'People will forgive you for being wrong, but they will never forgive you for being right - especially if events prove you right while proving them wrong.' Thomas Sowell
Why are these extreme confidentiality clauses still used in the UK to protect the perpetrators of abuse? asks Zelda Perkins in The Guardian
Samantha Morton (left) stars as Zelda Perkins and Zoe Kazan as journalist Jodi Kantor in a scene from the film She Said, about the journalists who broke the Harvey Weinstein story. Photograph: Universal Pictures/AP
More than two decades ago, I walked into the offices of a law firm in Soho, my 24-year-old self confident that it would help me to expose and address the appalling behaviour of my then boss, the film producer Harvey Weinstein. His attempted rape of a new assistant while we were at the Venice film festival – on her first occasion alone with him – put me on the path I knew was right. The frightening but clear and proper course to justice.
But nothing could have prepared me for the ways in which the legal system would fail my colleague and me so thoroughly, or for the irreversible impact of entering – on our law firm’s advice – into a damages contract containing extreme confidentiality clauses, otherwise known as a non-disclosure agreement, or NDA.
Due to the enormous disparity of power and wealth between Weinstein and ourselves, we were given no choice but to sign the agreement. The NDA not only forbade us from talking about Weinstein’s behaviour, but also about our entire career at Miramax – to family, friends, medical practitioners including therapists, even to HMRC if questioned about the damages payment. We were to use our “best endeavours” to limit what we said in anyfuture criminal or civil action taken against him, and let him know if we were approached . We were not even allowed to have a copy of the document that was to control our lives “in perpetuity”. And it seemed clear to us that we could face jail and financial ruin if we breached it.
My attempt to report on Weinstein’s behaviour cost me my career. While he collected Oscars, I endured job interviews where men openly questioned me about my “relationship” with Weinstein, but I was gagged from telling the truth. The inability to find a job or speak freely drove me to move my life abroad.
Today Weinstein is in an LA jail, awaiting a verdict from an LA court at his second trial for sexual assault and rape. He is already serving 23 years for sexual assault. She Said, the film about the two New York Times journalists who broke the story, is playing in cinemas around the world, exposing how his reign of terror came to be and the mechanisms that protected him. So why am I still having to talk about this issue, five years on from breaking my NDA to those New York Times journalists? I had believed that by uncovering the system that enabled Weinstein and others in power, things would change. In many places they have, but not here in the UK.
Over the past 25 years NDAs have become the default solution for settling cases of sexual misconduct, racism, pregnancy discrimination and many other human rights violations. They are sold as helping the victim by protecting their name, where in fact a simple one-sided confidentiality clause would do that. In reality NDAs serve only to protect an employer’s reputation and the career of the perpetrator, allowing abusers to continue their behaviour while victims lose both their jobs and the ability to warn others about the individual or the workplace. Settling an employment dispute involves agreeing not to take any further legal action – it should not be a deal to protect or hide abuse.
Zelda Perkins, former personal assistant to Harvey Weinstein, speaks to Parliament’s women and equalities committee in 2018. Photograph: Reuters
In 2018 I, along with others, gave testimony to the women and equalities select committee about how NDAs were being abused in the UK. The Conservative government vowed it would “end NDAs being used unethically” but the recommendations of the select committee and the following consultation by the Department for Business, Energy and Industrial Strategy were ignored. Not one change has been made. And so in workplaces across the country, abusers are still protected – and every week my email inbox is full of desperate messages from people (mostly women) being forced into silence.
They come from all industries – media organisations, corporations and public services. From the testimonies and data we are collecting, we know that NDAs also have a disproportionate impact on those who are already vulnerable. Black women are three times more likely to sign an NDA than white women. Women are five times more likely to sign an NDA than men.
But it doesn’t have to be like this, as we can see from progress in the US, Canada, Ireland and Australia. Over the last five years 15 US states have changed their legislation around NDAs and this November, in a historic move, Joe Biden supported a bill through Congress stopping the use of NDAs in cases of sexual misconduct. Ironically, on the same day, our deputy prime minister, Dominic Raab, claimed in the House of Commons, when questioned about an alleged NDA, that it was merely a “confidentiality agreement”. As a lawyer, he well knows the two are one and the same.
Although it is shocking that in the UK the legal mechanism that protected Weinstein is still protecting abusers, there are glimmers of hope. Earlier this year the Department for Education, in conjunction with Can’t Buy My Silence, the campaign I co-founded with Prof Julie Macfarlane in 2021, introduced a voluntary pledge for UK universities and colleges of higher education to stop using NDAs. So far 60% in Englandhave signed up, meaning 1.5 million students are protected from being gagged about abuse.
The common sense behind this call has clearly been heard elsewhere – as last week the Lords added an amendment to the new higher education freedom of speech bill, banning the use of NDAs in universities and colleges in cases of sexual harassment, bullying or discrimination. If this becomes law then there is an even clearer signal to our government that it is time to change the system and outlaw this legal tool in all workplaces. To add to this the government has just backed legislation that would make sexual harassment in the street a criminal offence – this is a huge stride, at last acknowledging and protecting women from the daily abuses they endure.
There is nothing ethical about a legal agreement that hides bullying, racism or any form of assault and works purely to protect powerful wrongdoers. It would be both morally correct and economically wise to ban the use of NDAs. What a legacy it would be if Rishi Sunak were to make all workplaces safer and more productive – protecting not just women but anyone who faces discrimination or harassment.
Britain is sick. The number of people claiming disability benefits has doubled in a year. Working-age deaths (that did not involve Covid-19) are on the rise. As Andy Haldane, former chief economist of the Bank of England, put it in a speech recently: “For the first time, probably since the Industrial Revolution . . . health and wellbeing are in retreat”.
The consequences for the country’s economy have been well chewed over. A rising share of people are now too unwell to work, which makes it harder to tame inflation and boost growth. Understandably, then, “How can we get people back to work?” is the question policymakers keep asking. But what if work itself is part of the problem?
By many metrics, work is less dangerous to our health than it used to be, especially in a country like the UK where the manufacturing and mining sectors have shrunk so much. Musculoskeletal disorders, which used to be the biggest cause of work-related ill-health, have declined steadily over the past few decades.
But while work has become less physically dangerous, it seems to have become more psychologically dangerous. Work-related stress, depression and anxiety began to rise about a decade ago. This surged during the pandemic and now accounts for half of all work-related illness.
Why might that be? We know from government-sponsored survey data that there has been an intensification of work in recent decades across all types of jobs from delivery drivers to corporate lawyers. People are more likely now than in the 1990s to say they work fast and hard to tight deadlines.
There has also been a drop in the level of control people have over how they work, particularly among lower-paid workers. Between 1992 and 2017, the share of low-paid workers who report that they have a say in decisions which affect their work fell from 44 per cent to 27 per cent, with particularly steep drops among hospitality and retail workers.
Research shows the combination of high demands and low control at work — known in the academic literature as “job strain” — is bad for mental and physical health. One US study, which followed more than 52,000 working women over four years, found that job strain was associated with a greater increase in body mass index, for example.
Last week, I interviewed a woman who works in a casino. She works on her feet for 10 hours from 6pm to 4am, gets home, grabs a few hours sleep, then gets up to take her daughter to school. People at the casino often suffer from relationship breakdowns because of the hours, she says.
The work can be gruelling too. “It’s really mentally hard work sometimes, the hours are not helping us, sometimes [customers] come in drunk at 3am and you are so tired, and they are just swearing at you, so drunk you can’t handle them on the table but you have to do it because it’s your job.”
Her employer used to do things to make the job easier to cope with, but they have all been stripped away. The free warm dinner is gone, as is the break that was long enough to eat it. The taxi home at 4am is gone. The Christmas bonus is gone. The night premium has gone. “Lately it’s very often happening that people are leaving because they are depressed,” she told me.
Plenty of countries have experienced similar trends in the quality of work in certain sectors, so why might the UK be struggling more than most?
Perhaps because the countervailing mechanisms that could protect workers from these trends — the “protective shield”, as Jennifer Dixon of the Health Foundation puts it — are particularly weak in Britain. The country is bad at enforcing its own labour laws, as the P&O debacle showed this year when the company sacked hundreds of sailors without any consultation in what lawyers call an “efficient breach” of employment law. Trade union membership has declined sharply in the private sector. The Health and Safety Executive’s budget has been cut.
None of this is to say that work is entirely to blame for the nation’s worsening health. There are plenty of other possible causes, from processed foods to rising loneliness and social media, not to mention the pandemic itself and the strain on the NHS.
But I don’t think any discussion of the country’s health is complete without a clear-eyed look at the reality of life in the UK labour market for those who don’t have decent jobs. Good quality work is beneficial for health. But if we just try to patch people up and push them back into jobs that were making them sick, we won’t get anywhere at all.
A country that prided itself on stability has seemed to be in free-fall. Whodunnit? asks The Economist
| GRANTHAM
The driveway dips as you approach Belton House, the gold-hued façade rising before you as the road tilts up again. Passing through a marble-floored hall to the ornate saloon, early visitors would have admired a portrait of the original master’s daughter with a black attendant. For a while, says Fiona Hall of the National Trust, a heritage charity that these days owns the property, servants came and went from the kitchen wing through a discreet tunnel. A magnificent staircase led finally to a rooftop cupola, and views of an estate that stretched beyond the horizon.
Built in the 1680s, the idyllic mansion embodies a costume-drama view of Britain’s past that is widely cherished at home and abroad. Its location in Lincolnshire makes it emblematic in another way: in the heart of England, in a region that in 2016 voted decisively for Brexit, and on the outskirts of Grantham, a typical market town that was the birthplace of Margaret Thatcher, the country’s most important post-war prime minister. Previously the venue for a murder-mystery evening featuring suspects in period dress, this history-laden spot is an apt place to ponder a different sort of mystery. Who nobbled Britain?
Alas, the victim is in a parlous state. A country that likes to think of itself as a model of phlegmatic common sense and good-humoured stability has become an international laughing stock: three prime ministers in as many months, four chancellors of the exchequer and a carousel of resigning ministers, some of them repeat offenders. “The programme of the Conservative Party,” declared Benjamin Disraeli in 1872, “is to maintain the constitution of the country.” The latest bunch of party leaders have broken their own laws, sidelined official watchdogs, disrespected Parliament and dishonoured treaties.
Not just a party, or a government, but Britain itself can seem to be kaput. England’s union with Scotland, cemented not long after Belton House was built, is fraying. Real incomes have flatlined since the crash of 2008, with more years of stagnation to come as the economy limps behind those of most other rich countries. The reckless tax-slashing mini-budget in September threatened to deliver the coup de grâce. The pound tanked, markets applied a “moron premium” to British sovereign debt and the Bank of England stepped in to save the government from itself.
Today the economy is entering recession, inflation is rampant and pay strikes are disrupting railways, schools and even hospitals. The National Health Service (nhs), the country’s most cherished institution, is buckling. Millions of people are waiting for treatment in hospitals. Ambulances are perilously scarce.
In Grantham, a town of neat red-brick terraced houses, half-timbered pubs and 45,000 residents, the malaise shows up in a penumbra of hardship. Amid staff shortages in the nhs—and an uproar—the local emergency-care service has been cut back. Immured in stacks of nappies and cornflakes at the food bank he runs, Brian Hanbury says demand is up by 50% on last year, and is set to rocket as heating bills bite. Rachel Duffey of PayPlan, a debt-solutions firm that is one of the biggest local employers, predicts that need for help with debts is “about to explode” nationwide, as people already feeling the pinch come to the end of fixed-rate mortgage deals. As for the mini-budget: “It was a shambles,” laments Jonathan Cammack, steward of Grantham Conservative Club.
Natural causes
Whodunnit? A rich cast of suspects is implicated in the debacle. Some are obvious, others lurk in the shadows of history, seeping poison rather than dealing sudden blows. A few are outsiders, but as in many of the spookiest mysteries, most come from inside the house.
To begin with, Britons with long memories may detect a familiar condition: a government that has reached decrepit old age. A parliamentary remark in October about soon-to-quit Liz Truss—“the prime minister is not under a desk”—brought to mind immortal lines from the death-spiral of the Labour administration that lasted from 1997 to 2010. Then the chancellor referred to the prime minister’s henchmen as “the forces of hell”; “Home secretary’s husband put porn on expenses”, newspapers reported. In the mid-1990s, at the fag-end of Tory rule that began in 1979, a run of mps were caught with their pants down or their fingers in the till in another relay of shame.
Britain seems trapped in a doom loop of superannuated governments which, after a term or two of charismatic leadership and reformist vim, wind up bereft of talent, sinking in their own mistakes and wracked by backbench rebellions; in office but barely in power. Eventually routed at the polls, it then takes the guilty parties several parliamentary terms to recover. In opposition, both Labour and the Tories have determinedly learned the wrong lessons from defeat before alighting on the right ones. In a system with two big parties, for either to lose its mind is dangerous. For both to do so at once—as happened when, amid recent Tory convulsions, Labour was led by Jeremy Corbyn, a hard-left throwback—is a calamity.
“A family with the wrong members in control,” George Orwell wrote of the English. Yet a repeating cycle of senile governments does not, by itself, explain the national plight. Those previous administrations never plumbed the depth of disarray the current lot has reached. Something else has struck a country that has spewed out ruinous policies and a sequence of leaders resembling a reverse ascent of man: from plausible but glib David Cameron, to out-of-her-depths Theresa May, disgraceful Boris Johnson and then Ms Truss, probably the worst premier in modern history. Philip Cowley of Queen Mary University of London says that, in bygone days, Rishi Sunak would at this stage of his career have been a junior Treasury minister, rather than the latest prime minister.
Violence has been inflicted on the body politic—most brazenly, by Brexit, in the referendum, with 52%. Parties in power for over a decade are bound to scrape the bottom of the talent barrel. In this case, much of the Tory barrel was poured down the drain when support for Brexit became a prerequisite for office. The outcome has been rule by chancers and cranks. Mr Johnson’s Brexit machinations put him in Downing Street; the tribalism that the campaign fostered kept him there for much longer than he deserved. Brexit has wrecked the Tory party—and yet it is, broadly speaking, the side that won.
Brexit has also institutionalised lying in British politics, as the dishonesty of Brexiteer promises segued into the pretence that they are being fulfilled. They are not. “Nothing much has changed,” says Mr Cammack in Grantham. “Life just keeps going on.” But some things have changed for the worse. Investment is down and inflation higher than it would have been inside the European Union. Labour, skilled and otherwise, is scarce. Farmers are losing crops for want of workers. In Lincolnshire, says Johanna Musson of the National Farmers Union, tulip-growers are especially fretful. The county’s exports have fallen as, across Britain, Brexit-induced red tape leads some businesses to give up on European markets altogether.
In 1975, during an earlier strike-hit era, Britain held another referendum on its relationship with Europe. Roy Jenkins, a pro-Europe statesman, predicted that, if it left, it would wind up in “an old people’s home for faded nations”. Give or take a detour to the lunatic asylum, that judgment looks prescient. The economy is floundering and the country’s international prestige is plummeting: precisely the future Brexit was meant to avoid.
Still, as any murder-mystery aficionado knows, the obvious suspect is rarely the right one. In the curious case of Britain’s decline, Brexit is as much a weapon as the ultimate culprit.
The hand of history
Many of the factors behind the decision to leave have roughed up other countries, too. Lots of people on both sides of the Atlantic crave simple answers to complex questions, and populists have provided them. Faith in mainstream parties has waned, even as expectations of government have risen. The line between politics and entertainment has blurred, aggravating, in Britain, an old reluctance to take thingstooseriously, and a weakness for wits and eccentrics who cock a snook at convention. That is less damaging when there is substance behind their insouciance and discipline beneath the panache.
Ben Page, the boss of Ipsos, a global research firm, points to what he terms the “loss of the future”, common across the West but acute in Britain. In 2008, as the financial crisis struck, only 12% of Britons thought youngsters would have a worse quality of life than their parents, Mr Page notes. Now that figure is 41%. As elsewhere, people worry about immigration and feel threatened by globalisation. All this makes Britain’s predicament seem less an inside job than part of a wider takedown of democracy.
But other likely suspects lurk in the attic of British history. One grew up down the road from Belton House. The grocer’s shop in Grantham above which Margaret Roberts, later Thatcher, was born is now a chiropractor and beautician. A statue of her put up earlier this year was quickly egged and defaced (she endured worse in real life). Her legend still looms over the country—particularly her Conservative Party.
Thatcher’s 11-year rule was an amalgam of caution, patience, luck and boldness. But among some Tories it is often misremembered as a prolonged ecstasy of tax-cutting, fight-picking, union-bashing and shouting “No, no, no” at Brussels. The rows over Europe that erupted on her watch rumbled on till the referendum of 2016. For some, she bequeathed a hunch that if economic policy doesn’t hurt, it isn’t working. Her ousting nurtured a lasting taste for party bloodletting. To court Tory members, Ms Truss even seemed to mimic Thatcher’s wardrobe. (It took just 81,326 of them to put her in Downing Street.)
Peer deeper into the past and more evidence comes to light. Recall, for instance, that painting in the saloon at Belton House, of the girl and her black attendant, possibly a slave. Her family, the Brownlows, had links to both Caribbean plantations and the East India Company, which helps explain the house’s splendid collection of Asian porcelain. The wider legacy of Britain’s former empire, runs a plausible theory, is a gnawing sense of unmet expectations and a fatal delusion of grandeur over the country’s place in the world.
For Sathnam Sanghera, author of “Empireland”, a powerful book about the largely unspoken effects of imperialism, “the original sin behind Brexit is empire.” The circumstances in which that empire was lost may have redoubled the psychic blow: in the wake of the second world war, during which, at least in the popular memory, Britain stood nobly alone against the Nazi onslaught. Afterwards it found itself diminished, broke and outdone by erstwhile foes, nurturing entwined feelings of greatness and grievance and haunted by phantom invasions. As the Irish author Fintan O’Toole has quipped, “England never got over winning the war.” In his view, Brexit was “imperial England’s last last stand”.
Perhaps not quite the last. Even now you can hear an echo of imperial hubris in the tendency of some British politicians to talk to eu negotiators, or the international bond markets, as if they were waiters in a Mediterranean bistro, liable to comply if only you repeat yourself loudly enough. It resounds in hollow boasts about having the best health care or army (or football team) in the world, in the yen to “punch above our weight”, and in the pursuit of a pure sort of sovereignty which, in an age of climate change, pandemics and imported gas, no longer exists.
“Until we face up to our history,” thinks Mr Sanghera, “we’re just going to carry on being dysfunctional.” On this analysis, the unravelling of Britain is a kind of karma.
In the 18th century, with a shrug
Maybe. Yet imperialism, greatness and all that have always been more an elite preoccupation than a popular one. In his enlightening new book, “The Strange Survival of Liberal Britain”, Vernon Bogdanor of King’s College London cites a survey of Britons conducted in 1951, when the loss of empire ought to have been most raw. Half of respondents couldn’t name a single colony (one suggested Lincolnshire). Odd as it is to say of a country that for centuries ruled swathes of the world, it may not be ruptures like the end of empire or Brexit that have done in modern Britain, but, less dramatically, a kind of long-term drift; not violence, in other words, but neglect.
Think back to the era in which Belton House was built. After the execution of Charles I in 1649 and the short-lived English Commonwealth, the monarchy had been restored. Compared with other European nations, the English got their big revolution done early—but then thought better of it, afterwards nudging forwards to constitutional monarchy and democracy. This piecemeal approach has characterised the country’s political evolution ever since. Walter Bagehot, a great Victorian editor of The Economist, noted the habit of compromising on thorny constitutional issues—or ducking them. “The hesitating line of a half-drawn battle was left to stand for a perpetual limit,” he wrote of such botches, and “succeeding generations fought elsewhere.”
Booby traps were often left behind. One lies in the fuzzy and weak restraints on the British executive. As Lord Hailsham, a Tory grandee, warned in 1976, a government with a secure majority in the House of Commons has an inbuilt tendency towards “elective dictatorship”. The House of Lords, which is meant to scrutinise legislation, is the fudge par excellence. In an absurd backroom deal of 1999, the hereditary peers who once dominated it were ejected—except for 92 of them. They are still there; when one dies, another is elected to replace him. Those are the only elections to Parliament’s upper chamber.
It is hard to see many other countries tolerating such a farrago. Meanwhile, a gentlemanly understanding that leaders would regulate their personal behaviour, once known as the “good chaps” theory of government, did not survive contact with Mr Johnson. As when a mob realises the rule of law is a confidence trick, it turned out that a few good shoves could dispense with much of the flimflam of oversight.
Or consider the myopic attitudes of successive governments to devolution. When it created the Scottish Parliament, Sir Tony Blair’s Labour administration did not fully anticipate the subsequent surge in English nationalism. Nor did it foresee how, after taking office in Edinburgh, the canny, pro-independence Scottish National Party (snp) would enjoy both the dignity of power and the sheen of opposition to Westminster. Now Brexit is inflicting more casual vandalism on the union, undermining support for it in Scotland and Northern Ireland, which both voted to remain in the eu.
Whereas once Scottish independence was an in-or-out proposition, says Sir John Curtice of the University of Strathclyde, it has become a choice between competing unions, British and European. As the snp vows to rejoin the eu, some Scottish Remainers who had rejected independence are embracing the idea. For some in Northern Ireland, explains Katy Hayward of Queen’s University Belfast, the mere fact of Brexit made a united Ireland more desirable; the region’s awkward post-Brexit position has led still more to think unification is likelier than it was before. Across Britain, a majority thinks the union will fall apart. It is not on the cards yet, but one day Britain may dissolve itself by accident.
Drift and neglect have undermined more than the constitution and the union. David Kynaston, the pre-eminent historian of 20th-century England, invokes Sir Siegmund Warburg, a German-born banker who helped shake up the City (on the slide as an equity market in the aftermath of Brexit). Warburg detested the British fondness for the phrase, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” As Mr Kynaston observes, Britain is not a place that is “good at grasping the nettle”.
With some glaring, uncharacteristic exceptions—Thatcher’s battle with the coal miners, the bust-up over Brexit—Britain tends to dislike confrontation, especially the ideological kind, perhaps a legacy of the civil war. It prefers irony to ideas and douses plain-speaking in good manners; its people have a quaint instinct to apologise when a stranger steps on their foot. Alongside this squeamishness, says Mr Kynaston, runs a “deep-dyed anti-intellectual empiricism”, and an inclination to tackle problems “pragmatically, as and when they arise, not looking for trouble in advance”.
This reticence has costs, not least through its complicity in the underpowered economy. Consider the glacial planning regime, or—an even more venerable problem—the skewed education system. It produces a narrow elite, dominated for too long by the alumni of a few private schools: Brexit and the mini-budget can both be traced to the playing fields of Eton, attended by Mr Johnson, Mr Cameron, who botched the referendum, and Kwasi Kwarteng, very briefly the chancellor. Less conspicuous, but at least as damaging, is the country’s long educational tail.
It has recently made some progress in international education rankings, but a stubborn quarter or so of 11-year-olds in England are unable to read at the expected level. A higher share of teenage boys are not in work, education or training than in most other rich countries. As for those who stay in the classroom: the “greater part of what is taught in schools and universities…does not seem to be the most proper preparation” for “the business which is to employ [students] during the remainder of their days.” That was Adam Smith in “The Wealth of Nations”, published in 1776. Employers make similar complaints in 2022.
In a post-imperial, post-industrial, ever-more competitive world, all that contributes to a skills shortage and a long-term productivity gap with other advanced economies. The fat years under Sir Tony and Gordon Brown disguised these shortcomings—until the crash, when it became clear that the boom they oversaw was over-reliant on financial services and public and private debt. Using the fruits of Thatcherite economics to fund a more generous state had seemed a political elixir; it turned out to be a fair-weather formula. In the kindest of circumstances, New Labour left some of the hardest problems unsolved. Most new jobs went to foreign-born workers. The number of working-age adults receiving welfare benefits barely shifted.
The cradle of the Industrial Revolution has not yet found a secure niche in the 21st-century economy. Nor has it figured out how to pay sustainably for the sort of public services that Britons expect. If, in the matter of Britain’s meltdown, Thatcher is an accessory before the fact, so is Sir Tony.
The country-house red herring
In the upstairs-downstairs, country-house vision of Britain, the country is a museum of class, with overlords surveying their lands and minions scurrying below stairs as they once did at Belton House. Famously, Disraeli wrote of “two nations”, the rich and the poor, as distinct as “inhabitants of different planets”. England, especially, is indeed a class-ridden place, whose denizens still make snap judgments about each other’s backgrounds based on accents, shoes and haircuts. Too many at the bottom of the ladder cannot see a way up it. Some at the top still benefit from unearned deference. Politicians often share this binary outlook, thinking the business of government is to squeeze the rich and comfort the poor, or vice versa.
But Disraeli’s formulation is too crude for 21st-century Britain. After generations of muddling through, it is in large part a country of people who are not exactly poor but are by no means rich. Instead they are “just about managing”, as Mrs May, the last prime minister but two, described them.
Take Grantham, a constituency in which the average income in 2020 was £25,600 ($32,900), just below the national median. (This year, Britain’s gdp per person will be more than 25% lower than America’s, measured at purchasing-power parity.) Amid the cost-of-living squeeze, says Mr Hanbury at the food bank, not only households that rely on welfare benefits but nurses and teachers are coming unstuck: “People live so close to the edge.”
It is only a 70-minute train ride to London, but power in Westminster seems remote, reflects Father Stuart Cradduck of St Wulfram’s, a lovely medieval church behind Grantham’s low-slung high street. Lincolnshire, he says, feels like a “forgotten county”. Kelham Cooke, the leader of the local council, says young people who leave for university often don’t come back. Regional inequality is another old, hard problem that successive British governments have only desultorily tackled, watching on as London sucked in talent and capital and other places fell behind.
There is something to be said for drift; or, to put it another way, gradualism. A “highly original quality of the English”, Orwell wrote in 1947, “is their habit of not killing one another.” By slowly expanding the franchise and incorporating the labour movement into democratic politics, Britain avoided continental-style extremism in the 19th and 20th centuries. When liberalism perished elsewhere in Europe in the 1930s, observes Mr Bogdanor, it survived in Britain. Compared with places such as France or Italy, where the far right is resurgent—or with ultrapolarised America—it is healthy in Britain still. Ms Truss’s stint in Downing Street was inglorious, but, Mr Bogdanor notes, she was removed quietly and efficiently, without riots or fuss. The flawed parliamentary system worked.
So drift can be benign. But it can also take you into a cul-de-sac—or off a cliff. In Britain it has led to economic mediocrity and disgruntlement, which in turn contributed to the yelp of Brexit and the desperate magical thinking of the mini-budget. Senile governments, self-inflicted wounds, the blowback of empire, corrosive global trends, the spectres of bygone leaders: they are all accomplices. But the main cause of Britain’s woe belongs less at a crime scene than in a school report. In the end, it didn’t try hard enough.
Even when they say they want more prosperity, they act as if they don’t writes The Economist
The prospect of recession might loom over the global economy today, but the rich world’s difficulties over growth are graver still. The long-run rate of growth has dwindled alarmingly, contributing to problems including stagnant living standards and fulminating populists. Between 1980 and 2000, gdp per person grew at an annual rate of 2.25% on average. Since then the pace of growth has sunk to about 1.1%.
Although much of the slowdown reflects immutable forces such as ageing, some of it can be reversed. The problem is that reviving growth has slid perilously down politicians’ to-do lists. Their election manifestos are less focused on growth than before, and their appetite for reform has vanished.
The latter half of the 20th century was a golden age for growth. After the second world war a baby boom produced a cohort of workers who were better educated than any previous generation and who boosted average productivity as they gained experience. In the 1970s and 1980s women in many rich countries flocked into the workforce.
The lowering of trade barriers and the integration of Asia into the world economy later led to much more efficient production. Life got better. In 1950 nearly a third of American households were without flush toilets. By 2000 most had at least two cars.
Many of those growth-boosting trends have since stalled or gone into reverse. The skills of the labour force have stopped improving as fast. Ever more workers are retiring, women’s labour-force participation has flattened off and little more is to be gained by expanding basic education. As consumers have become richer, they have spent more of their income on services, for which productivity gains are harder to come by. Sectors like transport, education and construction look much as they did two decades ago. Others, such as university education, housing and health care, are lumbered with red tape and rent-seeking.
Ageing has not just hurt growth directly, it has also made electorates less bothered about gdp. Growth most benefits workers with a career ahead of them, not pensioners on fixed incomes. Our analysis of political manifestos shows that the anti-growth sentiment they contain has surged by about 60% since the 1980s. Welfare states have become focused on providing the elderly with pensions and health care rather than investing in growth-boosting infrastructure or the development of young children. Support for growth-enhancing reforms has withered.
Moreover, even when politicians say they want growth, they act as if they don’t. The twin problems of structural change and political decay are especially apparent in Britain, which since 2007 has managed annual growth in gdp per person averaging just 0.4%. Its failure to build enough houses in its prosperous south-east has hampered productivity, and its exit from the European Union has damaged trade and scared off investment. In September Liz Truss became prime minister by promising to boost growth with deficit-financed tax cuts, but succeeded only in sparking a financial crisis.
Ms Truss fits a broader pattern of failure. President Donald Trump promised 4% annual growth but hindered long-term prosperity by undermining the global trading system. America’s government introduced 12,000 new regulations last year alone. Today’s leaders are the most statist in many decades, and seem to believe that industrial policy, protectionism and bail-outs are the route to economic success. That is partly because of a misguided belief that liberal capitalism or free trade is to blame for the growth slowdown. Sometimes this belief is exacerbated by the fallacy that growth cannot be green.
In fact, demographic decline means that liberal, growth-boosting reforms are more vital than ever. These will not restore the heady rates of the late 20th century. But embracing free trade, loosening building rules, reforming immigration regimes and making tax systems friendly to business investment may add half a percentage point or so to annual per-person growth. That will not put voters in raptures, but today’s growth is so low that every bit of progress matters—and in time will add up to much greater economic strength.
For the time being the West is being made to look good by autocratic China and Russia, which have both inflicted deep economic wounds on themselves. Yet unless they embrace growth, rich democracies will see their economic vitality ebb away and will become weaker on the world stage. Once you start thinking about growth, wrote Robert Lucas, a Nobel-prizewinning economist, “it is hard to think about anything else”. If only governments would take that first step.
