its editorial guidelines, as long as you are channelling the demands of the very rich. You can breach parliamentary rules without punishment – by lying, or by failing to update your register of interests, or by taking a second job without clearance when your ministerial career ends – as long as you remain a loyal servant of big money. But Morgan’s Rule is the one that must not be broken. If you are a political party and you want a sniff at power, if you are a commentator who wants to appear on the BBC, you must observe it. Otherwise you will be vilified or excluded.
It was one of the abiding mysteries of public life. How did Piers Morgan rise so far? I see him as a buffoon, a bully, a windbag. Yet, despite scandals that would have killed most people’s careers, he rose like a methane bubble in a slurry lagoon, occupying some of the most prestigious and lucrative positions in the media. This week, reflecting on the life and abuses of the plutocrat Mohamed Al Fayed, Private Eye magazine produced an explanation. It came from Morgan himself, writing about Fayed in 1999. “I’ve always made it a strict rule in life to ingratiate myself with three categories of people: newspaper owners, potential newspaper owners and billionaires. And since Mohamed Al Fayed is a billionaire and would love to own a newspaper, sucking up to him seems an extremely sensible move.”
The strategy is not unusual. But voicing it is. Morgan expressed the unspoken rule of public life out loud. If you want to get ahead, grovel to billionaires, especially those who own the media. The obvious coda to the rule is: “because they are the people with real power”.
Plenty of rules are broken without consequence. You can appear on the BBC while hiding your financial interests, breaking its editorial guidelines, as long as you are channelling the demands of the very rich. You can breach parliamentary rules without punishment – by lying, or by failing to update your register of interests, or by taking a second job without clearance when your ministerial career ends – as long as you remain a loyal servant of big money. But Morgan’s Rule is the one that must not be broken. If you are a political party and you want a sniff at power, if you are a commentator who wants to appear on the BBC, you must observe it. Otherwise you will be vilified or excluded.
‘Since Mohamed Al Fayed is a billionaire and would love to own a newspaper, sucking up to him seems an extremely sensible move,’ wrote Piers Morgan in 1999. Photograph: Reuters
Morgan and journalists like him are members of the concierge class, which provides a wide range of services to economic power. Some of them, such as editors of the billionaire media and the junktanks of Tufton Street, specialise in translating the outrageous demands of oligarchs and corporations into what looks like political common sense, or in attacking plutocrats’ critics or transferring blame for their impacts on to immigrants, the Labour party and other customary scapegoats.
Some of them, such as lobbyists, specialise in reputation-laundering: brokering deals between grim plutocrats and cultural institutions – universities, museums, opera houses, charities – which, in return for lavish donations, will name faculties, professorships, galleries, funds and prizes after their sponsors, transforming violent kleptocrats into pillars of society.
Others, including lawyers, accountants, bankers and wealth managers, specialise in hiding and washing their money, buying them special visas, or suing and hounding their critics. This is why organised crime loves London. It takes advantage of both England’s ultra-permissive financial laws and its ultra-repressive libel laws.
The government is always ready to help. In 2021, while Rishi Sunak was chancellor of the exchequer, lawyers acting for Yevgeny Prigozhin, the late brutal chief of Russia’s Wagner mercenary group, applied to the Treasury for permission to override the sanctions against him, so that he could sue the investigative journalist Eliot Higgins. Sunak’s Treasury granted the special licences they requested and even approved sanctions-busting flights to St Petersburg so they could plan their legal attack.
In this way a few dozen people, assisted by thousands of concierges, can dominate our lives. The system we call democracy is a mere patina, sticky and dimpled, on the surface of oligarchic power.
There are many ways in which economic power translates into political power, and none of them are good for us. The most obvious is campaign finance: the sponsorship not only of political parties but of entire systems of political thought and action. These transactions muscle the interests of society out of politicians’ minds. Some of them are enormous. Last year, the US website the Lever exposed a $1.3bn (£1bn) transfer of money from a little-known billionaire, Barre Seid, to a new political advocacy group run by an ultraconservative. How can mere citizens compete?
Morgan and journalists like him are members of the concierge class, which provides a wide range of services to economic power. Some of them, such as editors of the billionaire media and the junktanks of Tufton Street, specialise in translating the outrageous demands of oligarchs and corporations into what looks like political common sense, or in attacking plutocrats’ critics or transferring blame for their impacts on to immigrants, the Labour party and other customary scapegoats.
Some of them, such as lobbyists, specialise in reputation-laundering: brokering deals between grim plutocrats and cultural institutions – universities, museums, opera houses, charities – which, in return for lavish donations, will name faculties, professorships, galleries, funds and prizes after their sponsors, transforming violent kleptocrats into pillars of society.
Others, including lawyers, accountants, bankers and wealth managers, specialise in hiding and washing their money, buying them special visas, or suing and hounding their critics. This is why organised crime loves London. It takes advantage of both England’s ultra-permissive financial laws and its ultra-repressive libel laws.
The government is always ready to help. In 2021, while Rishi Sunak was chancellor of the exchequer, lawyers acting for Yevgeny Prigozhin, the late brutal chief of Russia’s Wagner mercenary group, applied to the Treasury for permission to override the sanctions against him, so that he could sue the investigative journalist Eliot Higgins. Sunak’s Treasury granted the special licences they requested and even approved sanctions-busting flights to St Petersburg so they could plan their legal attack.
In this way a few dozen people, assisted by thousands of concierges, can dominate our lives. The system we call democracy is a mere patina, sticky and dimpled, on the surface of oligarchic power.
There are many ways in which economic power translates into political power, and none of them are good for us. The most obvious is campaign finance: the sponsorship not only of political parties but of entire systems of political thought and action. These transactions muscle the interests of society out of politicians’ minds. Some of them are enormous. Last year, the US website the Lever exposed a $1.3bn (£1bn) transfer of money from a little-known billionaire, Barre Seid, to a new political advocacy group run by an ultraconservative. How can mere citizens compete?
‘Rishi Sunak’s administration, run by an oligarch for oligarchs, produces assurances that it will close economic crime loopholes, then subtly tweaks the legislation to keep them open.’ Photograph: Dan Kitwood/PA
Financial power also ensures that the rules supposed to stop economic crime and the laundering of its proceeds contain loopholes wide enough for a superyacht to sail through. For the past few months, members of the House of Lords have been battling to remove the obvious get-out clauses from the economic crime bill passing through parliament. The government has thwarted it at every turn. In the debate on Monday, the Conservative peer Lord Agnew – the very opposite of a radical firebrand – complained that “the government continue to say one thing and then do something different”. Sunak’s administration, run by an oligarch for oligarchs, produces heart-thumping assurances that it will close the loopholes, then subtly tweaks the legislation to keep them open.
Money’s might ensures that its environmental impacts are unrestrained. Recently, I was told about a multimillionaire who had intended to fly in his private jet to a luxury resort, only to change his mind at the last minute and decide to go to a different place, with a shorter landing strip. The plane was too heavy to land there, so it sat on the tarmac and burnt off $15,000 of fuel before setting out. Sunak treats the UK as a flyover state, travelling by helicopter and private jet to places he could easily reach by train. Kylie Jenner and Floyd Mayweather zip about on private flights of less than 20 minutes. Each of them negates the efforts of thousands of ordinary mortals to live within the limits of a habitable planet.
But these specific impacts fail to capture the aggregate effect: the remarkable way in which society comes to reflect the demands of the ultra-rich. Almost everyone in public life accepts the same set of preposterous beliefs. That economic growth can continue indefinitely on a finite planet; that the unhindered acquisition of enormous fortunes by a few is acceptable, even commendable; that they should be allowed to own as much natural wealth as their money permits; that there’s nothing objectionable about a few offshore billionaires owning the media and setting the political agenda; that anyone who disputes such notions has no place in civil society. We are free to speak, up to but not beyond this point: the point on which everything hangs.
Morgan’s maxim is not just the unspoken rule. It is also the unspeakable truth. Everyone knows it, hardly any will mention it. It underpins our august institutions, our legal codes, our manners and mores. It is the great silence we need to break.
Financial power also ensures that the rules supposed to stop economic crime and the laundering of its proceeds contain loopholes wide enough for a superyacht to sail through. For the past few months, members of the House of Lords have been battling to remove the obvious get-out clauses from the economic crime bill passing through parliament. The government has thwarted it at every turn. In the debate on Monday, the Conservative peer Lord Agnew – the very opposite of a radical firebrand – complained that “the government continue to say one thing and then do something different”. Sunak’s administration, run by an oligarch for oligarchs, produces heart-thumping assurances that it will close the loopholes, then subtly tweaks the legislation to keep them open.
Money’s might ensures that its environmental impacts are unrestrained. Recently, I was told about a multimillionaire who had intended to fly in his private jet to a luxury resort, only to change his mind at the last minute and decide to go to a different place, with a shorter landing strip. The plane was too heavy to land there, so it sat on the tarmac and burnt off $15,000 of fuel before setting out. Sunak treats the UK as a flyover state, travelling by helicopter and private jet to places he could easily reach by train. Kylie Jenner and Floyd Mayweather zip about on private flights of less than 20 minutes. Each of them negates the efforts of thousands of ordinary mortals to live within the limits of a habitable planet.
But these specific impacts fail to capture the aggregate effect: the remarkable way in which society comes to reflect the demands of the ultra-rich. Almost everyone in public life accepts the same set of preposterous beliefs. That economic growth can continue indefinitely on a finite planet; that the unhindered acquisition of enormous fortunes by a few is acceptable, even commendable; that they should be allowed to own as much natural wealth as their money permits; that there’s nothing objectionable about a few offshore billionaires owning the media and setting the political agenda; that anyone who disputes such notions has no place in civil society. We are free to speak, up to but not beyond this point: the point on which everything hangs.
Morgan’s maxim is not just the unspoken rule. It is also the unspeakable truth. Everyone knows it, hardly any will mention it. It underpins our august institutions, our legal codes, our manners and mores. It is the great silence we need to break.
Thursday, 18 May 2023
Saturday, 18 March 2023
Wednesday, 18 January 2023
Monday, 12 December 2022
Privilege doesn't start with The Rich
Janan Ganesh in The FT
There is a standard-issue Russian tycoon called Dimitry on board the yacht. There is a social klutz who is something in tech. There is, in a gallant stab at originality, an arms-trading couple in the November of their lives.
When a storm sinks this ship of fools, beaching them on an island, the dominion of passengers over crew starts to flip. You see, the rich are all thumbs when it comes to survival skills. The toilet attendant can harpoon fish and make fires. (Poor people famously attend Navy Seals camp when young.) Watch her become queen of the island. Watch a male model give her some loving for extra rations.
Triangle of Sadness, while an unworthy Palme d’Or winner, whacks the super-rich entertainingly enough. But here’s a thing. I too have a cleaner. And that puts me in a minority of the public. I dine out most nights, and with some fussiness, which further narrows the economic company that I keep. Last month, I incurred a £25 surcharge rather than keep an appointment with a Sky crew who were coming to install a dish. I couldn’t be bothered to race home from coffee with a friend and it was losable cash.
I am just 'upper middle class'. But my life is one of late-Roman decadence next to that of the median earner. If you are a corporate lawyer (not even a partner) so is yours. If you send your children to a private school, or live in the catchment area of an acclaimed state one, so, most likely, is yours.
Much too much is made of the super-rich. And it is made by an upper middle class that is hardly more in touch with the national average. Take it from a social climber of some aptitude. Take it from a veteran of (I reckon) each household income decile since the age of five. The inflection point on the economic scale comes much earlier than you think. Something dramatic happens between, say, £30,000 a year and £130,000: a sharper change in the texture of life than occurs between the second number and a million. The first jump affects what you can do. The second tends to affect merely how.
The upper middle class can rent in nice districts of world-class cities. The rich can buy there. The average can do neither. The upper middle class can fly to another continent. The rich can fly business. The average must plan and economise to do either. Having passed through the same universities, the upper middle class and the rich are often of a cultural feather. Diplomat can speak unto hedgie. How often does either befriend a nongraduate Band 5 NHS nurse? Or marry one?
The obsession with a small overclass distorts public life in all sorts of ways. One is a sort of innumerate confusion in politics. No, you won’t fund the welfare state of your dreams by squeezing plutocrats alone. (Nordic taxes ask a lot of the merely well-off.) And no, inheriting £800,000 of property isn’t normal.
Another is bad art, the kind that fancies itself subversive but spares most of its audience. There is always a painting or video installation nowadays about the cupidity of those able to buy it. That the curator, the agent and even the front-of-house team live lives of pure exotica next to the national average gets lost in the righteous gaze up at the one per cent of the one per cent.
This is where Triangle goes wrong. In having to reach so far up the income scale to find bad behaviour, the film achieves the opposite effect of its intended anti-elitism. It absolves everyone south of the Coutts current account income threshold.
If Ruben Östlund, the director, thinks the mistreatment of service staff is peculiar to the super-rich, I have a film proposal for him about the cafés of London. Opening scene: the press-ganging of a waitress as auxiliary childcare by yuppie parents. When the upper middle class are rude, it is precisely because they have to try to put distance between themselves and the service class. With the richest, the gap is too obvious to need underlining. At times, it seems, good manners do cost something.
Friday, 22 July 2022
Rich Indians turn secessionist, giving up citizenship. ‘Nationalism’ poor man’s burden
There are some obvious explanations for the rich and endowed Indians, who benefit the most from Indian democracy, leaving their own country writes Dilip Mondal in The Print
Successful Indians are giving up their Indian passport. What started as a trickle, now involves a much bigger volume. In 2020-21, 1.63 lakh Indians renounced their citizenship to take up foreign citizenship. This number is double compared to where it stood five years ago. The US was the preferred destination in 2021. Over 78,000 Indians acquired the American citizenship. Other preferred destinations are also mostly western countries — Australia (23,533), Canada (21,597), UK (14,637), Italy (5,986) and so on.
The question is why are these people giving up the Indian passport at a time when we are entering the ‘Amrit Kaal’, the nomenclature Narendra Modi government is using to define the period between India’s 75th Independence Day and the 100th in 2047? Don’t they love India and the Indian flag? Why are they opting to be adopted sons and daughters?
The obvious reasons
One thing is for sure: this is not a push migration. Barring exceptions, the people who decided to move are highly educated, rich and privileged. They are not making this choice because they are persecuted, or there is famine or civil war in India.
According to a report of by the London-based global citizenship and residence advisory Henley & Partners (H&P), around 8,000 High Networth Individuals or HNIs will leave India this year. And this is the exodus of the rich and educated.
There are some obvious explanations for the rich and endowed Indians, who benefited most from the Indian democracy, to be giving up citizenship. The most common explanation is that the grass is greener on the other side. Pursuit of economic gains can be a big reason for such decisions. Quality of life is also better in the West and pollution is less menacing.
Another possible reason is that, in countries like the UAE and Singapore, individual tax rates are lower than India.
When the Modi government decided to crack down on black money and tax evaders, many Indians had applied this trick — let family members remain abroad for 182 or more days. This, by rule, made them “non-residents” with foreign accounts and businesses, which could be used by family members to stash money.
Affirmative action policies in India are also blamed for the exodus of Indians and that gives a hint that which social group is mostly migrating. The Economist has written in one of its commentaries that the Brahmins are forced to leave the country because of affirmative-action policies in India. Though this argument doesn’t hold good because affirmative action is only for the government jobs, which constitutes a miniscule percentage of the entire job market. In high-paying jobs, that percentage is further reduced.
Many may also be converting their H1B visas because India doesn’t allow dual citizenship.
Having the ‘means’ to an ‘end’
My explanation for this exodus from the status of being an Indian citizen is twofold. One, successful Indians already have strong secessionist tendencies and two, they leave because only such people have means to leave.
If we check the urban elite spaces, we can easily see those secessionist tendencies of the rich. Their colonies or apartments have their own security systems, reverse osmosis water supply, private power generator sets, and even private recreational spaces. These colonies, in a way, function as separate micro nations. Their interaction with the State is manifested only when some crime or calamity happens. Most of these colonies are gated communities and RWAs are like a government there. In many metropolitan towns, RWAs in elite colonies erect gates at public roads and limit access to public parks and other government facilities.
In this case, there is a class in India that has actually become “independent” or “autonomous.” This class almost never uses government hospitals or educational facilities. It’s a big problem that they have to breathe the same air, but air purifiers have solved this problem also. Covid-19 proved to be a leveller when the elites were forced to share these spaces with the underclass, but that is one of exceptions. Under normal circumstances, there is a separate private infrastructure to cater to their requirements. This class goes abroad to spend holidays. This class sends their kids to the schools affiliated to international boards. Global citizenship and global village is not some distant idea or concept for them. There are people in India who live these concepts and migrate at the first opportunity.
Being part of this group is not at all bad. The fact is that the underclass aspires to enter these spaces not as trespassers but as legitimate members. Rich people are their role models. I am of the view that this aspiration is good and brings hope. ‘Satisfaction’ or ‘contentment’ is the word I hate. Only problem is that the Nehruvian Model of socialism never facilitated such transitions for the masses. Because of the extremely slow growth of the Indian economy in the formative decades of the nation, socialism became a model to distribute poverty. There was, in fact, not much to trickle down. The entrepreneurial potential of the nation was curbed.
I am not blaming any person for that economic catastrophe. Early years after Independence were tumultuous and the decision makers must be keeping many factors while making economic decisions. But we must admit that the State socialism model failed to produce a big middle class. Rather, large masses remained poor and lacked capacity to uplift their life. In rural India, by and large, the feudal structure continued. As contribution of agriculture in the GDP declined and population load on the agrarian economy did not reduce substantially, rural prosperity remained elusive for a large swath of masses. Despite change in course in economic policy in the 1990s, the size of Indian middle class continued to remain small. This should be a matter of utmost concern for the present policy makers. Increase in the size of the middle class is important as this will democratise the process of migration. This is an opportunity which should be available to one and all.
This brings us to the second question.
As granting citizenship in the western world, especially in the top-5 destinations for Indians, has been tightened over the years, one must have a certain financial and educational threshold to migrate to these countries. That threshold itself will put this group in the top one per cent of the Indian population. Especially, in the US, which accounts for almost 50 per cent of Indians migrating, H1B visa or other modes of long-term and permanent residency is mostly given to the highly skilled and highly paid individuals. This restriction acts as a barrier for most Indians to even think of migrating to that country.
In any case, as rich Indians are picking foreign passports and others are probably dreaming to renounce their Indian citizenship at the first opportunity, the sanctimoniousness of discourses like ‘national pride’ and ‘love for one’s own nation’ should be reframed.
With India integrating with the global economies, the national boundaries may blur more and more. Till then, the poor and underclass in India has to carry the burden of flag-waving nationalistic pride. Their role models are leaving.
Successful Indians are giving up their Indian passport. What started as a trickle, now involves a much bigger volume. In 2020-21, 1.63 lakh Indians renounced their citizenship to take up foreign citizenship. This number is double compared to where it stood five years ago. The US was the preferred destination in 2021. Over 78,000 Indians acquired the American citizenship. Other preferred destinations are also mostly western countries — Australia (23,533), Canada (21,597), UK (14,637), Italy (5,986) and so on.
The question is why are these people giving up the Indian passport at a time when we are entering the ‘Amrit Kaal’, the nomenclature Narendra Modi government is using to define the period between India’s 75th Independence Day and the 100th in 2047? Don’t they love India and the Indian flag? Why are they opting to be adopted sons and daughters?
The obvious reasons
One thing is for sure: this is not a push migration. Barring exceptions, the people who decided to move are highly educated, rich and privileged. They are not making this choice because they are persecuted, or there is famine or civil war in India.
According to a report of by the London-based global citizenship and residence advisory Henley & Partners (H&P), around 8,000 High Networth Individuals or HNIs will leave India this year. And this is the exodus of the rich and educated.
There are some obvious explanations for the rich and endowed Indians, who benefited most from the Indian democracy, to be giving up citizenship. The most common explanation is that the grass is greener on the other side. Pursuit of economic gains can be a big reason for such decisions. Quality of life is also better in the West and pollution is less menacing.
Another possible reason is that, in countries like the UAE and Singapore, individual tax rates are lower than India.
When the Modi government decided to crack down on black money and tax evaders, many Indians had applied this trick — let family members remain abroad for 182 or more days. This, by rule, made them “non-residents” with foreign accounts and businesses, which could be used by family members to stash money.
Affirmative action policies in India are also blamed for the exodus of Indians and that gives a hint that which social group is mostly migrating. The Economist has written in one of its commentaries that the Brahmins are forced to leave the country because of affirmative-action policies in India. Though this argument doesn’t hold good because affirmative action is only for the government jobs, which constitutes a miniscule percentage of the entire job market. In high-paying jobs, that percentage is further reduced.
Many may also be converting their H1B visas because India doesn’t allow dual citizenship.
Having the ‘means’ to an ‘end’
My explanation for this exodus from the status of being an Indian citizen is twofold. One, successful Indians already have strong secessionist tendencies and two, they leave because only such people have means to leave.
If we check the urban elite spaces, we can easily see those secessionist tendencies of the rich. Their colonies or apartments have their own security systems, reverse osmosis water supply, private power generator sets, and even private recreational spaces. These colonies, in a way, function as separate micro nations. Their interaction with the State is manifested only when some crime or calamity happens. Most of these colonies are gated communities and RWAs are like a government there. In many metropolitan towns, RWAs in elite colonies erect gates at public roads and limit access to public parks and other government facilities.
In this case, there is a class in India that has actually become “independent” or “autonomous.” This class almost never uses government hospitals or educational facilities. It’s a big problem that they have to breathe the same air, but air purifiers have solved this problem also. Covid-19 proved to be a leveller when the elites were forced to share these spaces with the underclass, but that is one of exceptions. Under normal circumstances, there is a separate private infrastructure to cater to their requirements. This class goes abroad to spend holidays. This class sends their kids to the schools affiliated to international boards. Global citizenship and global village is not some distant idea or concept for them. There are people in India who live these concepts and migrate at the first opportunity.
Being part of this group is not at all bad. The fact is that the underclass aspires to enter these spaces not as trespassers but as legitimate members. Rich people are their role models. I am of the view that this aspiration is good and brings hope. ‘Satisfaction’ or ‘contentment’ is the word I hate. Only problem is that the Nehruvian Model of socialism never facilitated such transitions for the masses. Because of the extremely slow growth of the Indian economy in the formative decades of the nation, socialism became a model to distribute poverty. There was, in fact, not much to trickle down. The entrepreneurial potential of the nation was curbed.
I am not blaming any person for that economic catastrophe. Early years after Independence were tumultuous and the decision makers must be keeping many factors while making economic decisions. But we must admit that the State socialism model failed to produce a big middle class. Rather, large masses remained poor and lacked capacity to uplift their life. In rural India, by and large, the feudal structure continued. As contribution of agriculture in the GDP declined and population load on the agrarian economy did not reduce substantially, rural prosperity remained elusive for a large swath of masses. Despite change in course in economic policy in the 1990s, the size of Indian middle class continued to remain small. This should be a matter of utmost concern for the present policy makers. Increase in the size of the middle class is important as this will democratise the process of migration. This is an opportunity which should be available to one and all.
This brings us to the second question.
As granting citizenship in the western world, especially in the top-5 destinations for Indians, has been tightened over the years, one must have a certain financial and educational threshold to migrate to these countries. That threshold itself will put this group in the top one per cent of the Indian population. Especially, in the US, which accounts for almost 50 per cent of Indians migrating, H1B visa or other modes of long-term and permanent residency is mostly given to the highly skilled and highly paid individuals. This restriction acts as a barrier for most Indians to even think of migrating to that country.
In any case, as rich Indians are picking foreign passports and others are probably dreaming to renounce their Indian citizenship at the first opportunity, the sanctimoniousness of discourses like ‘national pride’ and ‘love for one’s own nation’ should be reframed.
With India integrating with the global economies, the national boundaries may blur more and more. Till then, the poor and underclass in India has to carry the burden of flag-waving nationalistic pride. Their role models are leaving.
Friday, 22 April 2022
Beware the rich persons’ savings glut
Since the 1990s, the private share of national wealth has soared while public wealth has shrunk writes Gillian Tett in The FT
This week, as western governments pondered sending aircraft to Ukraine, the Kyiv government embarked on a novel financing step: it launched a website #buymeafighterjet to crowdsource donations for jets from the world’s mega-rich.
Once that might have seemed a laughably bizarre thing to do. But today it no longer appears quite so odd. Never mind the fact that events in Ukraine show we live in a world where networks, not institutions, wield power; today the ultra wealthy increasingly wield riches and power, with some billionaires controlling budgets comparable to those of small countries.
And while it is unclear whether #buymeafighterjet will deliver planes, the symbolism is worth noting. It highlights a trend that deserves far more attention from economists and political scientists alike — and in spheres that have nothing to do with war.
Consider one radically different context: this week’s World Economic Outlook report from the IMF. The message in this tome that grabbed most attention this week was that the world faces rising inflation, high debt and stalling growth — stagflation, in other words, although the IMF tactfully downplays that term.
But on page 62 of the report there was also an intriguing little sidebar about the “Saving Glut of the Rich”. A decade ago, the concept of a “savings glut” was something usually discussed in relation to China. When market interest rates plunged in the early 21st century, economists argued that rates were being suppressed because emerging market countries were recycling their vast export earnings into the financial system.
Or, as Ben Bernanke, former Federal Reserve chair, wrote in 2015: “A global excess of desired saving over desired investment, emanating in large part from China and other Asian emerging market economies and oil producers like Saudi Arabia,” had created a “global savings glut”.
But, this week, the IMF highlighted another, little-noticed contributing issue: the ultra-rich. It pointed out that a “substantial rise in saving at the very top of the income distribution in the United States over the past four decades . . . has coincided with rising household indebtedness concentrated among lower-income households and rising income inequality”.
And while economists used to look at this through an American lens, “the phenomenon may not be limited to the United States”, the Fund notes. It seems to be global. And since the rich cannot possibly spend all their wealth — unlike the poor, who usually do — this savings glut has almost certainly “contributed to the secular decline of the natural rate of interest”.
Moreover, while the IMF downplays this, the actions of western central banks have made the pattern worse. Years of quantitative easing have raised the value of assets held by the rich, thus expanding inequality — and with it the rich persons’ savings glut.
How much has this affected rates? In truth, no one knows, not least because information about this shadowy world of ultra wealth is sparse. Or, as the World Inequality Laboratory notes in its 2022 report: “We live in a data-abundant world and yet we lack basic information about inequality.”
Furthermore, western central bankers have limited incentive to study these issues too publicly, since many feel privately embarrassed that quantitative easing has made inequality worse.
But one sign of the trend can be found in the 2022 Wealth Inequality Index report: not only have the richest 1 per cent across the world apparently taken 38 per cent of all wealth gains since the mid 1990s, but also the private share of national wealth has soared, while public wealth has shrunk.
Another striking clue emanates from reports collated by Campden consultants, experts on the family office ecosystem. In 2019, they calculated that there were 7,300-odd family offices in the world, controlling $6tn in funds, a 38 per cent increase from 2017. Between 2020 and 2021, during the latest wave of QE, funds under management increased on average by 61 per cent.
It is possible that this trend in inequality will slow if QE — and with it asset inflation — comes to an end in 2022 and beyond. Or maybe not — as the IMF report also points out, a world of stagflation risks and rising rates is one that will hurt the indebted poor far more than it will the rich.
Either way, the pattern deserves far more debate among economists and political scientists. We need to know, for example, whether ultra-wealthy funds will step in to buy assets like Treasuries as central banks wind down QE.
The way family offices are contributing to a secular shift from public capital markets to private ones should get more attention — particularly since economists such as Mohamed El-Erian predict that this will accelerate in the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.
We also need to pay more attention to governance issues. The expanding private pots are generating innovative forms of philanthropy (which is good). But they can also subvert democracy via dark money donations (which is bad). Either way, #buymeafighterjet is one tiny symbol of an increasingly networked but unequal world. We ignore this at our peril.
Saturday, 16 April 2022
Friday, 25 February 2022
Thursday, 3 February 2022
Voters can be convinced China is defeated, but how do you convince jobless they’re earning?
Yogendra Yadav in The Print
It must have been hard for Nirmala Sitharaman. With all her sharp mind, sharper tongue and sharpest sense of political opportunity, it wouldn’t have been easy to manage the Narendra Modi government’s budget for 2022-23.
After all, she happens to be the finance minister of an economy fast approaching 5 trillion dollars GDP while the income of 80 per cent of the families to whom she was presenting the budget, has been declining for two years now. Most of them have had to dip into their savings or take out loans, just to survive. Unemployment is at its peak, triggering job riots in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar the week before.
Small-scale businesspersons — her party BJP’s traditional supporters — are in a bad shape, unable to recover from the triple whammy of demonetisation, GST, and lockdown. Besides, this budget was to be the moment of glory for the much-touted “doubling of farmers’ income” promise, which now seems only a few light years away, beyond the newly discovered ‘Amrit Kaal’.
Managing the art of hiding in plain sight
The finance minister also had the unenviable challenge of hiding a little elephant. The-elephant-that-must-not-be-named. As practically everyone’s income and wealth were suffering a decline, a prodigious child of Bharat Mata managed to defy all odds — the economic meltdown as well as the pandemic-induced lockdown — and emerge as glorious as Sitharaman made all of us feel in her budget speech. But why not? As the pandemic struck, this little elephant’s empire was worth Rs 66,000 crore. By the time the finance minister was presenting her budget, the same empire had grown to a little more than Rs 6.75 lakh crore. Another jewel in Bharat Mata’s crown is that the combined wealth of India’s top 100 billionaire families was one and a half times the size of the budget she was planning to present.
Then there were some minor money matters to be sorted. This was a little tricky, but nothing that could not be managed by a fine budget speech. Even before the pandemic had struck, the Modi government had been spending a few more trillions than it could earn. The Reserve Bank of India (RBI) had already been ‘robbed’ by the government, leaving little space to dip into. The finance minister even tried hard to sell the country’s property, but that also seems to not have earned much. And of course, taxing the rich was ruled out. The only option was to borrow further. But the interest payment on previous borrowings was already one-fifth of the entire expenditure.
As if all this was not enough, Sitharaman was placed in a country with “too much democracy” and “free” media . Perceptions have to be managed. People have to be managed. Orders have to be followed.
We must thank God for Economics and English. They make for such a lovely couple. Their charm obviates the bother of having to explain what goes on in the business of economy to those whose life it affects. Thankfully, though most of them consumed the information in one of the Indian languages, neither the budget nor the commentaries were thought through in those languages. English creates knowledge about the economy. Other languages disseminate this wisdom. English takes your attention away from the wretched everyday world of the ordinary people; they make a guest appearance in their costumes, just as ‘emerging economies’ do at Davos. The jargon of economics puts a gloss on the most painful and humiliating experience.
Be grateful, for you have support of lackeys
Nirmala Sitharaman must be grateful to the media. Ever since the Union Budget became a television spectacle, the more content is generated about the economy, the less we understand it. A small club of businessmen, all in awe or need or fear of the government, represent the economy. An even smaller club of English-speaking economists, mostly sarkari and darbari, or representing a business interest, represent knowledge about the economy. Thank God we have never heard of conflict of interest. And a set of anchors, ignorant or compromised or both, act as interlocutors. It makes for a perfect setting for a theatre of power.
No one makes much of a mismatch between the text of the budget speech and the numbers in the budget document, between past promises and present performance, between claims and truth. Remember the time when the Economic Survey numbers contradicted the data presented in the budget the very next day? Or the spontaneous manner in which the finance minister made up pandemic relief package figures on a daily basis? Or her imperious silence on the doubling of farmers’ income this year?
This is the theatre of power where everyone else feels awkward on the finance minister’s behalf, bending over backwards to find assumptions, theories and rationale underlying a series of disconnected assertions. If all of this is not enough to fill air time, the finance minister’s speech has a lot more — drones for farmers, old schemes renamed, old promises reinvented, acronyms – all that stuff which passes for news.
Democracies always have some trouble-makers. Like ours has the irreverent Ravish Kumar, the acerbic Rathin Roy or the predictable Jayati Ghosh. Thank God, there are enough trustworthy voices in the media to sideline such outliers. A few phone calls in the afternoon can tweak the agenda for evening panel discussion. And not to forget the ideologues who would remind you that creating jobs is not the job of the government, who can be trusted to rubbish the idea of taxing the super-rich.
Well, the media can be managed and more than half the job is done, but then comes the problem of political management. Now it certainly does seem to be ‘too much democracy’. There are voters to be persuaded and elections to be won. Here, Sitharaman needs something more than good English and bad Economics. TV channels can help you convince a voter that India has battered Chinese forces in Ladakh, but how do you convince an unemployed person that she is earning wages? How do you convince a farmer that their income has doubled? For that, you might have missed, we have a sharp political strategy and an even sharper electoral machine.
Uttar Pradesh is a case in point. The finance minister would certainly have had to announce something major for farmers or the unemployed youth, but thankfully that is not what this election is about. This election is about ‘Mr Jinnah’, the temples in Ayodhya and Varanasi and the “gunda raj” during the Samajwadi Party’s regime. Simple recipe: keep the Hindu-Muslim pot boiling, use money-media-muscle to stitch a careful caste coalition and let your good English take care of the bad economics. And if matters go out of hand, you can always throw in some additional ration and cash transfers.
Ain’t that tough? Like every TV expert, I must bow my head to Nirmala Sitharaman for managing a very difficult task. Final score? 8 out of 10, I guess.
Monday, 20 September 2021
Eat the rich! Why millennials and generation Z have turned their backs on capitalism
Owen Jones in The Guardian
The young are hungry and the rich are on the menu. This delicacy first appeared in the 18th century, when the philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau supposedly declared: “When the people shall have no more to eat, they will eat the rich!” But today this phrase is all over Twitter and other social media. On TikTok, viral videos feature fresh-faced youngsters menacingly raising their forks at anyone with cars that have start buttons or fridges that have water and ice dispensers.
So should the world’s billionaires – and fridge-owners – start sleeping with one eye open? Hardly. It’s clear that millennials (those born between the early 80s and the mid-90s) and zoomers (the following generation) are not really advocating violence. But it is also clear that this is more than just another viral meme.
The world’s most famous leftwing millennial, New York’s rebellious Democrat Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, neatly sums up the generation’s zeitgeist. If leftism often seems to be the preserve of socially awkward nerds – hi! – and shouty older white men, she is the totem of the cool kids who like their redistribution of wealth and power with a hefty side order of mainstream popular culture.
It doesn’t sit easily with some: when the congresswoman accepted a free invitation to the uber-exclusive Met Ball in a dress emblazoned with “Tax the rich”, even some leftists joined the right in puffed-up outrage. Whether you thought it was an audacious demand for the sickeningly rich to cough up at their own exclusive party – or a stunt compromised by taking place in a real-life version of The Hunger Games’s Capitol – it showed that elites can’t escape the young flexing their political muscles.
According to a report published in July by the rightwing thinktank the Institute for Economic Affairs (IEA), younger Britons have taken a decidedly leftwing turn. Nearly 80% blame capitalism for the housing crisis, while 75% believe the climate emergency is “specifically a capitalist problem” and 72% back sweeping nationalisation. All in all, 67% want to live under a socialist economic system.
With a seemingly hegemonic Tory party on a high after routing Corbynism, the IEA warned that the polling is a “wake-up call” for supporters of market capitalism. “The rejection of capitalism may be an abstract aspiration,” it says. “But so too was Brexit.” It’s a striking phenomenon on the other side of the Atlantic, too: a Harvard University study in 2016 found that more than 50% of young people in the heartland of laissez-faire economics reject capitalism, while a 2018 Gallup poll found that 45% of young Americans saw capitalism favourably, down from 68% in 2010.
Jack Foster, a 33-year-old bank worker from Salford, shows how lived experience has fed this disillusionment with capitalism. After he dropped out of university and worked in a call centre – a “horrible job” – the financial crash shaped his political attitudes, as they did for much of his generation. But housing loomed particularly large. “I was renting, thinking: ‘How will I ever be able to afford a house?’” he says. “My mum was a cleaner, my dad was disabled, and the people I knew who could afford a house got help off their parents. It wasn’t a case of having a job and saving up; you had to inherit money.”
Dating apps are another, less formal way of seeing where the wind blows. The apps have increasingly become no-go zones for Tory supporters. Given Labour had a 43-point lead among the under-25s in the last election – unlike in 1983, when the Tories had a nine-point lead among our youngest voters – the dating pools of the youthful true blue have shrunk. “No Tories – it’s a deal breaker”, “Absolutely no Tories (the left are sexier anyway, facts)”, “Swipe right if you vote left” and “Just looking for someone to hold hands with at the revolution” adorn profiles on Tinder, Hinge and Bumble.
Many of the young have concluded that an economic strategy that penalises them, coupled with a “culture war” that denigrates many of their deeply held values, amounts to a Tory declaration of war on their generation. Anyone who buys into that is, therefore, deemed profoundly unsexy.
For the IEA’s Kristian Niemietz, this is partly down to a “reputational change” for socialism. Once associated with “fringe groups”, he thinks it is now more “a fashion statement, definitely on social media, where people construct a socialist persona which they use for image purposes”. Where he agrees with the left is that an epic housing crisis should receive much of the blame for its renewed attractiveness.
“Whether you ask free marketeers, conservatives, centrists, the centre-left or socialists, all believe the UK has a housing crisis, that it’s a massive problem, but all have different answers about where it comes from and what to do about it,” he says. “If people are getting ripped off and think the market is rigged against them, the one way people can react to that is to generalise: ‘This is what capitalism is like – what the market is like’, making them more sympathetic to socialist ideas.”
Rather than a ‘property-owning democracy’, Britain looks more like a landlord’s paradise. Illustration: Jacky Sheridan/The Guardian
In the 80s, Margaret Thatcher’s ideological mentor Keith Joseph described the push for homeownership as resuming “the forward march of embourgeoisement which went so far in Victorian times”. The great hope, for many Thatcherites, was that the “right to buy” would transform Labour-voting council tenants into Tory-supporting homeowners, a view later echoed by either David Cameron or George Osborne, one of whom Nick Clegg recalled objecting to building more social housing on the grounds that “it just creates Labour voters”.
But rather than the “property-owning democracy” promised by Thatcherism, Britain looks more like a landlords’ paradise. By 2017, 40% of the homes flogged off under right to buy were owned by private landlords charging twice the rent of council properties. Indeed, in the space of two decades, the odds of a young adult on a middle income owning a home more than halved. These young people have been called generation rent, with about half of the under-35s in England renting in a private sector often defined by extortionate rents and insecurity.
Rents in England take up approaching half of a tenants’ take-home pay, and an astonishing 74.8% in London, up one-third since the century began. And if millennials bet the house, so to speak, on a parental lifeboat, disappointment beckons: the typical inheritance age is between 55 and 64, and the median amount handed down is about £11,000, meaning half receive less.
There is no rational reason, of course, for the young to defend this economic system. According to a 2019 poll by the charity Barnardo’s, two-thirds of under-25s believe their generation will be worse off than their parents. Keir Milburn, an academic and the author of Generation Left – which argues widespread leftist sympathies among the young are a modern phenomenon bred by economic conditions – says this pessimism is new. “For someone born in the 60s who came into adulthood, there was a sense of optimism, that things will be better,” he says. “It’s the Enlightenment, modernist attitude that things will get better, society will always generally progress. Now it’s just [the author] Steven Pinker who thinks this.”
David Horner, 30, a charity worker in London, began feeling disenchanted with the prevailing system when he was at university. Now he has a child on the way, he worries about the world he’s bringing them into. From working with younger people from poorer communities to listening to the experiences of friends working in crisis-ridden health and education services, he’s in no doubt about the problem. “But we’re told this is the apex, the best we can get as a political economic system, and any alternative – even if it’s seemingly not that radical – just gets pushed away, that this is the way things have to be,” he says. “As I’ve got older, there’s that unfortunate feeling that you don’t want to accept the way things are, but there’s so much power, and corporations and people with vested interests in capitalism and the way the economy works at the moment.”
A generation was told that it was important to go to university to have a salary you could live on. But the earnings gap between graduates and non-graduates has fallen substantially and, despite England’s graduates accruing a student debt of £40,280 in 2020, more than one-third of employed Britons with a degree work in non-graduate jobs. In the years that followed the financial crash, and austerity in particular, it was the wages of young workers that fell the most in a protracted living-standards squeeze without precedent since the Victorian era.
Formal education plus economic insecurity is a heady mix, but it’s not the only phenomenon at play. Non-academic routes to a secure standard of living have been stripped away, such as the skilled apprenticeships available to so many 16-year-old school leavers in the past. Young working-class voters were considerably more likely to vote Labour in 2017 than their middle-class counterparts.
But a profound existential question has led many young people to question the entire economic system. “I saw a post on Instagram the other day asking if you’d rather travel a hundred years backwards or forwards in time, and all the comments asked: ‘Are we even going to be around in a hundred years?’” says Haroon Faqir, a 22-year-old graduate. “Those comments sum up people my age and our attitudes towards the problems we face in a capitalist system.”
Emily Harris, 20, a student in London, says her biggest worry is that “there’s not even going to be a planet: we’ve got Jeff Bezos launching himself into space while Las Vegas runs out of water and half the world’s on fire. If these billionaires stopped making money they could solve all of these problems and still have billions in the bank.”
While much of the mainstream media offers little sympathy for the insecurities and aspirations of younger Britons, the internet has offered a political education. The journalist Chanté Joseph is 25, placing her in the borderlands between millennial and zoomer. “[The microblogging site] Tumblr radicalised me,” she says. “Reading about race, identity and class made me think: ‘This is all crazy,’ and opened my eyes.”
Many of her generation then migrated to Twitter and TikTok, she says, “where young people create a lot of political content that’s really personable and relatable. That’s why a lot of younger people feel more radical – it seems more normal when these ideas are explained in a way where you think: ‘How can you possibly disagree?’”
More than one-third of workers on zero-hours contracts – often not knowing how much they will be paid week to week – are under 25, while many others are in “bogus self-employment”, where they are registered as self-employed but are actually working on contract for one employer while deprived of rights such as a minimum wage or holiday pay. The free market would bring them freedom, they were told; instead it gifted them insecurity.
The sacrifices made by young people during the pandemic have further crystallised a sense of injustice. Hannah Baird, a 22-year-old student, grew up in Rotherham and has always felt dissatisfied by the status quo. Her fears about the climate emergency, and exposure to dissenting opinions on social media, strengthened her discontent. “During the pandemic it feels like a lot of blame has been put on young people for the cases,” she says. “I still have to pay the full tuition fees when exclusively doing online lessons for a year and a half, which feels like a slap in the face, and it always seems universities were the last to be mentioned in plans for unlocking. It just feels, in general, that the government don’t really care about our generation, like we’re left behind.”
That doesn’t mean the young have been transformed into committed revolutionary socialists, but of those millennials familiar with Karl Marx, half have a positive view of him, compared with 40% of generation X and just 20% of baby boomers.
In Beautiful World, Where Are You – the latest novel by the millennial author Sally Rooney – it’s not just the sex that is sexy. One of her characters mulls over how everyone is talking about communism. “When I first started talking about Marxism, people laughed at me,” they say. “Now it’s everyone’s thing.” While it’s probably not the backbone of the patter at newly bustling nightclubs in Newcastle or Cardiff, there’s no question that a post-cold war youth is far more open to this once roundly condemned 19th-century philosophy.
Many placed their faith in Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership to offer solutions to their economic grievances; recent polling suggests that younger Labour voters are nearly twice as likely to believe he would be a better leader than Keir Starmer.
Most young people are not immersed in radical literature, yet politicised zoomers and millennials leave an ideological footprint in their friendship groups. But this doesn’t mean the left should simply bank the two rising generations, waiting for demographics to eventually grant the political victory that has so far eluded them. As the economist James Meadway warned in a recent article, entitled Generation Left Might Not Be That Left After All, populist rightwing answers to their disenchantment might cut through. In France, many young people have swung to the far right; in the UK, few are members of trade unions, which historically help craft anti-capitalist attitudes; while some classically rightwing sentiments coexist with leftish attitudes among many young people.
The rich – whose wealth surged during the pandemic – remain uneaten. But it is clear that young people see no rational incentive to back a system that seems to offer little other than insecurity and crisis.
The young are hungry and the rich are on the menu. This delicacy first appeared in the 18th century, when the philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau supposedly declared: “When the people shall have no more to eat, they will eat the rich!” But today this phrase is all over Twitter and other social media. On TikTok, viral videos feature fresh-faced youngsters menacingly raising their forks at anyone with cars that have start buttons or fridges that have water and ice dispensers.
So should the world’s billionaires – and fridge-owners – start sleeping with one eye open? Hardly. It’s clear that millennials (those born between the early 80s and the mid-90s) and zoomers (the following generation) are not really advocating violence. But it is also clear that this is more than just another viral meme.
The world’s most famous leftwing millennial, New York’s rebellious Democrat Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, neatly sums up the generation’s zeitgeist. If leftism often seems to be the preserve of socially awkward nerds – hi! – and shouty older white men, she is the totem of the cool kids who like their redistribution of wealth and power with a hefty side order of mainstream popular culture.
It doesn’t sit easily with some: when the congresswoman accepted a free invitation to the uber-exclusive Met Ball in a dress emblazoned with “Tax the rich”, even some leftists joined the right in puffed-up outrage. Whether you thought it was an audacious demand for the sickeningly rich to cough up at their own exclusive party – or a stunt compromised by taking place in a real-life version of The Hunger Games’s Capitol – it showed that elites can’t escape the young flexing their political muscles.
According to a report published in July by the rightwing thinktank the Institute for Economic Affairs (IEA), younger Britons have taken a decidedly leftwing turn. Nearly 80% blame capitalism for the housing crisis, while 75% believe the climate emergency is “specifically a capitalist problem” and 72% back sweeping nationalisation. All in all, 67% want to live under a socialist economic system.
With a seemingly hegemonic Tory party on a high after routing Corbynism, the IEA warned that the polling is a “wake-up call” for supporters of market capitalism. “The rejection of capitalism may be an abstract aspiration,” it says. “But so too was Brexit.” It’s a striking phenomenon on the other side of the Atlantic, too: a Harvard University study in 2016 found that more than 50% of young people in the heartland of laissez-faire economics reject capitalism, while a 2018 Gallup poll found that 45% of young Americans saw capitalism favourably, down from 68% in 2010.
Jack Foster, a 33-year-old bank worker from Salford, shows how lived experience has fed this disillusionment with capitalism. After he dropped out of university and worked in a call centre – a “horrible job” – the financial crash shaped his political attitudes, as they did for much of his generation. But housing loomed particularly large. “I was renting, thinking: ‘How will I ever be able to afford a house?’” he says. “My mum was a cleaner, my dad was disabled, and the people I knew who could afford a house got help off their parents. It wasn’t a case of having a job and saving up; you had to inherit money.”
Dating apps are another, less formal way of seeing where the wind blows. The apps have increasingly become no-go zones for Tory supporters. Given Labour had a 43-point lead among the under-25s in the last election – unlike in 1983, when the Tories had a nine-point lead among our youngest voters – the dating pools of the youthful true blue have shrunk. “No Tories – it’s a deal breaker”, “Absolutely no Tories (the left are sexier anyway, facts)”, “Swipe right if you vote left” and “Just looking for someone to hold hands with at the revolution” adorn profiles on Tinder, Hinge and Bumble.
Many of the young have concluded that an economic strategy that penalises them, coupled with a “culture war” that denigrates many of their deeply held values, amounts to a Tory declaration of war on their generation. Anyone who buys into that is, therefore, deemed profoundly unsexy.
For the IEA’s Kristian Niemietz, this is partly down to a “reputational change” for socialism. Once associated with “fringe groups”, he thinks it is now more “a fashion statement, definitely on social media, where people construct a socialist persona which they use for image purposes”. Where he agrees with the left is that an epic housing crisis should receive much of the blame for its renewed attractiveness.
“Whether you ask free marketeers, conservatives, centrists, the centre-left or socialists, all believe the UK has a housing crisis, that it’s a massive problem, but all have different answers about where it comes from and what to do about it,” he says. “If people are getting ripped off and think the market is rigged against them, the one way people can react to that is to generalise: ‘This is what capitalism is like – what the market is like’, making them more sympathetic to socialist ideas.”
Rather than a ‘property-owning democracy’, Britain looks more like a landlord’s paradise. Illustration: Jacky Sheridan/The GuardianIn the 80s, Margaret Thatcher’s ideological mentor Keith Joseph described the push for homeownership as resuming “the forward march of embourgeoisement which went so far in Victorian times”. The great hope, for many Thatcherites, was that the “right to buy” would transform Labour-voting council tenants into Tory-supporting homeowners, a view later echoed by either David Cameron or George Osborne, one of whom Nick Clegg recalled objecting to building more social housing on the grounds that “it just creates Labour voters”.
But rather than the “property-owning democracy” promised by Thatcherism, Britain looks more like a landlords’ paradise. By 2017, 40% of the homes flogged off under right to buy were owned by private landlords charging twice the rent of council properties. Indeed, in the space of two decades, the odds of a young adult on a middle income owning a home more than halved. These young people have been called generation rent, with about half of the under-35s in England renting in a private sector often defined by extortionate rents and insecurity.
Rents in England take up approaching half of a tenants’ take-home pay, and an astonishing 74.8% in London, up one-third since the century began. And if millennials bet the house, so to speak, on a parental lifeboat, disappointment beckons: the typical inheritance age is between 55 and 64, and the median amount handed down is about £11,000, meaning half receive less.
There is no rational reason, of course, for the young to defend this economic system. According to a 2019 poll by the charity Barnardo’s, two-thirds of under-25s believe their generation will be worse off than their parents. Keir Milburn, an academic and the author of Generation Left – which argues widespread leftist sympathies among the young are a modern phenomenon bred by economic conditions – says this pessimism is new. “For someone born in the 60s who came into adulthood, there was a sense of optimism, that things will be better,” he says. “It’s the Enlightenment, modernist attitude that things will get better, society will always generally progress. Now it’s just [the author] Steven Pinker who thinks this.”
David Horner, 30, a charity worker in London, began feeling disenchanted with the prevailing system when he was at university. Now he has a child on the way, he worries about the world he’s bringing them into. From working with younger people from poorer communities to listening to the experiences of friends working in crisis-ridden health and education services, he’s in no doubt about the problem. “But we’re told this is the apex, the best we can get as a political economic system, and any alternative – even if it’s seemingly not that radical – just gets pushed away, that this is the way things have to be,” he says. “As I’ve got older, there’s that unfortunate feeling that you don’t want to accept the way things are, but there’s so much power, and corporations and people with vested interests in capitalism and the way the economy works at the moment.”
A generation was told that it was important to go to university to have a salary you could live on. But the earnings gap between graduates and non-graduates has fallen substantially and, despite England’s graduates accruing a student debt of £40,280 in 2020, more than one-third of employed Britons with a degree work in non-graduate jobs. In the years that followed the financial crash, and austerity in particular, it was the wages of young workers that fell the most in a protracted living-standards squeeze without precedent since the Victorian era.
Formal education plus economic insecurity is a heady mix, but it’s not the only phenomenon at play. Non-academic routes to a secure standard of living have been stripped away, such as the skilled apprenticeships available to so many 16-year-old school leavers in the past. Young working-class voters were considerably more likely to vote Labour in 2017 than their middle-class counterparts.
But a profound existential question has led many young people to question the entire economic system. “I saw a post on Instagram the other day asking if you’d rather travel a hundred years backwards or forwards in time, and all the comments asked: ‘Are we even going to be around in a hundred years?’” says Haroon Faqir, a 22-year-old graduate. “Those comments sum up people my age and our attitudes towards the problems we face in a capitalist system.”
Emily Harris, 20, a student in London, says her biggest worry is that “there’s not even going to be a planet: we’ve got Jeff Bezos launching himself into space while Las Vegas runs out of water and half the world’s on fire. If these billionaires stopped making money they could solve all of these problems and still have billions in the bank.”
While much of the mainstream media offers little sympathy for the insecurities and aspirations of younger Britons, the internet has offered a political education. The journalist Chanté Joseph is 25, placing her in the borderlands between millennial and zoomer. “[The microblogging site] Tumblr radicalised me,” she says. “Reading about race, identity and class made me think: ‘This is all crazy,’ and opened my eyes.”
Many of her generation then migrated to Twitter and TikTok, she says, “where young people create a lot of political content that’s really personable and relatable. That’s why a lot of younger people feel more radical – it seems more normal when these ideas are explained in a way where you think: ‘How can you possibly disagree?’”
More than one-third of workers on zero-hours contracts – often not knowing how much they will be paid week to week – are under 25, while many others are in “bogus self-employment”, where they are registered as self-employed but are actually working on contract for one employer while deprived of rights such as a minimum wage or holiday pay. The free market would bring them freedom, they were told; instead it gifted them insecurity.
The sacrifices made by young people during the pandemic have further crystallised a sense of injustice. Hannah Baird, a 22-year-old student, grew up in Rotherham and has always felt dissatisfied by the status quo. Her fears about the climate emergency, and exposure to dissenting opinions on social media, strengthened her discontent. “During the pandemic it feels like a lot of blame has been put on young people for the cases,” she says. “I still have to pay the full tuition fees when exclusively doing online lessons for a year and a half, which feels like a slap in the face, and it always seems universities were the last to be mentioned in plans for unlocking. It just feels, in general, that the government don’t really care about our generation, like we’re left behind.”
That doesn’t mean the young have been transformed into committed revolutionary socialists, but of those millennials familiar with Karl Marx, half have a positive view of him, compared with 40% of generation X and just 20% of baby boomers.
In Beautiful World, Where Are You – the latest novel by the millennial author Sally Rooney – it’s not just the sex that is sexy. One of her characters mulls over how everyone is talking about communism. “When I first started talking about Marxism, people laughed at me,” they say. “Now it’s everyone’s thing.” While it’s probably not the backbone of the patter at newly bustling nightclubs in Newcastle or Cardiff, there’s no question that a post-cold war youth is far more open to this once roundly condemned 19th-century philosophy.
Many placed their faith in Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership to offer solutions to their economic grievances; recent polling suggests that younger Labour voters are nearly twice as likely to believe he would be a better leader than Keir Starmer.
Most young people are not immersed in radical literature, yet politicised zoomers and millennials leave an ideological footprint in their friendship groups. But this doesn’t mean the left should simply bank the two rising generations, waiting for demographics to eventually grant the political victory that has so far eluded them. As the economist James Meadway warned in a recent article, entitled Generation Left Might Not Be That Left After All, populist rightwing answers to their disenchantment might cut through. In France, many young people have swung to the far right; in the UK, few are members of trade unions, which historically help craft anti-capitalist attitudes; while some classically rightwing sentiments coexist with leftish attitudes among many young people.
The rich – whose wealth surged during the pandemic – remain uneaten. But it is clear that young people see no rational incentive to back a system that seems to offer little other than insecurity and crisis.
Friday, 2 April 2021
The Poor and the Covid vaccine
Achal Prabhala and Leena Menghaney in The Guardian
As the UK’s vaccination programme was “knocked off course” due to a delay in receiving five million doses of the AstraZeneca vaccine from India, a far more chilling reality was unfolding: about a third of all humanity, living in the poorest countries, found out that they will get almost no coronavirus vaccines in the near future because of India’s urgent need to vaccinate its own massive population.
It’s somewhat rich for figures in Britain to accuse India of vaccine nationalism. That the UK, which has vaccinated nearly 50% of its adults with at least one dose, should demand vaccines from India, which has only vaccinated 3% of its people so far, is immoral. That the UK has already received several million doses from India, alongside other rich countries such as Saudi Arabia and Canada, is a travesty.
The billions of AstraZeneca doses being produced by the Serum Institute in India are not for rich countries – and, in fact, not even for India alone: they are for all 92 of the poorest countries in the world.
Except they’re now being treated as the sovereign property of the Indian government.
How did we get here? Exactly one year ago, researchers at Oxford University’s Jenner Institute, frontrunners in the race to develop a coronavirus vaccine, stated that they intended to allow any manufacturer, anywhere, the rights to their jab. One of the early licences they signed was with the Serum Institute, the world’s largest vaccine manufacturer. One month later, acting on advice from the Gates Foundation, Oxford changed course and signed over exclusive rights to AstraZeneca, a UK-based multinational pharmaceutical group.
AstraZeneca and Serum signed a new deal. Serum would produce vaccines for all poor countries eligible for assistance by Gavi, the Vaccines Alliance – an organisation backed by rich countries’ governments and the Gates Foundation. These 92 nations together counted for half the world – or nearly four billion people. India’s fair share of these vaccines, by population, should have been 35%. However there was an unwritten arrangement that Serum would earmark 50% of its supply for domestic use and 50% for export.
The deal included a clause that allowed AstraZeneca to approve exports to countries not listed in the agreement. Some countries which asked for emergency vaccine shipments from Serum, including South Africa and Brazil, were justified: they had nothing else. Rich countries like the UK and Canada, however, which had bought up more doses than required to vaccinate their people, to the detriment of everyone else, had no moral right to dip into a pool of vaccines designated for poor countries.
Paradoxically, when South Africa and India asked the World Trade Organization to temporarily waive patents and other pharmaceutical monopolies so that vaccines could be manufactured more widely to prevent shortfalls in supply, among the first countries to object were the UK, Canada and Brazil. They were the very governments that would later be asking India to solve their own shortfalls in supply.
The deal did not include restrictions on what price Serum could charge, despite AstraZeneca’s pledge to sell its vaccine for no profit “during the pandemic”, which led to Uganda, which is among the poorest countries on Earth, paying three times more than Europe for the same vaccine. (An AstraZeneca spokesperson told Politico that the “price of the vaccine will differ due to a number of factors, including the cost of manufacturing – which varies depending on the geographic region – and volumes requested by the countries”.)
As it became clear that the western pharmaceutical industry could barely supply the west, let alone anywhere else, many countries turned to Chinese and Russian vaccines. Meanwhile, the Covax Facility – the Gavi-backed outfit that actually procures vaccines for poor countries – stuck to its guns and made deals exclusively with western vaccine manufacturers. From those deals, the AstraZeneca vaccine is now the only viable candidate it has. The bulk of the supply of this vaccine comes from Serum, and a smaller quantity from SK Bioscience in South Korea. As a result, a third of all humanity is now largely dependent on supplies of one vaccine from one company in India.
Cue the Indian government’s involvement. Unlike western governments, which poured billions into the research and development of vaccines, there is no evidence that the Indian government has provided a cent in research and development funding to the Serum Institute. (This did not stop it turning every overseas vaccine delivery into a photo-op.) The government then commandeered approval of every single Covax shipment sent out from Serum – even, according to one well-placed source within the institute, directing how many doses would be sent and when.
The Indian government has not publicly commented on its involvement in the vaccine shipments and has refused requests for comment.
Last month, faced with a surge in infections, the Indian government announced an expansion of its domestic vaccination programme to include 345 million people, and halted all exports of vaccines. About 60m vaccine doses have already been dispensed, and the government needs another 630m to cover everyone in this phase alone. One other vaccine is approved for use – Bharat Biotech’s Covaxin – but it is being produced and utilised in smaller quantities. As more vaccines are approved, the pressure on Serum might decrease. For now, however, the bulk of India’s vaccination goals will be met by just one supplier, which faces the impossible choice of either letting down the other 91 countries depending on it, or offending its own government.
The consequences are devastating. To date, 28m Covax Facility doses have been produced by Serum for the developing world – 10m of which went to India. The second largest shipment went to Nigeria, which received 4m doses, or enough to cover only 1% of its population. Given the new Indian government order of 100m doses, further supplies to countries like Nigeria may be delayed until July. And given the Indian government’s need of 500m more vaccine doses in the short run, that date could surely be pushed out even further.
This colossal mess was entirely predictable, and could have been avoided at every turn. Rich countries such as the UK, the US, and those of the EU, and rich organisations such as Covax should have used their funding of western pharmaceutical companies to nip vaccine monopolies in the bud. Oxford University should have stuck to its plans of allowing anyone, anywhere, to make its vaccine. AstraZeneca and Covax should have licensed as many manufacturers in as many countries as they could to make enough vaccines for the world. The Indian government should have never been effectively put in charge of the wellbeing of every poor country on the planet.
For years, India has been called “the pharmacy of the developing world”. It’s time to rethink that title. We will need many more pharmacies in many more countries to survive this pandemic.
As the UK’s vaccination programme was “knocked off course” due to a delay in receiving five million doses of the AstraZeneca vaccine from India, a far more chilling reality was unfolding: about a third of all humanity, living in the poorest countries, found out that they will get almost no coronavirus vaccines in the near future because of India’s urgent need to vaccinate its own massive population.
It’s somewhat rich for figures in Britain to accuse India of vaccine nationalism. That the UK, which has vaccinated nearly 50% of its adults with at least one dose, should demand vaccines from India, which has only vaccinated 3% of its people so far, is immoral. That the UK has already received several million doses from India, alongside other rich countries such as Saudi Arabia and Canada, is a travesty.
The billions of AstraZeneca doses being produced by the Serum Institute in India are not for rich countries – and, in fact, not even for India alone: they are for all 92 of the poorest countries in the world.
Except they’re now being treated as the sovereign property of the Indian government.
How did we get here? Exactly one year ago, researchers at Oxford University’s Jenner Institute, frontrunners in the race to develop a coronavirus vaccine, stated that they intended to allow any manufacturer, anywhere, the rights to their jab. One of the early licences they signed was with the Serum Institute, the world’s largest vaccine manufacturer. One month later, acting on advice from the Gates Foundation, Oxford changed course and signed over exclusive rights to AstraZeneca, a UK-based multinational pharmaceutical group.
AstraZeneca and Serum signed a new deal. Serum would produce vaccines for all poor countries eligible for assistance by Gavi, the Vaccines Alliance – an organisation backed by rich countries’ governments and the Gates Foundation. These 92 nations together counted for half the world – or nearly four billion people. India’s fair share of these vaccines, by population, should have been 35%. However there was an unwritten arrangement that Serum would earmark 50% of its supply for domestic use and 50% for export.
The deal included a clause that allowed AstraZeneca to approve exports to countries not listed in the agreement. Some countries which asked for emergency vaccine shipments from Serum, including South Africa and Brazil, were justified: they had nothing else. Rich countries like the UK and Canada, however, which had bought up more doses than required to vaccinate their people, to the detriment of everyone else, had no moral right to dip into a pool of vaccines designated for poor countries.
Paradoxically, when South Africa and India asked the World Trade Organization to temporarily waive patents and other pharmaceutical monopolies so that vaccines could be manufactured more widely to prevent shortfalls in supply, among the first countries to object were the UK, Canada and Brazil. They were the very governments that would later be asking India to solve their own shortfalls in supply.
The deal did not include restrictions on what price Serum could charge, despite AstraZeneca’s pledge to sell its vaccine for no profit “during the pandemic”, which led to Uganda, which is among the poorest countries on Earth, paying three times more than Europe for the same vaccine. (An AstraZeneca spokesperson told Politico that the “price of the vaccine will differ due to a number of factors, including the cost of manufacturing – which varies depending on the geographic region – and volumes requested by the countries”.)
As it became clear that the western pharmaceutical industry could barely supply the west, let alone anywhere else, many countries turned to Chinese and Russian vaccines. Meanwhile, the Covax Facility – the Gavi-backed outfit that actually procures vaccines for poor countries – stuck to its guns and made deals exclusively with western vaccine manufacturers. From those deals, the AstraZeneca vaccine is now the only viable candidate it has. The bulk of the supply of this vaccine comes from Serum, and a smaller quantity from SK Bioscience in South Korea. As a result, a third of all humanity is now largely dependent on supplies of one vaccine from one company in India.
Cue the Indian government’s involvement. Unlike western governments, which poured billions into the research and development of vaccines, there is no evidence that the Indian government has provided a cent in research and development funding to the Serum Institute. (This did not stop it turning every overseas vaccine delivery into a photo-op.) The government then commandeered approval of every single Covax shipment sent out from Serum – even, according to one well-placed source within the institute, directing how many doses would be sent and when.
The Indian government has not publicly commented on its involvement in the vaccine shipments and has refused requests for comment.
Last month, faced with a surge in infections, the Indian government announced an expansion of its domestic vaccination programme to include 345 million people, and halted all exports of vaccines. About 60m vaccine doses have already been dispensed, and the government needs another 630m to cover everyone in this phase alone. One other vaccine is approved for use – Bharat Biotech’s Covaxin – but it is being produced and utilised in smaller quantities. As more vaccines are approved, the pressure on Serum might decrease. For now, however, the bulk of India’s vaccination goals will be met by just one supplier, which faces the impossible choice of either letting down the other 91 countries depending on it, or offending its own government.
The consequences are devastating. To date, 28m Covax Facility doses have been produced by Serum for the developing world – 10m of which went to India. The second largest shipment went to Nigeria, which received 4m doses, or enough to cover only 1% of its population. Given the new Indian government order of 100m doses, further supplies to countries like Nigeria may be delayed until July. And given the Indian government’s need of 500m more vaccine doses in the short run, that date could surely be pushed out even further.
This colossal mess was entirely predictable, and could have been avoided at every turn. Rich countries such as the UK, the US, and those of the EU, and rich organisations such as Covax should have used their funding of western pharmaceutical companies to nip vaccine monopolies in the bud. Oxford University should have stuck to its plans of allowing anyone, anywhere, to make its vaccine. AstraZeneca and Covax should have licensed as many manufacturers in as many countries as they could to make enough vaccines for the world. The Indian government should have never been effectively put in charge of the wellbeing of every poor country on the planet.
For years, India has been called “the pharmacy of the developing world”. It’s time to rethink that title. We will need many more pharmacies in many more countries to survive this pandemic.
Saturday, 6 February 2021
Thursday, 17 December 2020
Are poor countries poor because of their poor people? Economic History in Small Doses 5
Girish Menon*
A bus driver in Mumbai gets paid around Rs.50 per hour
whereas his equivalent in
The main reason why John is paid 24 times more than
In other words, poor people from poor countries are usually able to hold their own against counterparts in rich countries. It is the rich from the poor countries who cannot do that. It is their relative low productivity that makes their country poor. So, instead of blaming their own poor for dragging the country down, the rich of the poor countries should ask themselves why they cannot pull up the productivity and innovation in their own country,
Of course, the rich in rich countries need not get smug. They are beneficiaries of economies with better technology, better organized firms, better institutions and better physical infrastructure. Warren Buffet expressed it best:
* Adapted from 23 Things they don’t tell you about Capitalism by Ha Joon Chang
Wednesday, 16 December 2020
Does the WTO help a poor nation become rich? Economic History in Small Doses 4
Girish Menon*
Today, when we look at the world that
we live in, we find that Huawei (a Chinese technology company) is being
subjected to a systematic campaign of defamation and discrimination among the
Non-discrimination
A country should not
discriminate between its trading partners and it should not discriminate
between its own and foreign products, services or nationals.
The question this article attempts to explore is whether the WTO’s purpose is compatible with the desire of developing countries to join the ranks of the developed world.
The globalisation rhetoric dictates that countries stick to what they are already good at (theory of comparative advantage). Stated bluntly, this means that poor countries are supposed to continue with their current engagement in low-productivity activities. But their engagement in those activities is exactly what makes them poor. If they wish to leave poverty behind they have do the more difficult things that bring them higher incomes. And the WTO’s non-discrimination principle stops them from improving their earning capabilities.
Unfortunately, poor countries are not allowed to adopt such time frames for developing their industries. The non-discrimination clause of the WTO demands that poor countries compete immediately with more advanced foreign producers, leading to the demise of their domestic firms before they can acquire new capabilities.
Like any other investment, investment in capability building is fraught with risk and does not guarantee success. Some countries make it and some don’t. And even the most successful countries will bungle things in certain areas.
However, economic development without investment in enhancing productive capabilities is a near impossibility.
* Adapted and simplified by the author from Ha Joon Chang's Bad Samaritans - The Guilty Secrets of Rich Nations & The Threat to Global Prosperity
** When GD Birla died his secretary tried to get him a seat in Vaikuntha. The Dwarapalaka (gatekeeper) asked the secretary to state the reason why GD should be let into heaven.
The secretary: ‘GD is one of the biggest industrialists in
Dwarapalaka: ‘Usually that involves doing acts which are not acceptable here. This is Vaikuntha; not some unquestioning tax haven for moneybags! Please let me know what he has done in the name of God’
The secretary: ‘GD has established many Birla temples all
over
Dwarapalaka: ‘Birla is worshipped in these temples. Not good enough!’
The secretary: ‘GD is the owner of Hindustan Motors’
Dwarapalaka: ‘I am confused. How is that a case for entering heaven?’
The secretary: ‘Because whenever someone gets into an Ambassador car he says “Oh God” and whenever someone reaches her destination she says “Thank God”.
Dwarapalaka: That has definitely advanced the cause of God. Please ask him to come in’
This anecdote was first narrated by the late Sharu Rangnekar. It has been modified by the author.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)