We carry on giving, but isn’t charity an offence to basic dignity?

John Harris in The Guardian


Someone needs cancer treatment only available in Germany. Someone else is leading a 187-mile bike ride across India to pay for research into brain tumours. Top right is a team of swimmers with learning disabilities who want to attend an international competition in Sheffield; bottom left is a girl who desperately needs a bone marrow transplant. And all around are numbers that dance in front of your eyes: “£64,994 raised by 2,773 supporters … £1,044 raised by 47 supporters … £900 raised by 23 supporters.”

The online donation platform JustGiving seemingly soothes the world’s ills with a sleek, altruistic efficiency the pre-digital world could get nowhere near. Since its foundation in 2001, it claims to have raised $4.2bn (£3.3bn) for “good causes” in 164 countries.

It also styles itself as a “for-profit, for-good organisation”, but those two elements might not mesh together quite as gracefully as its founders would like. The 5% that JustGiving skims off each donation – slightly more if they are gift-aided – reportedly amounts to £20m a year. According to its accounts, one director has a salary of £152,000 plus pension contributions of £46,600. Recently there have also been questions about the provenance of two high-profile appeals it has hosted, both related to the recent Westminster attack.

Somewhat unbelievably, online donation platforms fall outside the remit of the fundraising regulator and, as reported by the Guardian this week, there are now loud calls to correct such a glaring anomaly.

According to a recent survey by the Charities Aid Foundation, only 50% of us now think charities are trustworthy. On top of hostility to government and big business, the inward-looking sensibilities crystallised in the Brexit vote might be colouring public attitudes towards the so-called third sector.

There is a sense of the same sentiments in all that noise about aid spending, now the subject of an intervention by that great charitable icon Bill Gates, who wants Theresa May to stick with the UK’s commitment to spending 0.7% of GDP on aid.

There again, even if a new public meanness partly explains some people’s scepticism, it may not explain it all. Many may well have more rational reasons: the sense of a world too beyond scrutiny, highlighted by the Kids Company saga; a reasonable suspicion that high-profile fundraising is often an easy way for governments to be let off the hook, and for wealthy people to draw attention away from their tax affairs.

But here is the strange thing. We still give almost as much to charity as we did 10 years ago, and the imperative to dig in one’s pocket has never been more ubiquitous. The shaking of tins on drizzly Saturday mornings is the stuff of the 20th century: now, charity is loud, brash and firmly built into the narcissistic, virtue-signalling world of social media. The unfortunate are helped via South American trekking and polar hikes; venturing to the other side of the world is said to be the most efficient way of helping the needy. Equally, few question the motives of the apparently selfless soul who has put up a JustGiving page or appealed for help via such platforms as GoFundMe.

Meanwhile, charity increasingly extends to things that once came out of our taxes, with the frontier between the two disappearing fast: NHS appeals for radiotherapy equipment in Swindon, support for people with dementia in Essex, cancer treatment in London, and much more. And whereas fundraising drives for state schools were once presented as a means of funding climbing frames, school trips or specialist sports equipment, donations now increasingly pay for the fundamental things that cuts are putting in jeopardy.

‘Help for Heroes is also a symbol of the fact that the state cannot adequately provide for the soldiers it puts in harm’s way.’ Photograph: Sam Frost

A primary school in Sheffield has just launched a campaign for the £100,000 it needs to fix its roof. In January, a headteacher from Brighton told the Guardian that every computer at her school was bought via fundraising, and that the proceeds from the annual school play now go on “resources to use in lessons”. In that context, if you have affluent parents and staff who know how to tap the right people, you survive. But what happens if you don’t?

Clearly, a lot of the worthy causes that benefit from sponsored walks, bake-offs and Indian bike-rides can easily be recast as examples of outrageous government negligence. There might be no better example than Help for Heroes – which nobly assists those who have “suffered injuries or illness as a result of their service to the nation”– but is also a symbol of the fact that the state cannot adequately provide for the soldiers it puts in harm’s way. Why does such a basic aspect of any advanced society require a begging bowl?

The word “normalisation” springs to mind. That said, some of us are old enough to remember the hardcore socialist values that once damned charity as a get-out for vested interests, and an offence to basic human dignity. As far as I can tell, the basic argument still stands: charity eats away at the idea of a decent life as a basic right, and turns its recipients into supplicants; not for nothing is it the favoured get-out of tyrants, tycoons and monarchs.

Scepticism about fundraising may be a sign that some of this critique lingers in the public mind; the pang of unease people feel when presented with heart-tugging appeals might be about something much deeper than the predicament of the people in the photographs.

Certain economic and cultural changes vividly denote our seemingly endless passage away from the postwar settlement into a much more Darwinian world. Trade union membership declines. Private debt soars. Public housing is consigned to history. And at every turn, what one group of people rely on is suddenly dependent on others’ generosity.

That is not to deny the sterling work charities do, or the inescapable compulsion to meet their appeals by reaching for your debit card. What bothers me is the future implied by some of the categories listed on JustGiving’s website: “education”, “international aid”, “health and medical”, and “disability”, the latter with a cutesy little icon of a wheelchair.

In the midst of an election called by a Tory vicar’s daughter in which the opposition is trying in vain to land arguments about austerity and poverty, the key question seems more relevant than ever: where is all this is taking us, and who will the bowl be passed to next?

Online political advertising is a black box and democracy should be worried

Jasper Jackson in The Guardian


As your mind wearily contemplates being exposed to yet another political campaign, are your dreams haunted by battle buses, billboards and TV debates? Or is it Facebook, YouTube, Twitter and Google?

On the evidence of last year’s EU referendum, much of the campaigning, and much of the money spent on political advertising, will be online. And it will happen in a way that will be largely hidden from scrutiny by either the public or regulators.

During the referendum, Vote Leave spent £2.7m with one small Canadian digital marketing firm that specialises in political campaigns – Aggregate IQ. The sum was well over a third of Vote Leave’s total budget.

Two other campaign groups – both of which received large donations from the Leave campaign - gave Aggregate IQ a further £765,000, taking the total pumped through the company to almost £3.5m. Vote Leave director Dominic Cummings is quoted on the company’s website saying “We couldn’t have done it without them.”

Yet the invoices for the money they paid to Aggregate IQ, which were handed to the Electoral Commission, list vague jargon-filled specifications with little indication of how the ads were delivered. It may tell us Aggregate IQ were running a “targeted video app installed and display media campaign” but gives no clue about where those ads appeared or who saw them. Did most of the money go on Facebook or YouTube? Did they spend more money on reaching under 45s in Hull or pensioners in Canterbury? There’s no way of knowing, not least because the Electoral Commission doesn’t ask for the information.

Meanwhile Cambridge Analytica, the digital targeting experts part-owned by US billionaire Robert Mercer, were credited with super-charging the Leave.EU campaign, even getting a mention in a book about campaign by its chief funder Arron Banks. Yet according to filings with the Electoral Commission there was no paid relationship with the firm at all. The Electoral Commission is currently investigating, as is the Information Commissioner’s Office over the company’s use of data.

These two companies promise to sway the electorate using high-tech targeting of voters, yet not only does the Electoral Commission have little idea of how the money is being spent, but many of the different messages those campaigns show chosen sets of targets are hidden from the rest of us.

An ad in a newspaper or magazine, a billboard or tube poster, can be seen by anybody who happens to come across it. They are targeted in a blunt way, by location, readership etc, but who they are appealing to, the messages used and the money spent is clear for all to see.

But online, ads are directed at far more specific target groups, and shown only to them. Suspect someone is a bit racist? Show them pictures of dark skinned migrants lining up at a border. Know someone regularly visits Spain? Emphasise how much longer it will take to go through airport security.

Just as importantly, you can make sure that you don’t show the wrong ads to the wrong people. The racist dog whistle doesn’t get pushed at people likely to be from, or comfortable with, ethnic minorities. The lengthy customs checks don’t get shown to those with an all-consuming fear of terror attacks.

Of course, people will see ads that aren’t aimed at them online – the targeting is far from perfect - but the digital world allows paid-for political campaigning to split into numerous conversations that rarely overlap.

This combination of digital marketing firms that are required to reveal little about what they do, and digital ads that are different for each segment of the population, make political advertising online opaque in way traditional ads were not.

And the approach seems to work. A more sophisticated digital strategy is regularly cited by Cummings and other Leave campaigners as as example of how they outsmarted Remain. If you were planning how to win June’s election, you’d be mad not to pay close attention to how they did it, and do your best to replicate it. And that means as we approach yet another nationwide vote, it will be harder than ever to see what impact money and the political advertising it pays for is having on the result.

Global Capitalism: Trump’s Big Economic Plans Fade

Richard D Wolff - Economics Professor (retired)  April 2017

March 2017

George Osborne: history will not be kind to a man whose flaws led to Brexit

Larry Elliott in The Guardian

Had things turned out differently, George Osborne would now be counting down the days to becoming prime minister. His close friend David Cameron had pledged to stand down before the next general election and a smooth transition was planned. As the architect of Cameron’s unexpected overall majority at the 2015 election, Osborne appeared to have the keys to 10 Downing Street there for the taking.

Instead, he is living proof of Enoch Powell’s dictum that all political careers end in failure unless they are cut off in midstream at an opportune moment. Osborne will be remembered as the austerity chancellor who got the Brexit referendum campaign spectacularly wrong and was then brutally sacked by Theresa May.

His personal responsibility for last June’s referendum needs to be put into perspective. He was against the decision to hold a plebiscite and told Cameron he was taking an unnecessary risk. Once the decision had been taken, however, he took control of the campaign and opted for the same strategy that had proved successful in the Scottish referendum of 2014 and the general election the following year: a warning that a vote for change would have severe economic costs.

This time it didn’t work. In part, that was because the EU referendum was an opportunity to protest about low pay, welfare cuts and stagnant living standards. In part, it was because the Conservative-supporting papers – who had backed Osborne when he was taking on Alex Salmond and Ed Miliband – came out strongly against what they called Project Fear. In part, it was due to overkill.

When it became clear that many voters were impervious to the warnings, Osborne doubled down. He warned that the economy would plunge into an immediate recession in the event of a vote for Brexit. He said he would be forced to bring in an emergency budget that would raise taxes and cut spending by £30bn. But there was no last-minute swing to remain and when Cameron stepped down as prime minister on the morning after the referendum, Osborne’s days were numbered. A political career that saw him become an MP before his 30th birthday, shadow chancellor before he was 35 and chancellor before turning 40 was effectively over at the age of 45.

Osborne’s rise was smoothed by the financial crisis of 2007 and the deep recession that followed. As shadow chancellor, he had two main lines of attack: Labour had failed to regulate the City properly and had borrowed too much. 

The first charge was justified, and Osborne responded by giving far more power to the Bank of England to ensure there was no repeat of the reckless lending seen before 2007. The global nature of the crisis meant the second charge was specious, but Osborne showed himself to be a master of the political dark arts by making it stick.

As Labour turned in on itself during the leadership contest that followed the 2010 election, Osborne said he had no choice but to impose a tough austerity package because Labour had “failed to mend the roof while the sun was shining”. The new chancellor said voters should blame Gordon Brown for the spending cuts and the tax increases he had been forced to impose. Voters believed Osborne in 2010 and carried on believing him right up until the 2015 election.

Unfortunately, Osborne’s economic strategy proved less successful than his political strategy. The economy had been on the mend by the time of the 2010 election, but too much austerity too soon resulted in growth slowing down. Plans to tackle the deficit in one parliament proved wildly optimistic.

By halfway through the 2010-15 parliament, Osborne was in a spot. He had claimed – correctly – that the UK economy had been too dependent on debt in the years before the crisis, but now found that the economy was flatlining.

His solution was to get a moribund housing market moving by giving banks and building societies money to lend. A growing economy allowed Osborne to claim that his critics were wrong and that austerity had worked. Collapsing oil prices led to falling inflation and a surge in living standards that peaked around the time of the 2015 election. It was little more than a sugar rush, but Osborne was seen as a political wizard.

He capitalised on victory in 2015 by announcing a fresh assault on the deficit. There would be fresh cuts in spending by government departments and £12bn of additional welfare cuts in order to put the public finances back in the black by the end of the parliament. Osborne softened the blow by announcing a souped-up national minimum wage and outlining plans to create a “northern powerhouse”. At the Conservative party conference in October 2015, he made a clear leadership pitch with his “we are the builders” speech. It was the moment his career peaked.

Whatever his tenure as editor of the Evening Standard has in store, history is unlikely to be kind to Osborne, and not just because the referendum campaign went so badly wrong. He marketed himself as a one-nation Conservative, yet targeted the poor for spending cuts. He made deficit reduction the acid test of his chancellorship, yet austerity will continue deep into a third parliament. He said he would sort out Britain’s structural problems, but will leave parliament with the economy as dependent on debt and low-skill, low-productivity jobs as it has ever been. Those failures helped create the conditions for Brexit – and for his political demise.