Understanding Al-Taqiyya

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Al-Taqiyya is an Islamic concept that allows Muslims to conceal their true beliefs or actions in certain situations, particularly when their safety or well-being is at risk. This practice is most commonly associated with Shia Islam but can also be found in some Sunni traditions. Al-Taqiyya is often misunderstood and misinterpreted, leading to misconceptions about its purpose and implications.

The primary idea behind al-Taqiyya is to protect oneself or others from harm, especially in situations where revealing one's true beliefs could lead to persecution, imprisonment, or even death. It's a strategy of self-preservation that doesn't necessarily involve deception for personal gain but rather for survival. Al-Taqiyya is not an obligation in Islam, but it becomes permissible when one's life or safety is threatened due to their religious beliefs.

Muslims practice al-Taqiyya primarily as a means of self-preservation in situations where their safety, well-being, or life is at risk due to their religious beliefs or identity. Al-Taqiyya allows individuals to conceal their true beliefs or practices temporarily in order to avoid harm, persecution, or danger. Here are some reasons why Muslims might practice al-Taqiyya:

1. Protection from Persecution: In certain historical and contemporary contexts, Muslims, particularly minority sects like Shia Muslims, have faced persecution and discrimination due to their beliefs. Al-Taqiyya enables them to protect themselves from harm by concealing their true religious affiliation or practices.

2. Maintaining Life and Safety: Al-Taqiyya can be used when an individual's life or physical safety is at stake. If openly identifying as a Muslim could lead to harm or danger, a person might choose to hide their religious identity temporarily until the threat subsides.

3. Preserving Harmony: In situations where revealing one's true beliefs could lead to conflict or tension within a community or family, al-Taqiyya might be practiced to maintain harmony and avoid unnecessary strife.

4. Living in Non-Muslim Societies: Muslims living in predominantly non-Muslim societies might choose to practice al-Taqiyya to avoid misunderstandings, discrimination, or potential backlash from the majority population.

5. Avoiding Extremist Threats: In some cases, Muslims might use al-Taqiyya to protect themselves from threats posed by extremist individuals or groups who target those they consider to be "heretical" or not adhering to their specific interpretation of Islam.

It's important to note that al-Taqiyya is not intended to promote deception or manipulation for personal gain. It is a practice rooted in the principle of protecting oneself or others from harm, particularly in situations where religious beliefs are under threat. Al-Taqiyya is not an obligation in Islam but is rather a concession allowed in cases of necessity. It is also a topic of debate among scholars, with differing opinions on when and how it should be applied.

Using the term "al-Taqiyya" to describe Pakistanis praising India or its economy would likely be an inappropriate and misleading application of the concept. Al-Taqiyya is primarily concerned with concealing one's true beliefs or practices in situations of danger or threat to protect oneself from harm. It is rooted in religious contexts and is not meant to describe casual behavior or actions.

When Pakistanis praise India or its economy, it can stem from a variety of reasons that have nothing to do with al-Taqiyya. People's opinions and behaviors are influenced by various factors, such as political considerations, personal experiences, economic analyses, diplomatic goals, or even genuine appreciation for certain aspects of another country.

It's important to avoid misusing or overgeneralizing concepts like al-Taqiyya to label behaviors that might have different motivations. Applying such terms inaccurately can perpetuate stereotypes and misunderstandings. Instead, it's better to approach people's actions and expressions with an open mind and seek to understand the complex factors that influence their perspectives.

Defining productivity in a pandemic may teach us a lesson

How should we measure the contribution of a teacher or a health worker during this crisis asks  DIANE COYLE in The FT 

One “P” word has been dominating economic policy discussions for some time now: not “pandemic”, but “productivity”. Now that coronavirus has dealt an unprecedented blow to economies everywhere, policymakers are asking how it will affect productivity at a national level. 

The long-term effects of Covid-19 are unknown — they depend on the length of time for which economic activity will have to be suspended. The longer lockdowns last, the greater the hit to output growth and increasing unemployment. 

Productivity — the output the economy gains for the resources and effort it expends — matters because it is what drives improvements in living standards: better health; longer lives; greater comfort. Investment, innovation and skills are the key ingredients, though the recipe is still a mystery.  

In the UK, the pandemic will certainly cause a short-term fall in private-sector productivity. This is not only because many people are unwell or struggling to work at home around children and pets, but also because of a sharp decline in output. Employment is falling too, but many businesses are keeping workers on their books so labour input will not decline by as much. In general, productivity falls when output falls. 

In the public sector, measuring productivity is hard. For services such as health and education, the Office for National Statistics looks at both activity and quality — such as the number of pupils and their exam grades, or the number of operations and health outcomes. But, at the best of times, these measures depend on other factors. 

How should we think of the productivity of a teacher preparing lessons for online delivery, with all the challenges that involves, and what will be the effect on pupils’ attainment? It is easy to think of new measures, such as the number of online lessons delivered, but hard to imagine pupil outcomes not suffering. 

As for medical staff, who would argue their productivity has not rocketed in recent weeks? But for many patients the outcomes that are measured will sadly be tragic. The biggest “productivity” boost may come from a new vaccine. 

Public investment in infrastructure or green technologies will ultimately help productivity, but financial pain may force businesses to retrench. Business investment in the UK has been sluggish anyway, falling in 2018 and rising just 0.6 per cent in 2019. It is hard to foresee anything other than a big fall from the £50m-or-so-a-quarter last year. 

Will supply chains unravel? The division of labour and specialisation that comes with outsourcing has driven gains in manufacturing productivity since the 1980s, but it depends on frictionless logistics and freight. Keeping that system going through lockdowns will take significant international co-ordination, which seems unlikely. 

Some recent work suggests that even quite small shocks can cause networks to fall apart. This one will reverberate as waves of contagion hit countries at varying times. One res­ponse would be for importing companies to diversify supply chains. A less benign one — in productivity terms — would be a shift to reshoring production at home. 

The pandemic and its aftermath will raise profound questions. Productivity involves a more-for-less (or, at least, more-for-the-same) mindset — hence the just-in-time systems and tight logistics operations. Companies may rethink the need for buffers as economic insurance. Inventories could rise, increasing business costs. Suppliers closer to home could be found, again at higher cost. 

Perhaps the definition of economic wellbeing will also change. Conventional economic output matters, as people now losing their incomes know all too well. But so do social support networks and fair access to services. Without them, everyone is more vulnerable. Prosperity is more than productivity.

If we’re serious about changing the world, we need a better kind of economics to do it

The pursuit of rapid growth won’t solve the huge challenges we face. A more honest, humane approach is the answer write Esther Duflo and Abhijit Banerjee (joint winners of the 2019 Nobel prize in economics) in The Guardian

  

Rubbish pickers at the municipal site in Maputo, Mozambique. Photograph: Gianluigi Guercia/AFP/Getty Images


In 2017, a poll in the UK asked: “Whose opinion do you trust the most when they talk about their field of expertise?” Nurses came first – 84% trust them. Politicians came last. Economists were second from bottom on 25%.This trust deficit is mirrored by the fact that the consensus of economists (when it exists) is often systematically different from the views of ordinary citizens. The Booth School of Business at the University of Chicago regularly asks a group of about 40 prominent academic economists their views on core economic topics. Working with the economist Stefanie Stantcheva, we ran a survey: we selected 10 of the questions that were asked of the Booth panel and put them to 10,000 Americans.

On most of these issues, our respondents were sharply at odds with economists. For example, every single member of the Booth panel disagreed with the proposition that “imposing new US tariffs on steel and aluminium will improve Americans’ wellbeing”. Only a third of our respondents shared their view. And the gap is not only because people are not informed of what economists think: telling them does not seem to change their opinion one bit.

Economists are often too wrapped up in models and methods, and sometimes forget where science ends and ideology begins

This is troubling, because questions of economics and economic policy are central to the present crisis. Is migration actually threatening the livelihoods of poor workers? Has international trade worsened inequality? Should we worry about the rise of artificial intelligence or celebrate it? Why are our societies becoming increasingly unequal, and what can we (or should we) do about it? How can society help all those people whom the markets leave behind?

Economists have a lot to say about these big issues: they study immigration to see what it does to wages, taxation to determine if it discourages enterprise, redistribution through social programmes to figure out whether it encourages sloth. They have long worried about what happens when nations trade. They have worked hard to understand why some countries grow and others don’t, and what, if anything, governments can do to help. They gather data on what makes people generous or wary, what makes a man leave home and migrate to a strange place, how social media plays on our prejudices. The most recent research often has surprising things to say about all these issues – especially to those used to the pat answers coming from old high school textbooks and TV “economists”.

It’s not that when economists and the public have different views the economists are always right. We, the economists, are often too wrapped up in our models and methods and sometimes forget where science ends and ideology begins. But good economics can be a source of hope – a way to understand what went wrong but also to explain how our world can be put back together, as long as we are honest in our diagnosis of the problems.

‘How can society help all those people whom the markets leave behind?’ A child wait for a plate of food at a soup kitchen in Salta province, Argentina. Photograph: Javier Corbalan/AP

For that to happen, we need to understand what undermines trust in economists. Part of the problem is that there is plenty of bad economics around. The self-proclaimed economists on TV and in the press – chief economist of Bank X or Firm Y – are, with important exceptions, primarily spokespeople for their firms’ economic interests, who often feel free to ignore the weight of the evidence. Moreover, they have a relatively predictable slant towards market optimism at all costs, which is what the public associates with economists in general. It does not help that there is a class of economists who make predictions about broad trends in the economy, which often turn out to be wrong.

Another part of the problem is that, especially in the UK and the US, a lot of the economics that has filtered into government thinking is the most beholden to orthodoxy, and the least able to pay attention to any fact that does not square with it. Economists are therefore naturally seen as those who keep repeating that regulations, taxes, and public spending all need to be slashed to let the market be, and that eventually everything will all “trickle down” to the poor, even as we watch inequality exploding.

But good economics is much less strident, and quite different. It is less like the hard sciences and more like engineering or plumbing: it breaks big problems into manageable chunks and tries to solve them with a pragmatic approach – a combination of intuition and theory, trial and acknowledged errors. Good economics starts with some facts that are troubling, makes some guesses based on what we already know about human behaviour and theories that have been shown to work, uses data to test those guesses, refines (or radically alters) its line of attack based on the new set of facts and, eventually, with some luck, gets to a solution.

We have spent our careers studying the poor, trying to apply this kind of experimental approach to the problems they face. Instead of relying on our intuition, or that of others, we set up large-scale, rigorous randomised controlled trials to understand what works, what does not work, and why. We are not alone: this movement has taken hold in economics. The Abdul Latif Jameel Poverty Action Lab (J-PAL), the network we co-founded in 2013, has 400 affiliated or invited researchers, and together they have finished or are working on nearly a thousand projects on topics as different as the impact of sleep on productivity and happiness, and the role of incentives for tax collectors.

 ‘Economists have a tendency to adopt a notion of wellbeing that is often too narrow – some version of income or material consumption.’ A homeless man outside Victoria Station in London. Photograph: Victoria Jones/PA

This work is starting to make a difference. To date, 400 million people have been touched by policies that J-PAL affiliates have shown to be effective. Just as importantly, although no single project offers a definitive answer, together they allow us to understand much better some of the mechanisms behind the persistence of poverty. While our own beat has mostly been the poor countries, there are many others doing good economics in countries like the US, which can help shed light on the big issues our societies are grappling with.

Economists have a tendency to adopt a notion of wellbeing that is often too narrow – some version of income or material consumption. Yet we know in our guts that a fulfilling life needs much more than that: the respect of the community, the comforts of family and friends, dignity, lightness, pleasure. The focus on income alone is not just a convenient shortcut – it is a distorting lens that has often led the smartest economists down the wrong path, and policymakers to the wrong decisions. This is a big part of what persuades so many of us that the whole world is waiting at the door to steal our well-paying jobs. It is what has led to a single-minded focus on restoring the western nations to some glorious past of rapid economic growth. It is also what makes the trade-off between the growth of the economy and the survival of the planet seem so stark.

A better conversation must start by acknowledging the deep human desire for dignity and human contact – and treating it not as a distraction but as a better way to understand each other, and to set ourselves free from what may appear to be unresolvable contradictions.

Restoring human dignity to its central place has the potential to set off a profound rethinking of economic priorities and the ways in which societies care for their members, particularly when they are in need. At the very least, this should help persuade some of the disaffected that economics is about them as well, and that we economists have useful contributions to make to the rebuilding that must happen.

The limits of using GDP

Keya Acharya in The Wire.In


Most countries swear by it. It is cited by newspapers, banks and business. Almost all prominent world political leaders have used the GDP (gross domestic product) to show their countries’ well-being. Prime Minister Narendra Modi and finance minister Arun Jaitley repeatedly use India’s apparently rising GDP to point to the country’s progress and as a defence tool against criticism.

GDP measures the monetary value of goods and services produced by a country, mostly for sale in markets. Though the concept had earlier beginnings, national income and a nation’s products were first created by American Nobel laureate Simon Kuznets of the US Department of Commerce in 1934, born due to the information gaps that led to the Great Depression.

By the 1940s, wartime planning led John Maynard Keynes of the British Treasury and Henry Morgenthau Jr. of the US Treasury to go further and develop the metric of measurement we now know as GDP.

The question now is, is the concept still relevant in today’s situation? There have been criticisms for decades, from prominent economists and academics, that GDP is inadequate in measuring development, not least of all by Nobel laureate Joseph Stiglitz together with Amartya Sen and Jean-Paul Fitoussi in their 2010 report Mismeasuring our Lives: Why GDP Doesn’t Add Up.

Stiglitz, Sen et al say that statistical concepts in GDP may be correct, but the system is fundamentally flawed in that is does not measure a country’s income distribution or the well-being of its citizens. They take the case of traffic jams (page 3 of their book’s summary) as an example: GDP may rise because of increased sale of cars and gasoline but does not take into account the impact of the overuse of these on the quality of life.

The case of Delhi’s air pollution, and its major connection to its use of diesel could well be an example for us. Six years ago, a World Bank report put India’s costs of air pollution and environmental destruction at $80 billion per year; the costs could well have increased in the intervening years. Stiglitz, Sen themselves have said that statistical measures which ignore air pollution will be an inaccurate estimate of citizen’s well-being.

Indeed, even Simon Kuznets, the original founder, had said over fifty years ago that to assess a nation’s welfare, economists need to ask not how much the economy is growing, but what is growing and for whom, points out Canadian political scientist Ronald Colman (co-architect of Bhutan’s Gross National Happiness index).

Robert Costanza of Australian National University says GDP ignores social costs, environmental degradation, income-inequality, something even the OECD’s (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development) head of national accounts, Francois Lequiller concurs.

The WEF has a new term called inclusive development index, to measure a country’s progress. In January 2018, India ranked 62nd out of 74 emerging economies in its development index, beaten by Sri Lanka, Nepal and Pakistan in its region for development progress.

Colman outlines the enormous failure of the GDP to account for the accelerating trends of resource depletion, species extinctions and increasing greenhouse gas emissions. The last 12 years have been the hottest in millennia; sea-levels will rise by a metre by 2100; forests have been decimated and overhunted, disappearing by 1% per year whilst 40% of the world’s tropical forests have already disappeared, he says. The impacts of these existing threats do not reflect in the GDP.

And yet, in spite of this wide array of prominent criticism by noted scholars, an alternative index of economic and overall well-being has not become mainstream. Stiglitz and Sen’s economic critique was commissioned by French President Nicholas Sarkozy in 2009; yet the 2015 Paris Agreement, signed in France and deemed a milestone in the global agreement on climate change mitigation measures by 195 countries, has no inclusion of anything that offers an alternative GDP system.

At an international gathering of journalists in Italy, late November 2017, which saw a panel of economic experts from around the world discussing alternative GDP issues, I asked American physicist Fritjof Capra, director of the Centre for Ecoliteracy at Berkeley, US, why there was such a gaping lack of the inclusion of alternative GDP measures in the Paris Agreement. Capra believed that the lack of civil society participation in this particular field was a major reason for its absence. Costanza said that the habit was hard to kick, equating the GDP system to an ‘addiction’, difficult to erase.

Colman believes the fundamental reason for an alternative measurement system not finding its rightful place is that it ‘threatens the short-term economic base’: “This is unpalatable in the political arena; who is willing to challenge this?” he asks. He does agree that civil society needs to be far more engaged to displace GDP as fundamental to measuring a country’s progress.

Costanza has looked at the UN’s 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) as an alternative system. The SDGs however, are not compulsory policy practice, merely a persuasion for nations to follow. They are also complex in their interrelatedness, making it all the more difficult to present as a binding guideline. Integrating some of these development measures into the current GDP system is not possible, says Colman.

The complexity is indeed enormous, which is one reason for there not being any unity amongst economists in pushing what should be a crucial system for gauging development.

Obviously then, we need to make ecological and development economics a compulsory, system for nations to follow. Some have already done it (New Zealand, Bhutan, UK; China has re-started green growth research). It needs political will and push.

Governments might well find their own interests served in moving to an alternative GDP and striking out on a new path.

Would basic incomes or basic jobs be better when robots take over?

Tim Harford in The Financial Times


We all seem to be worried about the robots taking over these days — and they don’t need to take all the jobs to be horrendously disruptive. A situation where 30 to 40 per cent of the working age population was economically useless would be tough enough. They might be taxi drivers replaced by a self-driving car, hedge fund managers replaced by an algorithm, or financial journalists replaced by a chatbot on Instagram. 

By “economically useless” I mean people unable to secure work at anything approaching a living wage. For all their value as citizens, friends, parents, and their intrinsic worth as human beings, they would simply have no role in the economic system. 

I’m not sure how likely this is — I would bet against it happening soon — but it is never too early to prepare for what might be a utopia, or a catastrophe. And an intriguing debate has broken out over how to look after disadvantaged workers both now and in this robot future. 

Should everyone be given free money? Or should everyone receive the guarantee of a decently-paid job? Various non-profits, polemicists and even Silicon Valley types have thrown their weight behind the “free money” idea in the form of a universal basic income, while US senators including Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, Cory Booker and Kirsten Gillibrand have been pushing for trials of a jobs guarantee. 

Basic income or basic jobs? There are countless details for the policy wonks to argue over, but what interests me at the moment is the psychology. In a world of mass technological unemployment, would either of these two remedies make us happy? 

Author Rutger Bregman describes a basic income in glowing terms, as “venture capital for everyone”. He sees the cash as liberation from abusive working conditions, and a potential launch pad to creative and fulfilling projects. 

Yet the economist Edward Glaeser views a basic income as a “horror” for the recipients. “You’re telling them their lives are not going to be ones of contribution,” he remarked in a recent interview with the EconTalk podcast. “Their lives aren’t going to be producing a product that anyone values.” 

Surely both of them have a point. A similar disagreement exists regarding the psychological effect of a basic jobs guarantee, with advocates emphasising the dignity of work, while sceptics fear a Sisyphean exercise in punching the clock to do a fake job. 

So what does the evidence suggest? Neither a jobs guarantee nor a basic income has been tried at scale in a modern economy, so we are forced to make educated guesses. 

We know that joblessness makes us miserable. In the words of Warwick university economist Andrew Oswald: “There is overwhelming statistical evidence that involuntary unemployment produces extreme unhappiness.” 

What’s more, adds Prof Oswald, most of this unhappiness seems to be because of a loss of prestige, identity or self-worth. Money is only a small part of it. This suggests that the advocates of a jobs guarantee may be on to something. 

In this context, it’s worth noting two recent studies of lottery winners in the Netherlands and Sweden, both of which find that big winners tend to scale back their hours rather than quitting their jobs. We seem to find something in our jobs worth holding on to. 

Yet many of the trappings of work frustrate us. Researchers led by Daniel Kahneman and Alan Krueger asked people to reflect on the emotions they felt as they recalled episodes in the previous day. The most negative episodes were the evening commute, the morning commute, and work itself. Things were better if people got to chat to colleagues while working, but (unsurprisingly) they were worse for low status jobs, or jobs for which people felt overqualified. None of which suggests that people will enjoy working on a guaranteed-job scheme. 

Psychologists have found that we like and benefit from feeling in control. That is a mark in favour of a universal basic income: being unconditional, it is likely to enhance our feelings of control. The money would be ours, by right, to do with as we wish. A job guarantee might work the other way: it makes money conditional on punching the clock. 

On the other hand (again!), we like to keep busy. Harvard researchers Matthew Killingsworth and Daniel Gilbert have found that “a wandering mind is an unhappy mind”. And social contact is generally good for our wellbeing. Maybe guaranteed jobs would help keep us active and socially connected.

The truth is, we don’t really know. I would hesitate to pronounce with confidence about which policy might ultimately be better for our wellbeing. It is good to see that the more thoughtful advocates of either policy — or both policies simultaneously — are asking for large-scale trials to learn more. 

Meanwhile, I am confident that we would all benefit from an economy that creates real jobs which are sociable, engaging, and decently paid. Grand reforms of the welfare system notwithstanding, none of us should be giving up on making work work better.

Aspirational parents condemn their children to a desperate, joyless life

George Monbiot in The Guardian


 

'But to what are we aspiring? A life that is better than our own, or worse?' Illustration by Andrzej Krauze

Perhaps because the alternative is too hideous to contemplate, we persuade ourselves that those who wield power know what they are doing. The belief in a guiding intelligence is hard to shake.

We know that our conditions of life are deteriorating. Most young people have little prospect of owning a home, or even of renting a decent one. Interesting jobs are sliced up, through digital Taylorism, into portions of meaningless drudgery. The natural world, whose wonders enhance our lives, and upon which our survival depends, is being rubbed out with horrible speed. Those to whom we look for guardianship, in government and among the economic elite, do not arrest this decline, they accelerate it.

The political system that delivers these outcomes is sustained by aspiration: the faith that if we try hard enough we could join the elite, even as living standards decline and social immobility becomes set almost in stone. But to what are we aspiring? A life that is better than our own, or worse?

Last week a note from an analyst at Barclays’ Global Power and Utilities group in New York was leaked. It addressed students about to begin a summer internship, and offered a glimpse of the toxic culture into which they are inducted.

“I wanted to introduce you to the 10 Power Commandments … For nine weeks you will live and die by these … We expect you to be the last ones to leave every night, no matter what … I recommend bringing a pillow to the office. It makes sleeping under your desk a lot more comfortable … the internship really is a nine-week commitment at the desk … an intern asked our staffer for a weekend off for a family reunion – he was told he could go. He was also asked to hand in his BlackBerry and pack up his desk … Play time is over and it’s time to buckle up.”

Play time is over, but did it ever begin? If these students have the kind of parents featured in the Financial Times last month, perhaps not. The article marked a new form of employment: the nursery consultant. These people, who charge from £290 an hour, must find a nursery that will put their clients’ toddlers on the right track to an elite university.

They spoke of parents who had already decided that their six-month-old son would go to Cambridge then Deutsche Bank, or whose two-year-old daughter “had a tutor for two afternoons a week (to keep on top of maths and literacy) as well as weekly phonics and reading classes, drama, piano, beginner French and swimming. They were considering adding Mandarin and Spanish. ‘The little girl was so exhausted and on edge she was terrified of opening her mouth.’”

In New York, playdate coaches charging $450 an hour train small children in the social skills that might help secure their admission to the most prestigious private schools. They are taught to hide traits that could suggest they’re on the autistic spectrum, which might reduce their chances of selection.

From infancy to employment, this is a life-denying, love-denying mindset, informed not by joy or contentment, but by an ambition that is both desperate and pointless, for it cannot compensate for what it displaces: childhood, family life, the joys of summer, meaningful and productive work, a sense of arrival, living in the moment. For the sake of this toxic culture, the economy is repurposed, the social contract is rewritten, the elite is released from tax, regulation and the other restraints imposed by democracy.

Where the elite goes, we are induced to follow. As if the assessment regimes were too lax in UK primary schools, last year the education secretary announced a new test for four-year-olds. A primary school in Cambridge has just taken the obvious next step: it is now streaming four-year-olds into classes according to perceived ability. The education and adoption bill, announced in the Queen’s speech, will turn the screw even tighter. Will this help children, or hurt them?

Who knows? Governments used to survey the prevalence of children’s mental health issues every five years, but this ended in 2004. Imagine publishing no figures since 2004 on, say, childhood cancer, and you begin to understand the extent to which successive governments have chosen to avoid this issue. If aspirational pressure is not enhancing our wellbeing but damaging it, those in power don’t want to know.

But there are hints. Mental health beds for children in England increased by 50% between 1999 and 2014, but still failed to meet demand. Children suffering mental health crises are being dumped in adult wards or even left in police cells because of the lack of provision (put yourself in their position and imagine the impact).

The number of children admitted to hospital because of self-harm has risen by 68% in 10 years, while the number of young patients with eating disorders has almost doubled in three years. Without good data, we don’t have a clear picture of what the causes might be, but it’s worth noting that in the past year, according to the charity YoungMinds, the number of children receiving counselling for exam stress has tripled.

An international survey of children’s wellbeing found that the UK, where such pressures are peculiarly intense, ranked 13th out of 15 countries for children’s life satisfaction, 13th for agreement with the statement “I like going to school”, 14th for children’s satisfaction with their bodies and 15th for self-confidence. So all that pressure and cramming and exhortation – that worked, didn’t it?

In the cause of self-advancement, we are urged to sacrifice our leisure, our pleasures and our time with partners and children, to climb over the bodies of our rivals and to set ourselves against the common interests of humankind. And then? We discover that we have achieved no greater satisfaction than that with which we began.

In 1653, Izaak Walton described in the Compleat Angler the fate of “poor-rich men”, who “spend all their time first in getting, and next in anxious care to keep it; men that are condemned to be rich, and then always busie or discontented”. Today this fate is confused with salvation.

Finish your homework, pass your exams, spend your 20s avoiding daylight, and you too could live like the elite. But who in their right mind would want to?

Margaret Thatcher began Britain's obsession with property. It's time to end it

Right to buy helped to turn the UK into a nation that saw houses as something to make money from, not to live in. Now we are at crisis point – and the government must step in 

• 
• • Rowan Moore
  • The Observer, Sunday 6 April 2014

Margaret Thatcher takes tea with former GLC council house tenants in Balham in 1978. Photograph: Kenneth Saunders for the Guardian

In 1975, in her first speech as leader to the Conservative party conference, Margaret Thatcher declared her belief in a "property-owning democracy". She didn't invent the phrase – the 1920s Tory MP Noel Skelton should take the credit for that, and the American liberal philosopher John Rawls picked it up before she did – but it became the most distinctive of all her many distinctive ideas, the one that most succinctly describes the Britain she wanted to create.

Through thrift and hard work, went the theory, ordinary families should be able to buy their own homes. It would give them security, dignity and freedom and liberate them from the nannying of local council landlords. It would make them better citizens, with their own stake in the economic wellbeing of the country, they would have an incentive to contribute to national prosperity. It exemplified her belief that capitalism was good not only for the rich, but for people on modest incomes. As the then environment secretary, Michael Heseltine, put it later: "Home ownership stimulates the attitudes of independence and self-reliance that are the bedrock of a free society."

So Thatcher allowed council tenants to buy their own homes at reduced prices, and sincethe right to buy was introduced, about 1.5m have been bought. She presided over an economy in which house buying became a national obsession and home ownership went up from 9.7m to 12.8m. Fundamental to her idea was that government, which had built between a third and a half of all homes for the previous three decades, should step back. Councils could no longer build council housing. The market would provide. Houses would be built by housebuilders, to use the standard term for the companies that buy land, win planning permission and then (sometimes) put homes on it.

Thatcher's idea is now at a point of crisis. Housebuilders are not building enough houses, and the proportion of people owning their own homes has been falling since 2007. People have long ago found that it does not always make you free to be shackled to a mortgage, still less if you cannot cross the increasingly high threshold into ownership. In London and the south-east, businesses lament the effects on them of expensive housing caused by the lack of mobility of potential workers.

Debt and speculation have been encouraged more than thrift and people who only wanted a home were forced to be gamblers in a turbulent market. The property-owning democracy is not turning out to be democratic, excluding as it does the large minority who don't own homes. In a sick practical joke, people have been encouraged to take on long-term mortgages at the same time that secure lifetime employment, which might pay for them, is disappearing. As for public spirit, with rising house prices goes rising nimbyism, as owners seek to protect their investment from all possible threats, above all the threat of more homes being built nearby that other people might live in.

Over three decades, a culture has been created in which the price of homes colours almost every aspect of life. It affects people's decisions about whether and when to live together, stay together and have children. An economy has been created in which inflation, otherwise frowned upon, is desirable in house prices, even essential. Property values are used as the principal tool of urban regeneration and, when those values fail to materialise, so does the regeneration. The infamous bedroom tax regards a few square metres of spare space as such a great asset that it must be wrenched from the grasp of the undeserving poor. "Values", indeed, is a telling word – we use it more to describe property than anything to do with ethical or social ideals.

It is amazing, beyond satire, that the two biggest stories in housing are on the one hand the bedroom tax and on the other the streets and squares of empty houses in Belgravia and Kensington, bought as investments by owners who rarely visit. At the same time that, when it comes to poor people, vacant rooms are deemed an offence to be expunged, they grow unchecked in the most desirable parts of London.

At almost every level, the market isn't working, from ex-industrial towns in northern England, where the values are too low to justify repairs to existing houses, to the under-supply and high prices in London, where an average home now costs £458,000, or 13 times the median full-time income. Hidden favelas are growing up in suburbs such as Newham and Southall, with unauthorised developments in back gardens and flats occupied at many times the levels for which they were designed.

 Newham, London: favela-style housing is on the increase in suburbs such as Newham and Southall, with severe overcrowding and unauthorised developments in back gardens and yards. Photograph: Newham Council/Archant

A system has been created with a few winners, for sure, but not the people excluded from the market, nor those barely able to pay for their homes, some of whom will drown when interest rates start going up. Even those who bought early enough to have a profit on their home find it to be largely nominal, impossible to realise without removing themselves or their children from the all-important property ladder.

Not even housebuilders are entirely happy, although recent government policies such as Help to Buy and the encouragement of easy credit have helped their share prices rise. They grumble that planning restrictions and regulations make their work unreasonably difficult and that the margins in their business are low. "It is a fantastically hard business," says one of those involved, because of its booms and busts. The most obvious winners were people such as Judith and Fergus Wilson, the Kent-based buy-to-let magnates said to be worth £180m. But here too there are losers – the people who got their fingers burned when this particular market crashed.

As Danny Dorling, in his recent book All That is Solid: The Great Housing Disaster has pointed out, the home is now seen as a commodity, as a unit of investment to be traded up or down. Attachment to a place, or the interconnectedness of units to make a community, is given little value. The pursuit of ideals, the idea of social or architectural betterment in the provision of housing, has all but disappeared.

Early in the last century, when Arts and Crafts architecture was flourishing and the first garden cities were being planned, the German architect Hermann Muthesius publishedThe English House, which was based on the premise that this country was particularly good at domestic architecture and that countries such as Germany should look and learn. It is unlikely anyone would want to do this now, as new British homes have, as well as the highest prices, the meanest dimensions to be found anywhere in Europe. What we have instead are a series of distinctive if largely inadvertent types, created by a warped market, which might be summarised thus:

Rural eyesore

An attempt to squeeze housing units into places where people want to live (the countryside in southern England), but the people there already don't want any more. Compromise ensues, in which new houses take on a huddled, crowded air and are given a traditional style to mitigate their intrusion. Making a new place with positive and exceptional qualities is out of the question, as all the developers' creative energies have gone into wrestling with the planning system to get their permission.

Investment silo

In London and some other big cities, dense apartment blocks are built with the primary purpose of creating vehicles for investment. Sometimes they are towers. In the previous decade, these developments were primarily aimed at British-based buy-to-let investors; currently the main target are overseas buyers. These projects typically have just enough decking, white paint and glass balustrades to allow good-looking young couples to be photographed inside them holding glasses of white wine, such that the adjectival nouns "luxury lifestyle" can be attached. They also have enough odd angles, or multicoloured cladding, to claim the adjective "iconic".

Affordable silo

Similar to an investment silo, to the extent that housing associations are now the main providers of affordable housing, and are also pressured to behave more and more like property developers. Their products therefore look increasingly like those of developers, although with some reductions in the luxury lifestyle and "iconic" elements. On the other hand, they tend to be built with better standards of space, as housing associations have to follow stricter rules than private developers.

Student silo

Exploiting loopholes in the planning and regulatory systems, which make fewer demands on student housing than other types, property companies have in recent years rushed into this market. Among the attractions of students to developers is that they can be put into even smaller spaces than anyone else. The typology is similar to other types of silo, but with still less in the luxury lifestyle department.

Northern disaster zone

 Parts of Liverpool and Gateshead have been demolished by the government, the old streets replaced with smaller numbers of new homes. The result? The uprooting of people who wanted to stay put and zones of demolished and empty buildings. Photograph: Nigel R. Barklie/REX

Parts of Liverpool or Gateshead, for example: places afflicted by the last government's Housing Market Renewal Pathfinder project, where about £2bn of public money was spent buying up streets in areas of low value, demolishing them, and replacing them with smaller numbers of new homes. The theory was that, under the laws of supply and demand, reduced supply would raise values. The reality was the breaking up ofcommunities, the uprooting of people who wanted to stay put and devastated zones of demolished and empty buildings.

Overcrowded London

Flats and backyards adapted to house as many people as possible.

Empty Belgravia

Extraordinarily expensive houses owned by people with properties in several other countries, such that they are usually unoccupied. Often also iceberg houses, with multifloor basements expensively created underneath, to create further quantities of void.

Nonexistent new town

Successive governments are lured to the attractive idea of the new town, as it enables large numbers of homes to be built while annoying fewer residents than if they have been spread over a wider area. It appeals to politicians' love of a visible gesture. The same governments then fail to provide the infrastructure and planning to make these towns happen. The last administration promised both a new city in the Thames Gateway, to the east of London, and a series of "ecotowns". Very little of either appeared.

It is not in fact so difficult to create good modern housing. There are well-known examples in continental Europe, often cited in discussions of the subject, such asHammarby Sjöstad in Stockholm, Vauban in Freiburg, and Borneo Sporenburg in Amsterdam. Peter Hall, the planning expert whose recent book, Good Cities, Better Lives, explores the best European examples, says that there is an "extraordinary similarity" between these schemes: they have good public transport, from which all homes are within easy walking distance, and "a good disposition of semi-public spaces", such as playgrounds and shared gardens.

 St Andrews in East London: housebuilder Barratt, not always a byword for design quality, is responsible for this project with its emphasis on robust detailing, balconies and shared space.

Nor is Britain incapable of decent developments. Barratt, a housebuilder not always associated with design quality, has built the St Andrews and Barrier Park projects in east London, albeit only after prodding from the London Development Agency, the public body that sold it the land. Richard Lavington, one of the architects of these developments, says that the aims were "to put a balcony on every unit, and to create a positive interface between private and public", by which he means placing family homes close to shared open spaces and streets in such a way that they might readily use them. He also sought "clear, robust detailing" that would be "straightforward to build".

Again, this is not complicated stuff and the developments live up to these claims. Cognoscenti of new housing will also know of fine, small-scale projects by the developers Crispin Kelly of Baylight and Roger Zogolovitch of Solidspace. Kelly says: "Big windows and high ceilings are a start, and lack of fussiness – having the confidence to do things simply." Inside, he likes bonus spaces – on a stair landing for example – where a child might do homework, and outside something as basic as a bench that encourages neighbours to meet. Like Kelly, Zogolovitch likes undesignated spots "where you might set up a cello or an easel or write a novel". He uses design to make small spaces feel larger and give them personality.

 Kevin McCloud at The Triangle housing project in Swindon. Photograph: Professional Images

In Swindon there is The Triangle, created with the help of Kevin McCloud's company Hab, which also stresses the importance of shared space and simple design. And, when you ask for examples of good new housing, you keep being referred back to Cambridge. Here is Accordia, which won the Stirling prize in 2008, and the university-backed £1bn plan to create 3,000 homes, half of them for key workers, on 150 hectares in the north-west of the city. Also in Cambridge are developments such as the "Scandinavian-style"Seven Acres, by the multinational construction company Skanska, which again is based on the virtues of simplicity and shared space.

But these bright spots are too rare and require favourable conditions, such as having a TV personality or an ancient university to back them. They tend to be in places such as London or Cambridge, where prices rise faster than elsewhere. This helps to pay for more quality, but by definition makes it harder to achieve.

The housing crisis is one of both quantity and quality. Some 250,000 new homes a year are said to be needed, but after 2008 the number fell below 100,000, mostly built by private housebuilders but also by housing associations. In the postwar peak in the late 60s, more than 400,000 were created a year, many of them by the councils later banned from building by Margaret Thatcher. Meanwhile, the private sector built at a reasonably steady rate from the late 1950s on, between 150,000 and 250,000 a year. Until the 2008 crash, that is, when output plummeted to a level not seen for half a century.

Blame for this lack of supply is usually placed on the planning system. There is nowhere in southern England for new housing to go or, rather, nowhere where voters and therefore politicians want it to go. Suggestions of building anything on the green belt bring accusations of desecration of a national treasure and similarly with rural locations further from big cities. The theory that brownfields, that is ex-industrial sites, could answer all housing need has proved challenging in practice. Such sites are not always where people want to live.

Suggestions for fixing the problem include, as always, the new town or, as George Osborne likes to call it, the "garden city". He used the term when repackaging existing proposals for Ebbsfleet in Kent, and presenting them as his invention, but his duplicity should not obscure the possibility that it might be a good idea. Peter Hall passionately believes that the principal hope for housing is building new towns and town-size extensions to existing cities. The new towns created in the 1960s, of which Milton Keynes is the biggest and best known, may have become the butt of patronising jokes, but, says Hall, "were really rather successful". They did their job of relieving pressure and "all the evidence shows that people like living there".

Another idea is to fit more homes into London, which is several times less densely populated than, for example, Paris. Another is to encourage people to build their own houses, which currently accounts for a minute proportion of the total. Another, popular with the current government, is the "neighbourhood plan". Here, local communities (usually rural) put together their own proposals for development so that some of the proceeds go to shared benefits and growth is no longer an aggressive intervention by outsiders. It might also help if we moved away from the preoccupation of home ownership with the help of decent properties for private rent. Michael Heseltine once said that "there is in this country a deeply ingrained desire for home ownership", but in 1900 90% of homes, at almost every level of price, were rented.

All these suggestions have merit and the answer is almost certainly to embrace all of them and more. We have to go from our current culture, where new housing is treated as pollution, and something to be squeezed through the planning system with the greatest difficulty, to one where it is seen as a positive asset. There is a vicious circle – new development is poor because it takes so much effort to overcome objections and people object to it because it is poor.

But none of these ideas will happen without the thing the coalition has been least willing to employ, which is active and forward-looking public intervention. It is hard to build a new town, or a well considered rural expansion, without things such as compulsorily buying land, paying professionals to plan it or providing transport. As Dickon Robinson, formerly of housing association the Peabody Trust puts it: "The market has failed. It's time to put some controversial ideas out there."

The compulsory purchase by government from private landowners sounds communist, but it was used (for example) in the "renewal" of northern cities. It is just that politicians are more reluctant to wield it in Kent than in Gateshead. If we are sceptical about the power of planners to achieve their objectives, we only need to look at the Netherlands. There, they had a similar scale of housing shortage, in proportion to the country's size, to the one that has been diagnosed in Britain for the past 15 years. Unlike Britain, they fixed it, by building nearly half a million new homes.

Planning apart, there is a deep flaw with the idea that the market alone will meet all the country's housing needs. The problem is not only to do with the numbers supplied, but with how much each home costs and housebuilders cannot be expected to lead a process that results in the value of their product going down. They would rather sit on their land until such time as its price goes up, which means that some other agency has to do what they won't, which means, in effect, that the government has to intervene more actively in promoting building – by acquiring land, producing considered plans for its development, and then promoting such development.

Given that in much of Britain the price of homes is high, a slow deflation might be desirable; the ideal could be that prices stay the same, so that they gently fall in real terms. But the coalition's big idea is the opposite. With Help to Buy, changing pension rules and other measures, they have stimulated demand without a corresponding increase in supply, such that prices go up further. As the Financial Times has said, this is economically illiterate. It would be a useful first step to reverse these policies.

We are now at a moment similar to the 1970s, when ideas about housing that had lasted a generation stopped working. Then it was the legacy of Clement Attlee's postwar government, which believed in massive state provision of housing, but which ended up restricting freedoms and too often creating homes people didn't like. Thatcher's policies were a necessary corrective, and had real benefits, but now they too are failing. It is time for something new.

It's not easy to champion planning, as it tends to summon images of faceless bureaucrats and grandiose visions gone wrong. But, as Hermann Muthesius recognised in the early 1900s, and as Peter Hall argues about 1960s new towns, it is not un-British to plan and design new communities well. The national dependency on high house prices has, in its effects, become an economic, social and cultural disaster. Active intervention is needed. As someone once said, there is no alternative.