I hate Trump and Farage. But on free trade they have a point

Aditya Chakrabortty in The Guardian

Globalisation, as can be seen from the TTIP and Ceta deals, is about protecting big business – against the public. No wonder voters in the US and Europe are turning to populists.

 

Illustration by Andrzej Krauze





How they frown. How they fulminate. How they threaten. For decades, presidents and prime ministers, policymakers and pundits have told voters there is only one direction of travel: free trade. Now comes Brexit and Donald Trump – and the horrible suspicion that the public won’t buy it any more. This is how an elite project falls apart. And the elites don’t know what to do, apart from keep insisting the public listen.

In Washington last month, you could barely move for wagging fingers as the heads of the IMF, the World Bank and the World Trade Organisation warned that free trade was in mortal danger. In Ottawa last week, Canadian prime minister Justin Trudeau surveyed the hundreds of thousands of Europeans demonstrating against the continent’s treaty with his country and said: “If… Europe is unable to sign a progressive trade agreement with a country like Canada, well, then with whom will Europe think that it can do business in the years to come?”

Their outriders in the press have dropped the pretence of liberal politesse for red-cheeked self-righteousness. The hairy-palmed hordes are coming for our internationalism! As if internationalism were little more than business-class flights and the freedom to structure derivatives across several time zones. The Economist slaps an image of anti-globalisation demonstrators on its cover with the headline: “Why they’re wrong”. Note that use of “they”, with its shadow of the drawbridge being hastily pulled up. Coming soon, perhaps: “Why can’t we get the 99% we deserve?”

I heartily agree that Nigel Farage and Trump are grotesques. But the free-traders peddle their own untruths. They have insisted that black is white, even as the voters beg to differ. In their seminar rooms, their TV studios and their Geneva offices, they have perpetrated the ideological sleight of hand that equates internationalism with free trade, and globalisation with untrammelled corporate power. The result has been misery for workers from Bolton to Baltimore to Bangladesh. But it has also left the six-figure technocrats who supervise our economic system pushing a zombie idea. Because that is what free trade has become: an idea leached of life and meaning but stumbling on for want of any replacement. We have a globalisation for bankers, but not for children fleeing the bombs of Syria. Security for investors but not for workers.

To see how debased the notion of free trade has become, look at the deal between Canada and the EU that is currently being voted through Europe’s parliaments. It’s called the Comprehensive Economic and Trade Agreement (Ceta), and the fact that you can see it at all is largely down to leaks of the documents, which forced the European commission to publish,. That is after the negotiations were conducted for five years in secret, with even the directives kept hidden from the hundreds of millions of citizens affected.

This is no minor technical work. Provided it is passed in time, Ceta will apply to Britain too – and parts of it will affect Britons’ lives even after we’ve “taken back control”. It has been billed as “a backdoor for TTIP”, the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership, which collapsed this summer amid public opposition both in Europe and the US. Like TTIP, Ceta includes the investor-state dispute settlement system – which hands big business the power to sue governments, including for profits they haven’t made yet. A US multinational with an office in Canada (nearly all of them) will be able to sue Britons for bringing in laws that lose them money. This was the mechanism tobacco giant Philip Morris used to sue Australia’s government for bringing in plain packaging. On that occasion, Big Tobacco was unsuccessful – but it took four years of expensive legal battle.

Free trade used to be about tackling protectionism; now it’s about protecting big business – against the public. If populists take a complex situation, offer a simple answer and warn any dissenters of gruesome consequences, then the free-traders are guilty of populism too. With Ceta or TTIP, it goes like this: if this deal goes through, then economies will grow, jobs will appear, and a rising tide will lift all boats, from super-yacht to rubber dinghy. That is pretty much what mainstream politicians of Europe – both left and right – and their officials are saying about the deal with Canada.

In economic history, never mind that the biggest winners – whether the US in the early 1900s or China now – are those who break the free trade rules. Never mind that the actual forecasts for Ceta show the gains will be relatively meagre. Never mind that the studies cited don’t bother to look at who wins and loses, and by how much.

Most of all, ignore their shared assumption that after any deal the affected economies undergo a short, sharp shock before bouncing back. Anyone’s who has lived through the past eight years has heard that one before. After the financial crisis, the Bank of England and Treasury both kept forecasting a return to normal – and they kept getting it wrong. Eight years on, that bounceback hasn’t materialised. British workers are still not paid as much after inflation as they were when Lehman Brothers collapsed.

That assumption’s lack of substance is called a “dirty little secret” by two independent economists, Pierre Kohler and Servaas Storm, in a recent paper scrutinising the likely effects of Ceta. As they say, it presumes that laid-off workers “will rapidly find new jobs” – whatever the industry, however far away the employer. A car engineer can up sticks and turn into a software engineer. And if there aren’t any actual jobs, they can deliver takeaways for Deliveroo.
The assumptions are both laughably far-fetched and, in the cost citizens are expected to bear, disgusting. No wonder the EU would rather there was as little public discussion as possible.

Using a model employed by the UN, Kohler and Storm found that the benefits of Ceta become microscopic next to the costs. For at least the first seven years after the agreement is brought in, unemployment will rise, wages will fall and economies will see their growth rates decline. Governments will lose revenue, and so increase austerity.

The burden will fall hardest on the poorest, the lowest-skilled, older people and those with disabilities. A senior lecturer at Delft University of Technology, Storm summed up for me the consequences: “The weaker your position in an economy, the more strongly you’ll feel the fall-out.” These aren’t people and regions who are left behind: they’ve been chucked off the train by their own governments. This is the settlement free-traders, left and right, are fighting to impose on voters. Is it any wonder the voters keep plumping for alternatives – no matter how reprehensible, how ruinous?

Munir Saami on the State of Pakistan

In Urdu language

BBC news manipulative and deeply political

Jasper Jackson in the Guardian

Director Ken Loach has taken aim at the BBC, describing its news coverage as “manipulative and deeply political” and saying it is a “rotten place for a director”.

Prominent leftwinger Loach, who is promoting his Palme d’Or-winning film about a man’s struggle with the UK benefits system, I, Daniel Blake, said there was a need to “democratise” the corporation.

“Diversify it so that different regions can make their own dramas. And its notion of news has got to be challenged,” he told the Radio Times.

“The BBC is very aware of its role in shaping people’s consciousness; this is the story you should hear about, these are the people worth listening to. It’s manipulative and deeply political.”

In response to the comments, a BBC spokeswoman said: “BBC News is independent and adheres to clear published editorial guidelines including on impartiality. The BBC is consistently rated the most trusted and accurate news provider by the majority of people in the UK.”

It is not the first time Loach, who has been vocal in his support of Jeremy Corbyn, has criticised the BBC’s news coverage.

Last month, he told an audience at University College London to complain to the corporation when they thought coverage was biased against Corbyn, and labelled the corporation a “propaganda” arm of the state adopting a “pretense of objectivity”. “The BBC is not some objective chronicler of our time – it is an arm of the state,” he said.

Loach has had a long and fruitful relationship with the BBC, which 50 years ago broadcast his influential film Cathy Come Home charting a family’s descent into poverty and homelessness. I, Daniel Blake was made in partnership with BBC Films

However, Loach implied that the BBC had lost its appetite for socially conscious TV drama.

“Even then, people overstated how much of it there was. Anyway, now the drama is produced by outside production companies and horribly micro-managed. The directors I know in television say it’s a nightmare. That’s true for all the broadcasters,” he concedes, “but the BBC is a rotten place for a director.”

He also criticised the broader TV industry for choosing shows such as Downton Abbey which present a “rosy vision of the past”.

“It says, ‘Don’t bother your heads with what’s going on now, just wallow in fake nostalgia’,” he said.

“It’s bad history, bad drama. It puts your brain to sleep. It’s the opposite of what a good broadcaster should do, which is stimulate and invigorate. You might as well take a Mogadon as watch it. TV drama is like the picture on the Quality Street tin, but with with less quality and nothing of the street.”

Despite his dislike of nostalgia, Loach told the Guardian in an interview earlier this week that in some respects he preferred the society of the 60s in which Cathy Come Home was set.

“When she was shown as homeless, people were angry about it. Now society is nowhere near as cohesive. The consequences of Thatcher and Blair have eroded the sense that we are responsible for each other, that we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keeper. So in that sense, I prefer the days of Cathy.”

A spokeswoman for BBC Drama cited shows such as Peaky Blinders and Poldark as examples of production made across the UK’s regions.

She added: “The quality, range and ambition of BBC Drama is evidence of an organisation in top creative form that supports both the directors voice and reflects the whole of the UK.

“From world-class British directors like Peter Kosminsky redefining period drama with Wolf Hall, or Julian Farino’s Bafta winning Marvellous, visionary directors have a home on the BBC and this means we also attract directors from across the world like the Emmy winning Susanne Bier on The Night Manager to Oscar winner Jane Campion.”

Who will save us from Silicon Valley?

Evgeny Morozov in The Guardian


 
Mark Zuckerberg and Priscilla Chan have given $3bn to help cure all disease. Photograph: Jeff Chiu/AP



A world where billionaires were blunt and forthright, where they preferred pillaging the world to saving it, was far less confusing. The robber barons of the industrial era – from Carnegie to Ford to Rockefeller – did eventually commit some of their riches to charity but there was no mistaking one for the other. Oil and steel brought in the cash; education and arts helped to spend it.

Of course, the eponymous foundations were neither neutral nor apolitical. They pursued projects that were rarely at odds with US foreign policy and often shared many of its key ideological biases and presuppositions. From modernisation theory to democracy promotion, the civilising imperative behind them was not so hard to discern. Some of these foundations have eventually come to regret many of their dubious advocacy campaigns; the Rockefeller Foundation’s imprudent support for population control in India is just one example.

Today, when five of the world’s most valuable companies are technology firms, it’s very hard to see where their businesses end and their charity efforts begin. As digital platforms, they power diverse industries and sectors from education to health to transport and thus have an option that was not available to the oil and steel magnates of yesteryear: they can simply continue selling their core product – mostly hope, albeit wrapped up in infinite layers of data, screens and sensors – without having to divert their funds into any nonproductive activities.

The Chan Zuckerberg initiative, a limited liability company (a somewhat unusual format for a charity), was set up by Mark Zuckerberg and his wife, Priscilla Chan, in December 2015, ostensibly to share their wealth with the rest of us. It has recently been in the news thanks to its founders’ ambitious commitment – to the tune of $3bn – to cure all disease.

Zuckerberg can surely afford this, given how little tax his company is paying: in the UK, its tax filings for 2015 show revenues of £210.7m, on which the company paid just £4.17m of taxes – an effective rate of 2% (itself a 1,000-fold increase on what it paid in 2014). Facebook, however, also managed to generate a tax credit of £11m, which it can use to reduce its future tax burden. The disease of tax avoidance is unlikely to be cured by the Chan Zuckerberg initiative.


  Henry Ford in his first car, built in 1896. Photograph: Library of Congress/Getty Images

To speak of “philanthrocapitalism” here – as many have done, either to praise or bury it – seems misguided, if only because such projects bear so little resemblance to philanthropy proper. One doesn’t have to admire Ford or Rockefeller to notice that their philanthropic endeavours, whatever their real political goals, were not supposed to make extra cash. But is it really so with our new tech barons?

While Zuckerberg’s commitments in the health sector are still too recent and ambiguous to judge, he has a more extensive history in education. Following Zuckerberg’s personal commitment of $100m dollars to schools in New Jersey – an investment that is yet to bring the desired results – the Chan Zuckerberg initiative has invested in companies that supposedly help expand educational opportunities in the developing world.

Thus, it has poured money into Andela, a Lagos-based startup that trains coders, joining the likes of Google (via GV, its venture fund) and Omidyar Network, a similar philanthropic investment firm belonging to another tech billionaire. A few weeks later, one of Andela’s co-founders left to found a payments startup: apparently, there are a lot of arbitrage opportunities in saving the world.

That one can never fully understand what drives these investments, a profit motive or a genuine desire to help out, is a feature, not a bug. If the logic driving the Fords and the Carnegies was to atone for the sins of rapacious capitalism, the logic of the Zuckerbergs and the Omidyars is to convince us that rapacious capitalism, fully unleashed on society, will do lots of good.

The Chan Zuckerberg initiative also invested in BYJU, an Indian company that has developed an app that teaches students science and maths. A noble endeavour, but what attracted Zuckerberg to the firm was, by his own admission, its heavy reliance on personalised learning, which, of course, is only possible when large troves of user data are recorded and analysed. Does that remind you of any giant tech company?

This celebration of personalisation is also present in another educational project supported by Zuckerberg – a learning software made by a company called Summit Basecamp. The company has the luxury of having 20 Facebook staffers, from engineers to product managers, helping it with growth and expansion – the result of Zuckerberg touring one of its schools in 2013. And expand it did: according to the Washington Post, its software is now used by 20,000 students in more than 100 schools.



The Chan Zuckerberg initiative has poured money into Andela, a Lagos-based startup that trains coders. Photograph: Mohini Ufeli/Andela

Parents of these students can hope that Summit Basecamp will keep its word and that no personal data will ever leave the company. Such promises won’t be any more reassuring than those of the founders of WhatsApp, who, on being acquired by Facebook, promised to defend their users’ personal data, only to announce, a few months ago, that it will be shared with Facebook.
Zuckerberg also joined the rest of the Silicon Valley elite, from Bill Gates to Laurene Powell Jobs, the widow of Steve Jobs, in investing in AltSchool, a startup founded by a former Google executive, which takes personalised learning to a whole new level. In a good Taylorist fashion, its classrooms feature cameras and microphones so that any glitches inherent in the learning process can be analysed and engineered away. AltSchool now wants to expand by selling licences to its software to other schools.

What passes for philanthropy these days is often just a sophisticated effort to make money on engineering the kinds of rational, entrepreneurial and quantitative souls that would delight at other types of personalisation. Such learning is, of course, well suited to the needs of consulting firms and technology giants. A recent profile of AltSchool in the New Yorker mentioned that its students read the Iliad armed with a spreadsheet where they mark how many times the theme of “rage” occurs in the text. Such schools can produce excellent auditors; poets, however, might need an alternative, to, well, the AltSchool.

The very same technology elites are also backing the charter school movement – a longrunning effort to bring more competition to the educational sector by supporting privately run but publicly funded educational initiatives. From Gates to Zuckerberg, technology billionaires are vocal defenders of this movement. It won’t be surprising if they deploy their big data weapons to advance the argument that the traditional educational system must be completely overhauled.

We should be careful not to fall victim to a perverse form of Stockholm syndrome, coming to sympathise with the corporate kidnappers of our democracy. On the one hand, given that the new tech billionaires pay very little tax, it’s not surprising that the public sector would fail to innovate as quickly. On the other, by constantly giving the private sector a head start through technologies that they own and develop, the new tech elites all but ensure that the public would rather choose slick but privatised technological solutions over quaint, but public, political ones.

That we can no longer differentiate between philanthropy and speculation is an occasion to worry, not celebrate. With Silicon Valley elites so keen on saving the world, shouldn’t we also ask who will eventually save us from Silicon Valley?