Poppies

Photo by Benry Be, Unsplash

A little under three weeks ago I sat with my youngest son on the crest of the Col du Ranfolly, the Pointe de Nyon to our left; the ridge of the Roc d'Enfer sparkling in a cobalt sky. We'd ordered burgers and fries from a buvette that supplies the skiers who come here for their annual fix of alpine adrenaline. In truth, it's as pre-packaged an experience as the fast-food we were about to tuck into. 

I'm not being critical here, just telling the truth as I see it. And admitting too, that, despite my misgivings, I'm one of those hundreds of thousands for whom the heady cocktail of sociability, snow and sliding is an addictive draw each winter. For all that my favourite skiing is in the back-country, ideally alone or hanging back from the pack, by far the majority is on the groomed pistes that are the manufactured playgrounds of middle-class folk like me.

Perhaps it was the Arcadian nature of our situation that explains why the news hit me so hard. I suspect the subliminal unease in our privilege plays a part too. Of course, it might simply have been the shock of the unthinkable... But whatever the reason, when my son said 'have you seen that they've full-on invaded Ukraine' it suddenly all felt so wrong. 

In the passing of that one sentence, the contrast between the beauty of our location and the horror of wider circumstance became all too clear.  The thought of finishing our food only to career carefree down the slopes seemed grossly inappropriate. I wanted to get back, to return home and take comfort in those I loved…

But if I'm honest my heart sank for less noble reasons too. 

The prospect of another crisis—on top of Brexit and the pandemic and the rising cost of living—surfaced deep, if selfish, anxieties. Will we ever, I wondered, be free of this grinding uncertainty? Is our yearning for security, like Helen Keller claimed, 'mostly superstition'—out of reach of the children of men? Her assertion may well be right in fact, but the longing is real and heartfelt, for few of us are truly stoic by nature.

These last two weeks I've limited my exposure to popular news and certainly avoided social media. Not because I want to hide away but because I'm wary of their amplification of the noise and its impact on my own, and indeed our collective, wellbeing. I know too well the process of generating stories and constructing narratives that do little to improve our knowledge but a lot to worsen our worries. 

Quiet reflection, coupled with a steely resolve to stand by our conclusions, is not what sells newspapers, generates clicks or raises viewer ratings. And yet—for me at least—this internal reasoning is what's most needed to find peace with, rather than panic in, the actions we must now take. 

The historian Yuval Noah Harari spends weeks each year on meditative retreats to see things as they really are. That's not an appropriate response to an international crisis, but perhaps there’s something in it for our coming to terms with the long-term implications of the course we must follow. Might it also help put into perspective our other worries and fixations? As I write these words, I'm conscious that Brexit, the pandemic, the cost of living… all seem so trivial compared to what’s happening a mere few hundred miles from Berlin.

Perhaps then, a tangential benefit of this upheaval is that we might find the courage to focus more on what really matters—not just in geo-politics but in our daily lives too. Is it just possible that in facing into issues that are existentially vital we might begin to abandon our obsessions with the inconsequential and worry less about what cannot be changed? Some of us might even learn to give more thanks for the overwhelming (and largely unearned) good fortune we enjoy? 

It has taken me a fortnight to be able to write this post, the issues—and the feelings they evoke—shapeshifting in my mind. Only gradually has my heartbeat slowed. But with its calming has come a greater acceptance of the realities of the world and the potential for evil which deep down we always knew was there. There’s an affirmation too of what needs to be done and a resolve to see it through rather than wish it away. In some strange way, it almost feels good to have this clarity forced upon us.

So no denial for sure.

Though curiously, and certainly unexpectedly, in reflecting these last two weeks I’ve found myself more hopeful than I might have imagined. If the situation in Ukraine gets worse by the day there is, I sense, a flicker (if not quite a flame) of optimism in the exposure of our delusions and the galvanising shock of a truth that's been hiding in plain sight. There’s a refreshing honesty too in the equally plain actions we’ve taken, and a rare pride in the unity of democratic governments and their recommitment to principles we’d let slide for too long. Am I alone in feeling that this wake-up call is a chance to reset our values (and our policies) to ones that are ethically sound rather than economically convenient? 

This week I'm in Majorca, on a cycle camp that was first booked pre-pandemic. The very fact I'm here on holiday feels more poignant and privileged than it would have three weeks previous. Yesterday, as we rode in the warmth of a soft spring sun one of our group spoke unprompted of the delight she took in her retirement, listing her blessings—financial and otherwise—for all who cared to listen. 

I didn't reply, but I counted my own, more aware than ever of the myriad protections that insulate me and my family from the cold realities faced by millions elsewhere. And as I did so—and this, I promise, is no word of a lie—I looked up from the wheel I’d been following, only to realise that we were riding through a field of poppies.  

Politics and Philosophy - a lesson in two parts

Just over forty years ago I went to university to study politics - it was around the time when Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan were first elected; unemployment was high, the Soviet Union remained a threat, and in my final year, reports from Afghanistan and the Falklands glued us to the TV in the Student's Union bar.

Academic politics is primarily the study of power: the ways it's structured in a world of nation-states and how they interact on the international stage. Whereas most of my fellow students preferred the classes on government and international relations I was drawn to the philosophical side, which looks not so much of how things 'are', as to how they 'ought' to be.

This distinction between the 'is' and the 'ought' is bread and butter stuff to philosophers - it's precisely the point of the exercise in areas such as ethics and justice which became my subsidiary subjects.  By the time I graduated, these were my chief interest and though many friends and family asked if I'd thought of going into public affairs, I understood by then that the two sides of the political coin have very little in common.

In the years since leaving university, I've cultivated a certain disdain for politics and it's proponents. Ironically, given my career in newspapers, I hold much the same view of the media too. For several years I actively stopped reading or viewing any news reports and still today I'm deeply sceptical of the stories that are served up as fact. The prospect of being involved in the political merry-go-round,  even on a minor campaigning basis, has remained about as attractive as the warm milk we were forced to drink at junior school - the removal of which I regard as Margaret Thatcher's best ever decision!

Or at least that was the case until the coronavirus crisis and the monstrous restriction of our civil liberties that continues to be imposed under the guise of public safety.  My use of the word 'monstrous' will make clear how I regard the extended lockdown here in Wales. It's a visceral thing, a sense that just 'is' within me, as much as something I 'ought 'logically to feel - and although I could set out all the arguments here, that's not the point of this piece.

What's relevant is that for the first time in my adult life, I've become a letter writer, a tweeter, a commentator of Facebook. I've followed every welsh politician that matters (to be fair that's not many) and bombarded them with questions; I've signed petitions, written to newspapers, sought out data and read the legislation and scientific advice in full. The National Parks have governance websites that allow you to read their policies - and like me, complain at their closure of huge areas of the countryside and general kowtowing to the wishes of their paymasters.

In part, I've done this by way of experiment. I wanted to see what difference - however small - I might make. If I campaigned hard enough, might anybody actually listen? Along the way, I've learned some of what works and what doesn't - when to challenge and when to stop - which posts get the most likes, and which are more likely to fall on deaf ears. At times it's almost exhilarating and I can see how some might find a purpose in this as a profession.

But most of all I've learned that the process is exhausting.  In fact, it feels like the intellectual equivalent of banging your head against a wall in the hope that someone takes pity on your cries. The reason for which, is that success has absolutely nothing to do with winning the intellectual argument.  Indeed, I should remove 'winning' from that last sentence - for it's now clear to me that political campaigning has almost nothing to do with intellectual rigour at all.

The historian Michael Ignatieff made this point in an interview, reflecting on his time as leader of the Liberal Party of Canada.  Ignatieff is a formidable thinker and yet he described how all the skills he had acquired - and had thought would be helpful - were of little or no use in the political arena.  In politics, the protagonists have an agenda which they pursue regardless of consistency or intellectual merit - those are the niceties of losers.  What matters to lobbyists and politicians is simply to prevail -  and if that means you need to pivot your reasoning or ignore some inconvenient truths, then so be it.

Dominic Cummings wouldn't be concerned - from 'Taking Back Control' to 'Get Brexit Done' he's become the embodiment of a political method that's based on little more than the repetition of populist messages - ideally wrapped in slogans which capture the sentiment but suppresses any critical thought. The recent calls to Stay Home, Save Lives and Protect the NHS are more benign but little different in their veracity.  In a distressing reversal of the academic distinction we began with, politics in practice would has evolved to the art of promoting a partisan view of what 'ought' regardless of the truth of what actually 'is'.

But was it ever any different?

Forty years ago the slogan on billboards across the UK was 'Labour isn't Working'.  It's now famous as the Saatchi and Saatchi campaign which led to the Conservative victory in 1979.  And yet if you look carefully, you'll see that the line of supposed benefit seekers is actually the same twenty people - all of them volunteers from the Hendon Young Conservatives - photographed from different angles. What's even more ironic is that by the end of Thatcher's first term in office, unemployment had more than doubled.

That's a long time ago - and no doubt we'll look back on this crisis and its impact on civil liberties in a different light too.  But for now, I'm done with campaigning,  the toll on my wellbeing is actually too great.  Indeed, the prospect of civil disobedience is actually less stressful and easier to enact than all of that tweeting and letter writing.  In the meantime, I'm off to walk up a mountain where the only gathering is the rooks and the most important distance is the one between me and my darker thoughts.

Breaking with politics ...

This morning's Sunday Times carries an article reporting that more than half of voters think British politics is broken. Evidently, only one in seven of us believes that Labour or Conservative represent the views of the public, and 44% say that the response of MPs to Brexit has damaged their faith in politicians.

Seldom have I empathised more. 

At the height of the referendum, Richard Dawkins argued that the vote was ill-conceived, citing the inability of all but a few technocrats to fathom the consequences of staying in or out of the EU.  On that narrow point, he was probably correct, but his objection misses the rationale of democracy - which is not to arrive at the best answer, but rather, to measure the public sentiment. We each have one vote not because we are equally clever, but because we all have a right to voice our feelings.

Conversely, and at much the same stage in the referendum process,  Michael Gove famously stated that 'people have had enough of experts'.  The statement is logical enough, except that he and every other prominent Brexiteer has subsequently quoted any expert they could find who supports their case. The inconsistency is as staggering as it is brazen.

Watching the Brexit debacle unfold has been simultaneously toe-curling and depressing, not so much for the direction of travel (distressing though that is) as for the quality of the debate.  It's not the intransigence, the lack of listening or even the on-line shouting that annoys me. What I find so disillusioning, is that, after two years of wrangling, in the face of one of the most significant economic and social decision we will make, our politicians still can't bring themselves to speak the truth about their personal views.

And it seems to me that this absence of candour, more than any difference of opinion, is what lies at the root of our collective mistrust.

Take for example Teresa May's shambolic performance on a recent radio talk-in, when asked if she genuinely believed the UK would be better off under her proposed deal than by remaining in the EU? Her stuttering equivocation was palpable, undermining everything else she said, and rightly it made headlines as a result. 

Why could she not simply say something like:

'It's a matter of record that I voted to Remain.  But the referendum result was clear that we should leave, and my duty as Prime Minister is therefore to negotiate the best deal possible for the UK. We can debate whether the proposals achieve this or not, but my view on the benefits of remaining in the EU is no longer relevant.'

Even that answer falls short of what I suspect is the unvarnished truth - for which we would need to change the second sentence to  'I still hold the view that we are better to remain, however, the referendum result was clear...' 

But if Teresa May is equivocal, the hard-line Brexiteers take disingenuity to a new level.

They consistently refuse to answer the conceptual question of whether they would still support our leaving if there were an unambiguous cost to our prosperity?  Instead, they evade the point, replying that they don't believe this will happen, or worse, claiming the question is merely hypothetical!

Someone should tell them that all debate is hypothetical. Every manifesto is hypothetical; every policy proposal is hypothetical, as is every strategy and every claim about future outcomes.  Logically, hypotheticals take the form of 'If P then Q' - note the word 'if' at the start of that statement - politics is all about 'ifs'.

So let me pose what I believe to be the acid-tests of honesty for hard-liners on both sides.

To Brexiteers: "If  it were conclusively shown, to your full satisfaction, that Brexit would harm the UK's long term prosperity - then would you still support leaving the EU?'

And for Remainers: 'If  it were conclusively shown, to your full satisfaction, that Remaining would harm the UK's long term prosperity - then would you still support staying in the EU?'

A simple 'from the heart' answer to these questions would tell us more than all the experts could; more than any debate on the pros and cons of Canada plus or Norway squared - for it would transcend any technical analysis and get to the nub of their motivation.  We'd know more of who our representatives are and where they intellectually come from - which, in a void of facts, is a vital foundation of trust. That our system makes politicians so wary of answering these types of questions, is what lies behind our disillusion and scepticism.

But if they won't take that leap, we can at least ask these questions of ourselves - and by doing so, speak truth to power; maybe even set an example.

Here goes from me:

I'm a staunch Remainer; I support the European idea and believe our prosperity will suffer outside of the EU - furthermore I warm to the concept of a pan European democracy and don't share the desire for national determination that seems to be at the heart of much Brexiteer disdain for the EU.  Even if  I were convinced that we would be marginally better off by leaving, then I would still wish to remain - for I believe the European ideals of collective democracy, freedom and security are something worth paying for.  

That said, I am not blind to alternative outcomes.  If there was categorical evidence that we would be materially more prosperous outside of the EU (let's say with a 5% greater £GDP), then, of course, I'd support our leaving, albeit with a view to maintaining close ties wherever possible. My position is therefore one of principled pragmatism: I would have liked us to stay, even at some cost - but don't hold that view at any price.

There, that wasn't so hard, was it.

Any politicians want to follow me?

In North Korea: lives and lies in the state of truth

John Ruskin once wrote that drawing is as much the art of looking as it is of making marks. What he didn't say, was that there is more to seeing than meets the eye.

Anyone sketching a still life will quickly learn that the negative spaces - the gaps between the subjects - are just as vital as the objects in focus.  Something similar goes on in music - listen to any of the great jazz pianists, and you'll 'hear' the pauses between the notes.

Rory Maclean's and Nick Danziger's latest book IN NORTH KOREA: lives and lies in the state of truth is a masterpiece of what writers call 'show not tell'.  Interviewing a carefully selected (not by them) cast of everyday citizens, they chronicle the daily life and hopes of a farmer, fisherman, soccer player, student, subway attendant...  recording the stories, as told by the participants, always in the presence of Government officials, jotting down every phrase, full stop and comma.

A master of sensitivity, Maclean writes without comment  -  transcribing the assertions of love and loyalty to our dear leader, so accurately, and so frequently, that their emptiness echoes with his sorrow. Danziger's photos are a counterpoint to the verbatim: stark, graphical, at times arrestingly banal - they are disconcertingly rich, yet bereft of feeling.

If only those Government observers had been writers too, they'd have understood what's going on here. At face value, the book is a collection of staged photos and stilted interviews; behind this necessary deceit, its truth lies between the lines.  

IN NORTH KOREA (available only on Kindle) is a short work; more of a non-fiction novella. It was made possible with the help of the British Council, which facilitated access to the usually closed Democratic Republic. I've no doubt Maclean's easygoing diplomacy was put to regular use too - and the project, of course, is especially prescient given recent events. 

A side of me thinks it's a pity the book is exclusive to Kindle. Another - the one that's a fan of digital media - is pleased, for it demonstrates the format can launch important work from leading authors. The colour photographs are best viewed on a tablet version of Kindle, using the app that can be downloaded free of charge. At £2.99 IN NORTH KOREA shouldn't exclude on the basis of price. 

If there's any weakness, to my mind it's the two-page afterword - the only point at which the authors drop their guard to comment briefly on the rising tensions with the West. Perhaps that's inevitable but, to my mind, the stories and pictures are stronger alone - their interpretation best left to the reader, and to time.

In collaborating with such deliberate understatement, Maclean and Danziger have given a subtle and powerful voice to the people they met. For as all writers, photographers - and for that matter, all dictators, know - truth and lies are revealed not so much in what we say, as what is left unsaid.

Democracy - as we know it

Holyrood - the Scottish parliament 

In yesterday's post I suggested that although meritocracy was ingrained in our sense of fairness, it wasn't a concept that people gave much thought to - some weren't even aware of what it meant. The same can't be said for democracy, which is universally understood and is regularly used in our daily decision making as much as it is to elect governments.

We all know what democracy is - the idea that everyone has an equal say regardless of their sex, race, religion - and that the majority view should prevail. It originated in Athens and is arguably the greatest political concept of all time. But it would be a mistake to think too much of past influence - democracy as we know it, is a relatively modern concept.  The UK, for example, only allowed all women to vote as late as 1928!

In Britain, we tend to think of democracy in terms of the Westminster System - we like simple majorities and mistrust complex formulas which suggest weak and unstable government!  Neither do we like American presidential style politics - all a bit brash, and unfathomable. (In truth, very few of us could accurately describe the German or US systems - despite these being the two most successful world economies). No process is perfect we say - if we give it any thought at all - accepting a compromise between our principles and the need to get on with life.

Talking of daily life - we've also adopted democracy as a commonplace way of making decisions. Think of the times it's used at work, in the club house, or in the family, as way of settling disagreements - would that have happened a hundred years ago?  We take this for granted, but there are still huge parts of the World where it wouldn't be.

That said, democracy has been on the rise since the fall of the Soviet Bloc - it's become a byword for freedom and is now universally adopted by the 'Western World'. Democratic institutions are a non-negotiable criteria for entry into the European Union - though significantly, not for the United Nations. Arguably that's correct, because the supremacy of democracy is not without its challenges, and again we compromise for the greater good.

In truth, we compromise extensively at home too. The House of Lords remains absurdly anti-democratic; the Monarchy (sorry, I really do have nothing against them personally) is inherently so; it could be argued our party political system is a means of limiting true democracy - it is rare that a UK Government achieves more than 50% of the vote.

I've heard it said that a benign dictatorship would be the best form of government - what isn't mentioned is that the dictator would need to be a genius. The view also denies something more fundamental - that all citizens should take an interest in their society and its freedoms. Devolution is a topical case in point.

We all know that democracy can be slow and inefficient - and that many contemporary issues (the economy for example) are well beyond the understanding of those of us who vote. The philosopher AC Grayling has argued this is actually a benefit in that it limits repression and bad law too.

Personally, I prefer Karl Popper's assessment - that democracy is the worst possible way to govern a country - bar all the rest!

Untested assertions

The other week, strolling on the beach, I was commenting on the number of dog walkers, when Jane mentioned an item she'd heard on Radio Four. An expert had said that Labradors were now five times more popular than any other breed? 

Nonsense, I replied, I don't believe it.

And with the tide rolling in, I began to rant...  how many Labradors do you see compared to other dogs? No way are there five times more... typical untested journalism... I bet if I look it up at home...

Jane squeezed my arm, snuggling close. You’re such a troubled soul, she laughed. Why can't you just accept some things at face value?  Does it really matter if it's five or four times - or none at all, for all I care. It was only an item on the radio?

In an important sense, she’s right. 

Of course, it doesn’t matter – after all, it was only an item on the radio.  And I know I ought to fight my inner sceptic with a little more vigour – stop questioning the data, cease looking for logical flaws; frankly, to let things go.  If nothing else, I’d receive fewer kicks under the table when friends come round.

But in another, equally important, sense, she’s perhaps missing the point.

At times, I worry we’re so accepting of unproven assertions that we’re losing the ability to reason from common sense.  Journalism is not what it once was – not that it was ever much – and in today’s climate the newspapers contain little more than press releases and wire copy. Only a tiny percentage of what is put out as ‘fact’ is properly verified. The broadcast media is little better; the Internet an encyclopedia of potential misinformation.

It took me two minutes on Google to confirm (from three different sources) that the ‘five times’ quote was inaccurate – either Jane misheard or the ‘expert’ on Labradors was wildly exaggerating. Of course, it wasn’t entirely wrong: it’s correct that Labradors are the most popular of the pedigree breeds in the UK and USA. But even if we ignore the cross breeds (which seems to me, a massively unwarranted omission), the maximum multiple would be two or three times.

Acceptance of unproven assertions is amplified by our tendency to defer to ‘authority’ figures. It’s significant that the guy on the radio was a so-called ‘expert’ – and while a misleading statistic on domestic dogs is hardly likely to have repercussions – when it comes to politics, or economics, or medical science, why do we think the assertions are any more accurate?

Even as I write that last line I can sense some people huffing defensively – come on Mark, there’s more accuracy and verification on important political matters; the facts are clearer in these instances; and the media might be bad at some things, but surely it has standards for basic facts that we can trust?  The answers I’m afraid are: no, no and no again.

As an antidote to the blatant nonsense, we are fed by the media, I’d recommend three books.  Jamie Whyte’s Bad Thoughts:a guide for clear thinking is a witty and cutting deconstruction of the inadequate logic and unproven assertions that surround us.  Nick Davies’ Flat Earth News is a damning exposé of the standards in press and media. And Ben Goldacre’s Bad Science, is worth reading if only for the chapter on Dr Gillian McKeith (or, quoting Goldacre, to use her full medical title: Gillian McKeith).

None of these are difficult books – they're not particularly philosophic or technical – in essence, they are applied common sense.  Read any one and I’ll bet your inner sceptic is awakened; read all three and you might become as cynical as me. 

But in truth it shouldn’t take books to convince us something is wrong – my most potent bullshit sensor is simply to ask; does that assertion match my experience? Hardly an infallible approach, but after fifty two years on this earth, it's not a bad starting point either.

That said, the other day I mentioned to Jane I’d heard a commentator on the radio claiming one in three of the UK population now has a tattoo.

Nonsense, she replied, I don’t believe it…

And she’s quite right too.

The trouble with pensions - part 2 (public sector)

No review of UK pensions can be complete without a discussion of the divide between the private and public sector. Unfortunately, that word 'discussion' is pretty rare in practice - instead we have, on the one hand, public sector unions screaming hysterically at any suggestion of change, and on the other, an ill-informed press, printing headlines that border on scaremongering.

The truth is somewhere between the two, and frankly, there isn't space here for detailed financial analysis.  But what is undeniable is that the public sector has seen comparatively little change over the last twenty years.  Meanwhile, as I described in my last post, successive governments have stood by and watched the wholesale dismantling of comparable schemes in the private sector.

The end result is what's been described as a pensions apartheid - with the vast majority of citizens now dependent on self-invested funds (known as Direct Contribution schemes), whilst workers in the public sector continue to enjoy what are stratospherically better terms, underpinned by the taxpayer, inflation linked, and often with early retirement thrown in...

To understand why this disparity has come about, it's important first to return to the old company schemes and specifically, the way they were funded.

In simple terms, company schemes were financed by contributions from members and the sponsoring employer. Over many years these contributions grow and are invested, typically in stocks and bonds, with the proceeds paying for the pensions of members.  There are strict rules to ensure the funds have enough cash and investments to cover the projected future payments.  And CRUCIALLY, if there is a shortfall, the employer has to make up the difference!

What happened in the private sector - putting the whole issue in a nutshell - is that companies realised they could no longer afford to fund these schemes. As the population began to age the shortfalls (known as pension deficits) were becoming enormous - in many cases bigger than than the entire value of the sponsoring company.  Over a few years, virtually every large UK company closed their final salary schemes.

It's important also to understand - despite the hysteria of the TUC and the conspiracy theorists -  that most of them did this with a heavy heart. In the vast majority of cases, those making the decision would be directly affected and there was deep concern over the impact on long serving employees. But ultimately, it was not in anyone's interest to continue with what had become unsustainable schemes.

Last week I read an otherwise rather good paper which argued that public sector pensions should not be changed - two wrongs, it said, don't make a right!  But in this regard, the paper is missing the point - the companies were not 'wrong' to make these decisions; to have continued would  have bankrupted them and left pensioners in the lurch. Sure, there were some which took advantage, some were less scrupulous and generous than others - but the basic point is undeniable: companies could no longer afford to fund pensions schemes to the level we had all become used to!

So why was so little done in the public sector?

Well, here we have to get into generalities. But the key reason is that the majority of public sector schemes do not have accumulated funds - instead, the member contributions go directly to the government and the taxpayer picks up all responsibility for future payments.  There are not the same rules for funding; not the same rules for how early retirement should be accounted for; not the same prospect of bankruptcy - in short, there is not the same incentive to change.

The result is an almost inestimable deficit, which continues to grow, and though not included in our calculation of public debt, it will soon (at a low-end estimate) cost every single taxpayer £1200 p.a.! In my last post, I described certain aspects of public sector pensions as 'verging on the immoral' -  it is largely this deficit I had in mind. The failure of successive governments (and the recent Hutton Report) to deal with this, is something future generations will pay very dearly for indeed. We are talking about trillions and trillions of pounds.

The trouble though, with any debate on public sector pensions is it depends where you stand - not surprisingly everyone I've met who works in the sector will defend their pension vigorously, but then they're hardly objective are they!  I believe I've demonstrated over many previous posts that I care deeply about pensions, that I want to see a better system in place for my children, that we lack vision and courage - that we have to stop the rot. And yet even I can't accept that what we have in the public sector is any way fair or good for society as a whole.

It's no doubt possible to present the figures above in a different way, to argue that we need to avoid a 'race for the bottom', to claim that certain parts of the public sector (the armed forces for example) are a special case. But ultimately, we have to answer one single question - why should the public sector have substantially better arrangements than that which the government deems right for everyone else?

And the honest truth is I can't answer that with any rigour.

The Government has recently introduced a quasi compulsory pension plan known as 'auto-enrolment' - it has been lauded as a scheme that will ensure every worker has a decent pension. And to give you some idea, an average wage earner participating in that scheme for their entire working life might just, if they are lucky, accrue a pension equivalent to 25% of their wage - almost certainly not index-linked, and extremely limited in its guarantees and other benefits. A public sector worker on the same wage and working over the same period would enjoy a pension of upwards of 50%, index linked, spouses pensions, etc, etc.

I could go on about the unfairness of public sector pensions.  Why, when the minimum pension age was raised to 55, was the Police Service 'red circled' to allow their pensions to be taken from as low as age 48?  Why were so many public sector workers (estimated at millions of retirees) given enhanced packages that would never be justified in the commercial sector? Why do those 'funded schemes' such as exist in local government, not have to adhere to the same recovery schemes as the private sector?

My own family reading this blog may wince (they include three teachers, all early retired; one policeman soon to retire; my brothers are a teacher and a nurse; my late father was a policeman retired age 50).  I'm not saying they don't deserve their pensions - but I am saying they would never have got them in the private sector today, and that at some point this disparity has to stop. For my close family also has eight children and young adults - we have to also think about them.

Of course, it could be argued (to some extent it was by Lord Hutton) that the State should set an example - and that by doing so it encourages best practice in the commercial sector. If I thought this were true, I'd support it - but, sadly, there is not a scrap of evidence to show that companies will change course.  What's more, the recent Government changes to pension funding makes it almost impossible for them to do so. The truth is, the old company schemes are dead and they will not be replaced. And this is why I passionately believe public sector pensions must change too. For only then will we see the creativity and vision needed to improve pensions for everyone.

If you want me to pin my colours to the mast, I'd like to see a system that is broadly universal - that makes saving compulsory regardless of earnings - that pays out near to 35% of salary by retirement age - that is capped at roughly £50,000 p.a. so very high earners can't use it as tax haven - that is index-linked and not eroded by means tested benefits - that can be calculated with a high degree of certainty - that can be bequeathed in the event of deaths.  In other words, a system that lies somewhere between the public and private sector norms - a half way house that is fairer for everyone.

All that is possible, but only if we pool our resources and not if we continue to over-egg schemes for 20% of the population whilst constantly cutting those which apply to the rest. It is not a matter of reducing what we pay for pensions as a whole, nor is it a matter of racing to the bottom - rather, it is a matter of paying more ( a great deal more if necessary)  but spreading that cost and its benefits more evenly.

And above all of this, there is simply a question about the kind of society we want to live in. I want one that offers the prospect of a decent retirement for all, not one that's riven by envy and division in old age  - nor, at the other end of life's spectrum, one in which young people are forced to make career choices based on a fear of old age.  I want one that is shaped by neither hysteria nor scaremongering, but by an understanding that whilst we need to make some unpalatable changes, those are best achieved if apply the same rules to all.

I rest my case.

I wait for comments with interest and can almost feel the icy blast of those in the public sector - my challenge to them is to answer the question I posed in italics many paragraphs above. We can all contrive to defend our self-interest - the harder task is to show, in the greater scheme of things, how that self-interest sits comfortably with the legitimate interests of others. 

The trouble with pensions - part 1

A couple of posts previous to this, Mark in Mayenne commented that he could weep for what has happened to education in Britain. I'm not so sure, but I could certainly weep for what's happened to our pension system. In a little under twenty years we've destroyed (or at least allowed to die) one the most tangible aspects of social progress since the creation of the Welfare State - the prospect of a decent and secure retirement.

The reasons for this are largely the preserve of experts. Of the general population, even the well educated and financially savvy don't understand pensions; most folks are simply bemused, confused and mistrusting.  Younger people have all but given up hope - they'll 'work till they drop they' say, in a tone that's half humour and half resentment.

I don't blame them.

Successive Governments have made the system so complex it is now way beyond the layman. The recent announcement of a 'new simplified state pension' is a classic example of political spin sneaking through a measure through which ought to have caused an outcry.  In case you didn't know, it's effect for the vast majority will be they work longer, receive less and have fewer means to provide a cushion should they wish to save for it. 

It's true that pensions are a complex business - and there's no single reason for the demise of the UK system. We have an ageing population; successive governments (and New Labour in particular) have made some stupendously bad decisions on the tax treatment of pension funds; politicians have run scared of tough decisions for fear of electoral backlash...  I could go on.

But instead I want to give you a slightly different perspective. It comes from years of being a trustee of two very large funds, and many more spent caring about and planning for retirement. I am, perhaps sadly, one of the few who (broadly) understands pensions; who takes a very close interest in how they are structured, how policy affects them, and how in turn it will impact future generations.

I'm going to offer you three very different reasons for their demise.

The first is you and me.  I don't mean that literally, but if the changes in pension provision have shown one thing, it is that if you require people to take personal responsibility, huge numbers will choose to spend today rather than save for tomorrow.

To some extent this is a result of confusion and mistrust - the reason so many people joined the old company salary schemes is that they were very simple to understand - but it is also because our culture and attitude has changed; I'd argue for the worse.

I've long ago lost count of the number of middle earning people who tell me they can't afford to save for a personal pension. The operative phrase here is 'middle earning'. There has always been a section of society that struggles to afford a private pension, but middle earners (austerity aside) are rarely in that bracket. Of course, I understand they don't use the phrase 'afford' in an absolute sense, but as a general population we continue to make active choices to spend on houses, cars holidays, whatever...  rather than save for retirement.

And it's important to recognise that we've been under-saving for twenty years - not just in times of austerity; indeed, the supposed boom saw some of the biggest reductions in pension provision. In part, this was because of a widely adopted mantra that 'my house will be my pension' - but it was also, frankly, because attitudes to saving for retirement changed.

As a whole, you'll pick up that I regard the demise of pensions as a national disgrace - but at the risk of some controversy, if there is one section of society I will have little sympathy for in years to come, it is those who clearly have the means to save but demonstrably choose not to.

The second is public sector pensions, or rather the failure of consecutive governments to tackle the issue. It might seem counter to my position to say that public sector pensions are unsustainable  - I'd go so far as to say they are verging on the immoral - but in fact I believe they are central to the lack of progress in the private sector.

As a rule, I don't like conspiracy theories, but my deeply held belief is that one of the chief reasons the private sector system has been allowed to die, is that those in power have not been affected. Public sector pensions are such a huge issue that I plan to discuss them separately in a follow up post (can you wait) - but for now I would just register that until we are all in the same boat, there will not be the political drive and thought leadership necessary for our rescue.

Which brings me neatly to the third reason - that there is no political vision for retirement.  The policy makers have come to see pensions entirely in terms of cost and risk and future debt projections; they run scared from the figures and even more so from the electorate.  No politician wants to lose votes for a decision that will bring benefit after they've gone - and this is perhaps the biggest trouble of all.

But if ever there were a case for re-framing a debate, this is surely it. I happen to be passionate about pensions, but it's not the financial instruments I care about; it is ensuring I and my family - and millions of others like us - have a secure and fulfilling retirement.

Everyone understands the days of pay-offs and feet-up in your fifties have all but gone - but that doesn't mean we can't still have an ambitious political vision which, for example: recognises that winding down from full-time employment is going to be necessary for millions; incentivises companies to offer more than minimum pension contributions; legislates for more flexible and age appropriate employment contracts for workers who've given years of service; acknowledges a better balance between the private and public sector would be a social good.

I could easily add to that list - and perhaps I should.  But the tragedy is that our politicians do not do it for me. Most don't understand, many don't much care, some are willfully blind. It is an absolute tragedy and a one we all will pay for.

As I said at the start, I really could weep.

The trouble with speeding - and a perversion of justice

The recent publicity surrounding the guilty plea of Chris Huhne, and the tragic consequences for both him and his family have been playing on my mind. It's not that I care especially for Mr Huhne, or condone any of his actions (be they personal, political or perjurous) - it's that I'm left deeply uneasy at the thought such a trivial matter could lead, as if by some unstoppable logic, to such extreme an outcome.

The strict legal position is that Chris Huhne perverted the course of justice; that's a serious matter and as a consequence, he should expect a custodial sentence - 6 months, possibly more. As a cyclist, I have more reason than most to ensure speeding offences go punished. It's straightforward isn't it: he did the crime -  he should do the time!  So why I am so uneasy?

The clue, I think, is in the phrase 'perverted the course of justice'.

Really?

It was reported this week that an estimated 300,000 people have offloaded speeding points - do we genuinely regard all those as perverters of justice? Do we think that's how they viewed it when say 5 years ago (or more) they asked a wife or partner to avoid an increase in their car insurance?

It seems to me that to categorise the off loading of speeding points as a crime carrying up to a life sentence is a clear case of mislabeling.  More than that, it's an aggrandisement of the issue by the prosecuting authorities and legal system.

Now before you think I've gone all soft, it's important to remember that we're not about to send Chris Huhne to prison because he's an MP, or because he left his wife, or because he wasted public time - it's because he lied to avoid speeding points.

If you're comfortable with that - if you feel the punishment fits the crime, then fine. But to be consistent you'd have to be equally comfortable with dishing out exactly the same punishment to the 300,000 other folks who've done precisely the same.

Imagine if, by the wave of some magic wand, we had the technology to prove all those cases beyond reasonable doubt - would you really be comfortable putting that many people away? Even if we assume the figure of 300,000 is grossly exaggerated (it probably is because the press reported it) -  there'd still be tens of thousands involved.

Almost any adult reading this will know someone who has off loaded penalty points - your sister perhaps, your uncle, a friend?  Six months for them too - does that seem like justice?  Indeed, if you know they did it, why aren't you ratting on them -  after all, perverting the course of justice is a serious crime; surely you're an accomplice if you don't tell?

The truth is we don't regard points dodgers as being in the same league as robbers and muggers. Most of us wouldn't want our friends or neighbours incarcerated for such a relatively trivial offence - that's not to say a substantial deterrent isn't needed. But surely a five-year driving ban would be sufficient, rather than a criminal record, loss of job, ruination of their career and life prospects.

It occurred to me that a fair challenge to this view might lie in the word deterrent.

The problem with points dodging, a prosecutor would say, is that it's easy to do and hard to detect. In these circumstances, we need a strong disincentive - and custodial sentences provide that. By their nature deterrent sentences are disproportionate; they are harsh on the individual but justified by the wider context. That's why we use them for crimes such as drug trafficking, or in the corporate sphere, for breaches of competition law.

All very logical?

I suppose it is when you put it like that - indeed it almost convinced me - and yet I'm still uneasy.

And that's because points dodging isn't the same league as smuggling heroin or price fixing cartels. Drugs traffickers are few and far between, they peddle misery to millions and make a killing for themselves - what's more (and to my mind critically important) they know the consequences of getting caught.

That patently isn't a parallel to the off loading of penalty points - for a start, we know that tens if not hundreds of thousands have done it. Whilst the deception isn't to be condoned, I'd contend it doesn't directly peddle misery in a comparable way. And most important of all, I don't believe that when your sister or your friend or your colleague agreed to take those points they fully understood what that could mean.

But more than all this - sometimes we just need a sense of perspective.

As things stand we have hundreds of thousands of criminals in our midst, all of them hoping they don't have a row with their spouse; all of them hoping there's no magic wand; all of them sleeping uneasily. When you think of it, that's a sad state of affairs.

Call me an old softie if you wish, but in my view, it's also a perversion of justice.

I await comment from the lawyers who follow!

The trouble with posh boys

Preamble.

It's been a while since I've written about politics or ruffled a few feathers at the bike shed. Although I never quite reasoned it out, I think I've been concerned that readers of my book might be put off.  I've been anticipating a rush of visitors wanting beautiful words on family and landscape -  not me ranting about the wrongs of private education or the demise of the UK pension system. 

The assumption is flawed.  

Firstly, it presumes my book would attract readers here - a hope which the stat-counter confirms isn't happening, or at least not in volume. Secondly, it's dried up my output so that even the regular visitors are tailing off.  And thirdly, I've a list of political issues clogging my head - and blocking the route of things less contentious.

So if you're new here and expecting something more on nature or landscape, bear with me a while, or try clicking the sidebar - meanwhile I'll start with an anecdote that set me thinking.

The proper post starts here.

The other week my son related a story of a 'rich girl' at his school who'd blithely asserted, 'all of us have smartphones that our parents pay for'.  No we don't! was the firm response from her peers. 'Really? But I thought...'

Whilst the tale is not quite on the level of 'let them eat cake', it reminded me of how easy it is for the privileged to lose touch with the lives of those less flush. I'm sure I've been guilty of this - probably most of the middle classes have at some point. George Orwell, whose writings are currently being celebrated on Radio 4, argued it was impossible for the upper classes (of which I am distinctly not a member) to fully understand the realities of the working class.

My son's story also brought to mind the MP, Nadine Diorres' recent description of Cameron and Clegg as two arrogant posh boys. The country, she claimed, was being run by public school toffs with no understanding of those who can't afford to fill their kids' lunch boxes. What's more, she added, they don't care!'

I disagree with Diorres and (dare I say it) to some extent with Orwell. Aside from the occasional backbench rant, I don't see any evidence that this Government is entirely ignorant or uncaring of those on low incomes. Indeed they overtly state that those with the broadest shoulders who should carry the biggest burden - and whilst we might argue about what constitutes 'broad', most of their fiscal policies have reflected this. 

But what I think the anecdote illustrates is something more subtle - and it get's to the heart of the trouble with posh boys...

Drive through any middle class housing estate and you'll see rows of properties looking very much alike, cars on the drive, gravel around the plant pots. From outside appearance, you might reasonably conclude the lives and incomes of the residents are much of a muchness. But you'd be very wrong.  

Scratch the surface, and you'll find that number 26 is mortgaged to the hilt; next door they're debt-free but under threat of redundancy; the chap at number 32 has no pension and will be working till he drops; the bungalow at the end is being sold to pay for care home fees... The middle classes of the UK may all look alike - but the deeper reality is that their only commonality (quoting Orwell again) is a fear of becoming working class. 

And it seems to me that this hints at what posh boys fail to understand. It's not that Cameron and Clegg can't recognise and empathise with those on truly low incomes. Rather, it's that if you went to a school costing £12,000 a term, then it's hard to see a problem with university fees of £9000? If you're set to inherit millions and a mansion, then what's all the fuss about the demise of pensions? If your family is rolling in cash then surely the difference between individual and household earnings is just a technicality? 

Well no it isn't. 

Take, for example,  the patently unfair arrangements for removal of Child Benefit. This doesn't affect those on low or average incomes - but it is classic 'posh boy' to think there's no difference between a household with three children and one earner on £61,000p.a. (entire benefit of circa £2,300 removed) and another with two adults earning a combined income of £98,000p.a. which retains all of the benefit.  For clarity, I'm not arguing here that benefits shouldn't be removed; I'm saying the way they have chosen to do it shows a  certain disregard of the difference £40,000 per year makes. 

And it's classic posh boy to argue the provision of bursaries to students from lower income families makes the system of fairer, and by implication more palatable. Of course, we need to encourage social mobility, that's obvious - but let's not be ignorant of the impact on a lower middle class teenager who wants to become a teacher and is facing the prospect of £50,000 debts. 

As an aside, one of the few truly 'fair' aspects of the university fees system is that students repay loans when they earn above a threshold. Ironically for the posh boys, this means that subsidising students from low income families is potentially a gross injustice. Imagine a fully subsidised student who has no fees to repay but who then goes on to earn a multi-million salary (they become an investment banker perhaps).  Now imagine an average income student whose parents struggle to support through university and whose career takes them to a socially valuable but middle income job (a policeman perhaps) - but who then has to repay over £50,000 in fees and loans! That simply can't be fair. 

But then you see fairness is a tricky concept. And our view of it is highly dependent on the company we keep and how we experience the world around us. 

So next time you hear Cameron, Clegg and their chums promoting this Government's policies, ask yourself how aware they are - not of the obvious income gaps, but of the subtleties that lie behind appearance. Ask whether their kids might think that parent funded smartphones are what everyone teenager enjoys.

Spending less; living more?

I learned too late that today is national buy nothing day. I'd have taken part, had we not already visited the hardware shop to collect a few bits for our builder - coming away eighty quid lighter! Still, it's miracle enough to have a builder in Pembrokeshire, so I'd probably have turned a blind eye to construction consumables even if we'd known in time.

I like the idea of buying nothing for a while. In fact, I'd be up for a buy nothing week, or even a month - except on reflection that wouldn't be very practical. But even if we only bought nothing for a day, what about the cost of electricity (does that count?) or consuming the food we'd bought the day before?

Truth is, these campaigns aren't meant to be philosophically or practically perfect; they are set up to highlight a particular issue - in this case, the inequality between spending in the developed and developing world. The point is not to so much to make an immediate difference but to encourage changes that have a more sustainable effect.

My own interest lies less in the wealth disparity of nations than in the misguidance of those who think consumerism is the answer to personal fulfilment. We know from scientific research that once a certain threshold is passed (and that point is critical), the relationship between wealth and happiness is actually quite tenuous. Most of us know too that the things which matter most, seldom cost a lot.

I've long fancied the idea of reliving the Butlins' promise of a 'week's family holiday for a week's wage' - and seeing if we enjoyed it as much as when spending vastly greater sums. Based on an average UK wage the only possible way would be to go camping at a simple site, spend the days walking outdoors, cook meals on a barbecue, have star parties at night... Wait a moment, that's what I like doing best!

Some years ago I met Satish Kumar, famous for walking, in the Sixties, from India to The West. He did so without any money, carrying a peace gift of tea for the world's premier leaders; he has since become a leading ecology and anti-consumerism activist. I remember him asserting in a panel interview, 'Life isn't better for having more things.' And when challenged to declare what was largest consumer item he'd bought in the last five years, he replied, None. Inspiring man.

Now I have to be careful here - very careful in fact. Because of course, I spend in much the same way as anyone else - on cars, houses, books, computers, clothes, builders' bits and bobs on a Saturday morning... I also have an excellent job and with that comes income well beyond the happiness threshold I mentioned earlier. I might think I'm not especially materialistic, but the hard facts are that I spend more than the average person in the UK, never mind the developing world.

But I hope I've retained a sense of perspective. I find it an irony and a sadness that so many of the highest earners I know are also those with the largest debts - and frankly the shallowest lifestyles. One of my life's ambitions is never to lose touch with simpler pleasures - if I ever start thinking that fancy restaurants are intrinsically better than a good picnic then I'll know I'm in trouble. Another is to cherish my relative security - valuing it above any thrill or ego boost which yet more possessions might provide.

Broadly - though I'd stress in the context of middle class comfort - I've held to those ideals, and try to encourage the same in my children. If spending one day spending nothing at all helps to reinforce those values, then I'm all for it.

Progression - the good, the bad and the uhm, I'm not sure...

On Friday I wrote post that praised the philosopher Jamie Whyte for his clear thinking and rigorous logic. I cited, as an example, his recent interview on Radio Four, during which he made the case that progressive taxation was a unfair. Since then I've had a number of emails asking me to explain more.

What follows isn't just about tax, it's about our tendency to accept commonplace values without asking the question: why do we think that? I'm sure that to many of you it will also be a good example of why philosophers can be irritating.  For the few who get to the end, it might just show how difficult it is to justify much of what we take for granted.

Now back to taxation - don't fall asleep yet please. 

Over recent months, politicians and the media have been full of claims that this or that policy is regressive or progressive. The general iimplication is that progressive is good, and regressive is bad. In the context of tax, Progressive Taxation is the idea that the more you earn, the higher percentage of your income you should pay. And it's the 'higher percentage' bit that is offensive to Whyte. 

Whyte isn't arguing that the better off shouldn't pay more tax. What he questions is the accepted wisdom that says they should be obliged to pay an even higher percentage of tax. To put this into context, in the UK the standard rate of income tax is 20%; it increases to 40% for incomes over £37,500; it rises again at £100,000 (because at this point people begin to lose their personal allowance) and again at £150,000, by which point the tax rate is 50%. 

Whyte says this approach is a punishment for success.  He argues that a fundamental aspect of fairness is that we treat people the same, but in this case we are arbitrarily saying 'because you are successful you not only have to pay more - you have to pay disproportionately more.' He says there is no moral justification for this approach - and in no way can it be described as fair.

On radio last week, his interviewer challenged this, saying the system treated all rich people the same, and therefore it did not treat people differently. Whyte replied with incisive logic that this was equivalent to levying a tax on bald people or black minorities and saying it was fair because we treated all bald or black people the same. No, it isn't enough to treat all 'better of' people the same, we have show why it is reasonable that they should pay disproportionately more than others. 

His interviewer challenged again: but aren't richer people lucky to be earning more than others?  Isn't the roll of life's dice such that they have their income by good fortune?  

Whyte argued that this was not so; the vast majority of higher incomes result from a mixture of skill and application.  Success was not a lottery and this is why we encourage education, and reward hard work. And most of us intuitively agree with this - for example, not many headmasters, doctors or company managers would concede that they are where they are, as a result of luck. No, the argument of 'good fortune' is not strong enough justification.

So why then, do not more people and politicians question progressive taxation? 

Whyte went on to argue that the system is actually bad for the economy, because it creates a disincentive to work harder. In making this point, however, he acknowledged it was a practical argument rather than anything to do with fairness. 

And perhaps that hints at an answer to the earlier question. Politically, progressive taxation makes sense - the alternative, of putting taxes up by a smaller amount for everyone, is hardly a vote winner. And frankly, where else are we going to get the money from?  Progressive ideas also make for good soundbites, such as David Cameron's aphorism that, 'those with the broadest shoulders should carry the biggest burden'.  

But none of these are arguments for fairness. Neither are statements you might just be thinking now, such as they can afford it or it would be a nice problem to have. We might feel like that when we hear of bankers' bonuses or footballers' wages, but they are not a coherent argument for fairness. They also ignore the reality that higher tax rates kick in at a fairly low level; for example, most heads of department in a secondary school will hit the 40% threshold. 

So if, like me, you still feel there is something not quite right with Whyte's argument, then what is it he is missing? Why exactly do I think it is right that the better off not only pay more tax, but pay disproportionately more?  In a moment I'll give you my answer. But before I do, I'd acknowledge that my arguments are not very strong; they rely to large extent on unprovable assertions and probably to an even greater extent on a desperation not to share the same views as reactionary Tories.  

Perversely, this is why I like Whyte so much; he makes me think; he makes me question my views and come up with real hard reasons in support of them. 

So why is Whyte wrong?

Actually, I don't think he is. I think his arguments are logically consistent and if you hold to them rigorously they are beyond my skill to dismantle. But I do think he gives too little weight to the idea of society and the economy as whole. 

While it is true that most people who are 'better off' achieve this through skill and application; they also need a flourishing wider society to make this possible. Skill and application will not get you very far if you are alone on a desert island! There is also a historic inheritance upon which all successful people build - today's engineers owe a debt to the past, as do our doctors, teachers, writers... everyone. In other words our success, however great or modest, is almost never entirely our own work. 

I'd argue that those who benefit the most from the existence of the wider society and the achievements of the past, should fairly contribute a greater amount to its upkeep. I'm sure that Whyte would argue, that they would already be paying more - and he'd be right - but then we get into the realm of value judgements. I think it is not unreasonable that better off people pay a higher percentage as well as higher total amount. 

How much more, and whether the thresholds of forty and fifty percent are reasonable, is another issue - in fact, I'd agree with Whyte that our tax system is very poorly designed and that the use of sharp thresholds creates real disincentives. We also, quite bluntly, tax too much - but that really is a different matter.

Enough from me. What do you think?  Is Whyte an insightful maverick or plain wrong?  Should we all pay the same rate or should the rich pay even more? Either way, let me know your reasons.

Chalk and cheese

Image from Google Images

David Willetts, minister for universities and science, is fast becoming the most irritating politician in Britain - certainly, he appears to be one of the most desperate. I've written before about his claims that the increase in university fees are somehow a matter of fairness rather than a financially driven imperative. More recently he's been clutching at even frailer straws.

One of Willetts' recent pronouncements was that what mattered was not the total level of debt students would accrue - but rather how much their repayments would be. When I heard this I nearly punched the TV screen!  Willetts' approach is the political equivalent of those loan consolidation adverts that prey on the vulnerable: replace all your loans with one easy payment; no mention that your debt will take twenty years to pay off and is secured against your house. 

As if that wasn't enough he's now imitating Canute in denying the tide of universities that have declared fees at the maximum amount. Of the 37 universities to announce, 27 have set them at the maximum. But having earlier said that fees of £9000 would be the 'exception' it would be too much to expect Willetts' to admit he'd been wrong. Instead he says it is early days, that there will be new providers, that the average will be lower...

This last point is a classic example of political sophistry. Willetts' claims the headline figures ignore the subsides available to poorer students, and that we should look at the average fee. Yet he knows full well that students don't pay 'the average' - they either get an assisted place or not. The vast majority will pay between £8500 and £9,000.

The most irritating thing about Willetts is that his slippery logic is so unnecessary. Everyone understands we have some difficult funding choices to make. I would prefer us to hold university fees and make sacrifices elsewhere - but I recognise it's possible and entirely logical to take a different view based on different preferences. What I can't stand is the desperate attempts to present a tough choice as something other than what it is.

Why can't Willetts' just tell the plain truth - that the Government believes increased fees are a  financial necessity (not a fairer system); that unfortunately, student debts will be a significantly greater burden on graduates (not lesser because repayments start a little later in life); and that the rapid adoption of maximum fees by most universities is disappointing (not mitigated by putative averages).

The answer of course is politics - and the ridiculous nature of our soundbite democracy that doesn't allow for debate based on agreed facts, declared preferences and logical analysis. Instead, after 350 years of parliament we've become so used to the obfuscating nonsense of people like Willetts that we regard it as the norm.

How refreshing then to hear Jamie Whyte on Radio Four's More or Less today.

Whyte is the antithesis of Willetts: a liberal philosopher, rigorously logical, open to different views, and prepared to tackle those that are so ingrained we take them for granted. His book, Bad Thoughts - a guide to clear thinking, is to my mind, a great example of how philosophic thinking can be applied to modern issues. In it, he tackles themes as varied as the Holy Trinity, anorexia and banking profits - but its underlying theme is the need to question, to face facts and respond to them in a consistent way.

Typical of Whyte, he was today arguing against a canon of modern politics - that progressive taxation (the richer you are, the higher percentage you should pay) is a good and fair thing. I don't wholly agree with his position on tax, though much of what he said is highly persuasive and showed deep flaws in our accepted approach. But I do admire his willingness to question the herd, to declare his sources, to explain his reasoning and ensure the facts that support it are sound.

It was probably a forlorn hope - but I did wish that Willetts was listening too.

Tuition fees and intelligence flawed

Late on Thursday I was about to hit the sack when I was distracted by the 10 O'Clock Live show. The comedian David Mitchell was interviewing David Willetts, minister for Universities and Science. I was expecting a light hearted piss take, maybe the odd Ben Elton style jibe; it's brave of him to go that show said Jane, as I readied for some topical humour.

What followed was the most intelligent debate I've yet heard on the proposals to increase university tuition fees. Mitchell contrasted the proposals to the system of free education he and Willetts had enjoyed - did the Government regard this as progress? Wouldn't fees of £9,000 p.a. deter the very people the Government wanted to encourage; was there not a case for scholarships; what about subjects (such as Classics) that would be unlikely to 'payback' with higher earnings; wouldn't the proposals reduce social mobility?

And in response Willetts made considered, well spoken, non-avoiding answers. The introduction of student loans had encouraged take up - 40% of young people now progress to higher education. He hoped the new proposals would not be deterrent; the earnings threshold for repayment had risen to over twenty thousand pounds; the best universities would prosper and the poor quality courses decline.

But despite Willetts' measured tones, the more I listened, the more I sensed something wasn't quite right - perhaps it was his smirk that gave him away?

Central to Willetts' position were two considerations. Firstly, he argued it was unfair for the general tax payer to be funding the education of those who will go on to be higher earners. Furthermore, he claimed that the average graduate would, across their lifetime, earn one hundred thousand pounds more than a non graduate - surely it was reasonable they should pay back the cost of the education which had facilitated this.

At first sight these arguments appear plausible, but on reflection, it seems to me they are deeply flawed.

If we think about the claim that having degree leads to an increase in life-time earnings of one hundred thousand pounds, then presumably these earnings will be taxed. And even at a basic rate plus national insurance it must mean that the average graduate will contribute additional tax which more than covers the cost of their tuition fees.

Willetts' own words reinforced this conclusion when he claimed that there was a correlation between the number of graduates and the number of higher paid jobs. In justifying the 40% of young people going to university,  he said it was not just a case that graduates competed more effectively in the existing wage pool, but rather that the presence of more graduates led to an overall higher wage economy. So by his own logic, it must also lead to more taxable income and revenues.

Putting it crudely, and using the terms of Willetts' own logic, the government is expecting graduates to pay twice. It isn't difficult to see this - it is simple maths - and Willetts must know it too. It was a pity that Mitchell didn't challenge him on this obvious point.

But it was Willetts' first argument that irritated me most: the claim that it is unfair for the general tax payer to subsidise higher education because they don't directly benefit.

Let's leave aside that this is a gross misrepresentation of the tax system and the percentage of revenues accruing from the 'general public'. And let's not question the numbers of 'net gainers' from State services against the numbers of 'net payers'. Let's also not get into arguments about the benefits of a high value economy, driven by technology and services which require an educated and skilled workforce, increasingly of graduate standard.

Instead let's just examine the claim at its most basic level - that those who don't directly benefit from services should not be expected to subside those who do. Isn't that reasonable; plausible; fair?

Well if it is, why don't we fund the National Parks with an entry fee instead of State resources?  Not everyone likes the Arts, or visits museums, or plays sport  - why are we subsidising these out of general taxation? And what's so special about graduate education - there's probably just as big an earnings correlation with A-levels; why don't we charge for those too? Or how about prisons - we could levy a tax for the cost of qualifications received at her majesty's pleasure. Come to think of it, why stop at education; I'm pretty healthy - I don't see why I should be funding those who are ill.

Some of these examples are more analogous to tuition fees than others - if I took more time I'd no doubt think of better ones. But the general point is that tax has never been confined to redistributing income to the least fortunate. In practice, tax revenues in a modern state system are also used to fund services that benefit society as whole. If we start salami slicing that ideal and claiming this or that service ought only and on principle to be funded by those who directly benefit, then we quickly weave a web of inconsistencies.

The irony of Willetts' sophistry is that the plain truth is a more powerful argument. Why, I wonder, didn't he simply say, 'Of course increasing university fees is regrettable, but in the difficult circumstances we judged it to be a better course of action than reducing other frontline services'.  I might disagree with that claim; I might take a polar opposite position on the relative merits of education versus, say, the armed forces - but it wouldn't matter, the argument in itself would be sound.

Perhaps it's the philosopher in me, but I especially loath the type of rhetoric Willetts tried to pass off as logic. I'd rather we had an honest debate about what we can and can't afford, than the blind alleys of a pretence which claims there is some deeper fairness behind political decisions. David Mitchell led a good debate on Thursday; it's just a pity that in the end it was Willetts who sounded more the comedian.