Saturday, 28 November 2015

George & Mildred: a window on British history

They’re showing re-runs of George & Mildred on ITV4. For the uninitiated George & Mildred was a very popular sitcom that ran on British television between 1976 and 1979. I’m not heralding its return as a momentous cultural event. The first few episodes were quite funny and then it rather ran out of gas, in addition to spawning possibly the worst TV to film adaptation in history, George & Mildred: The Movie.

George & Mildred is not noteworthy for its vintage comedy but rather what it says about recent British history. Namely how it’s got a lot worse.

The scenario of George & Mildred is illuminating: the eponymous couple, George and Mildred Roper, receive a compulsory purchase order on their council house and move to … wait for it …. Hampton Wick in West London. Now, situation comedy is meant to stretch the bounds of believability, everything revolves around absurd coincidences, but it can’t stretch the bounds of believability too far without ceasing to work. In 1976, you could just about believe that a couple might move to Hampton Wick after being forced to leave their council house. In 2015, the average house price in Hampton Wick is £2.4 million and lawyers can’t afford to live there. As for council houses, more than 1.8 million families are on the social housing waiting list. But, remember, this was the benighted 1970s.

There’s more. George is on the dole! Despite being able to move to a semi-detached house in Hampton Wick, George doesn’t have a job (neither does Mildred), although I think he eventually becomes traffic warden. And, what’s more, in stark contrast to his millennial descendants, he doesn’t possess a scintilla of shame about his unemployed status. He’s ‘working class and proud of it’, drinks brown ale and does ok on ‘social security’. That’s social security, not ‘welfare’. A lot of the comedy of George & Mildred ensues from the horror of George’s Conservative-supporting, estate agent, neighbour, Jeffrey Fourmile, that a socialist, working class lay-about has moved in next door, and is constantly infecting his seven year old son, Tristan with these dangerous ideas. It doesn’t work, sadly, he grows up to become Tristan Hunt.

If you wanted to update George & Mildred to contemporary Britain, George would undoubtedly have been sanctioned multiple times and the couple compelled to beg at food banks. But in those awful 1970s, despite not working for a living, George & Mildred are upwardly mobile. That’s the crux of the comedy. Mildred is ‘aspirational’, George isn’t, but they are constantly hitting against a middle class culture that doesn’t really want them there. In 2015, George and Mildred would live entirely segregated lives and be the object of scorn.

In the ensuing decades, Jeffrey Fourmile trampled all over George Roper. In fact, the trampling is still going on. But in the 1970s George Roper was evidently something of a threat. That’s why you constantly hear about how terrible the ‘70s were. They actually look quite fun.

*Yootha Joyce, the actress who played Mildred, subsequently became a bit of a cultural icon. She featured on a Smiths’ single cover. She actually first met Brian Murphy (‘George’) on the set of the Joan Littlewood directed 1963 film Sparrows Can’t Sing, which was supposed to be an accurate depiction of East London life at the time and was the first English language film to be subtitled in the US. There are quite a few Smiths’ links in comedies being repeated on ITV4. In On the Buses, the bus route of the two lead characters goes to the ‘Cemetery Gates’, another Smiths song.

Monday, 16 November 2015

The ethical rot at the heart of capitalism

The list of crimes of which the pharmaceutical industry is accused is legion. According to a professor at Copenhagen University, prescription drugs are now, behind heart disease and cancer, the third most common cause of death in the West and estimated to be responsible for half a million deaths a year in the over 65s. The editor of the UK’s Lancet magazine, Richard Horton, contends that maybe half of all scientific research is simply untrue, “afflicted by small sample sizes, tiny effects, invalid exploratory analyses and flagrant conflicts of interest”. In 2012, two French researchers claimed that half of all drugs prescribed in that country were either useless or dangerous and responsible for 20,000 deaths annually.

There is an obvious connection between these outcomes and the character of the pharmaceutical industry – capitalist corporations duty bound to maximise short-term profit for their shareholders. Even western governments, in unguarded moments, agree. A 2003 report for the UK’s Treasury (finance department) conceded that the pitfalls of a market in healthcare were overtreatment and the abuse of monopoly power. But then pressed ahead anyway.

But that connection, clear to any reasonably honest person, is not what stands out here. What is most interesting is how this profit maximising model has so thoroughly infected the apparatus of regulation. Horton blames individual scientists who too often “sculpt data to fit their preferred theory of the world”, medical journals aiding and abetting the “worst behaviours” and universities engaged in a “perpetual struggle for money” and “high-impact publication”.

What’s clear is how far these institutions are from providing, in the writer Ben Goldacre’s words, “a competent regime of regulation”. There is a deep ethical rot at work, seeping outwards into society’s foundations. What’s more the ethical rot is essential for capitalism to function effectively.

Financial dis-regulation

Consider finance. Seven years after a monumental financial crash, triggered by ordinary people defaulting on mortgage payments, sub-prime mortgages have made a comeback in the UK, an event unencumbered by government regulation. Regulations drafted after 2012’s Libor rigging scandal have been watered down. The bank levy, intended as recompense for the financial crisis and bail-out, has been reduced (as an incentive, many think, to keep HSBC headquartered in Britain), a ‘penalty’, in any case, more than compensated by the huge 38% drop in corporate income tax, from 28% to 18% since 2010.

The EU, in the TTIP negotiations, is pushing for the US to adopt weaker financial regulations (on derivatives) than it has at present. And as part of the separate ‘Trade in Services Agreement’ between the US, Europe, Japan and Australia, it is proposed to make it mandatory that countries accept “any new financial service”.

Government regulation is giving way on many fronts to voluntary agreements, in the UK and EU, which have been proven to fail.

It is tempting, and probably correct, to blame intense and unrelenting lobbying by corporations for these outcomes. Most politicians are members of the 1% or 0.1% and may have a direct financial interest in the successful expedition of these policies. And they may not even know of the effect of the policies they so adamantly pursue.

But I believe the deliberate feebleness of regulation has a deeper cause than ‘regulatory capture’ or ideological blindness. It stems from a recognition that economic growth now depends on facilitating avowedly anti-social practices. Aside from the pharmaceutical and finance industries, consider the way the food processing industry works. Huge amounts of sugar are routinely and covertly added to a range of products, not just the openly sugary fizzy drinks, and have caused an epidemic of Type 2 Diabetes. The publicly funded NHS is obliged to treat this scourge which consumes a tenth of its budget. Yet, the UK government sets its face against regulation, preferring a toothless ‘responsibility deal’.

The extractive industries, oil, gas and coal, rely on taking fossil fuels out of the ground, in increasingly dangerous places, a practice which will inevitably take the world into the realms of civilisation-devouring global warming.

Mrs state-mop

The role of the state now is merely to mop up, whether in the form of bank bail-outs, NHS spending or flood defences, the detritus caused by these anti-social practices. Because, at root, the economic and political elite cannot imagine another form of economic growth.

The Angry Person’s Guide to Finance, a pamphlet published by the UK’s Red Pepper magazine in 2014, contends that a “serious regime of strict financial regulation” could outlaw securitised debt, derivatives, the shadow banking system and the whole shebang of ‘financial weapons of mass destruction’. But at the cost of plunging the world economy into a deep depression, as companies fold like dominoes. Similarly, stringent regulations for the production and marketing of prescription drugs would proscribe many of the products relied on by pharmaceutical companies for their profit stream. At a time when these companies already provoke grumbling from their shareholders for not being profitable enough investments, this would be absolutely lethal.

The urgent question, therefore, is whether there is another form of growth that can safeguard the public interest and not degenerate into flagrantly anti-social forms of profiteering. An answer is taking shape in the proposed policies of Labour party leader Jeremy Corbyn. A mix of part-nationalisation, regulation, and public investment, can invigorate economic growth and substitute for anti-social private sector growth. Because private investment is so weak, public investment, through the state (or as Corbyn proposes a National Investment Bank) can direct economic growth to more benign ends, such as investing in renewable energy or retro-fitting houses, than the ‘instant gratification’ approach that the corporate sector relies on when left to its own devices.

However, what this policy alternative leaves in doubt is whether it can replace or merely augment socially harmful private sector growth. The economist Harry Shutt says the western world has been afflicted by a ‘glut of capital’ for four decades. With a decline in the demand for fixed, or productive investment, mainly because of technological progress, the economy has to find increasingly speculative or harmful outlets for profitable investment. This ‘wall of money’, added to by the growth of private, stock market invested pension schemes, is inevitably funneled into speculative or useless (copycat prescription drugs) investment, because sufficient productive outlets do not exist.

In 2013 the UK Parliamentary Commission on Banking Standards concluded that institutional shareholders, such as pension funds and hedge funds, were incentivised to encourage the banks they invested in to pursue ‘high risk strategies’ and, in the run-up to the financial crisis, some were actually criticising banks for ‘excessive conservatism’. In other words, the problem of growth harmful to the public interest is systemic and not the handiwork of greedy or reckless bankers.

Liable for your sins

What this means is that any economic strategy based on public investment has to contend with this ‘actual existing capitalism’ and, as I have argued before, probably cannot pull the plug on it without precipitating an economic meltdown. It is also why Harry Shutt and others argue that more drastic action is required to get to the root of a capitalism hostile to the public interest. Shutt proposes restrictions on limited liability; the right, first introduced in Britain in the 1850s, that shareholders in corporations are only legally responsible to the extent of their monetary investment, and that if misdeeds happen, only the company, never its shareholder owners, can be sued. Limited liability should only be granted, in Shutt’s opinion, if a company agrees to a public veto on board decisions concerning major investments, employee pay and pricing.

To return to the Lancet’s Richard Horton. I believe the ethical corrosion he talks about - the scientists sculpting the data to fit the theory, the medical journals giving the green light to dubious drug trials, and the universities engaged in a perpetual struggle for money - has an ultimate cause; the shareholder-based corporate model of capitalism currently ensconced in power and which we regard as untouchable. And any attempt to reverse this moral decay has to contend with the ultimate cause.

Saturday, 31 October 2015

The Third Revolution by Murray Bookchin

I thought I’d post an 11 year old review of a book by the American thinker Murray Bookchin about the Russian Revolution. Called The Third Revolution, it is the third volume of a mammoth four volume history of the revolutionary tradition, stretching from the English Levellers of the 17th century to the Spanish Revolution 1936-37. The first two volumes are available in paperback but sadly the publishers rather lost interest after that and (still I think) you can only get the last two volumes in very expensive hardback. That’s a shame because they are all very interesting.

After his death in 2006, Bookchin has posthumously become rather famous for being the inspiration behind the Syrian Kurdish revolution. The Kurdish PPK leader Abdullah Öcalan started reading Bookchin in the Turkish prison where he is still incarcerated and things developed from there. The relevance was that Öcalan had concluded that forging a state for the Kurds was impossible and inherently coercive anyway. So rejecting Marxism-Leninism and armed struggle, he turned to Bookchin’s ideas of confederalism. This involves political and economic power being vested in face to face assemblies of citizens, which send delegates to higher councils and so on. It’s a directly democratic alternative to nation-states and representative government, which Bookchin rightly pointed out, always descends into oligarchy. I want to look at the Kurdish revolution and its applicability to Europe and North America in a later post, but first the review of The Third Revolution. (It’s a little known fact and fascinating to me that the first Bolshevik government in Russia was a coalition. They never end well).

It is curious that the Right now seems more interested in the Russian Revolution than the Left. A source of righteous horror for conservative historians that proves the inevitable trajectory of radical social change towards totalitarianism and mass murder, the left, by contrast, seems happy to consign the whole enterprise to the dustbin of history.

But veteran American leftist, Murray Bookchin has been rummaging around where others now disdain to look. This book is the penultimate volume in a mammoth history of “revolutions from below” from the Levellers of 17th century England to the anarchist-dominated Spanish revolution of 1936-7. Neither apologia or indictment, it does not deny the incipient totalitarianism or the ruthlessness, of the Bolsheviks under Lenin, but also recovers the radical democratic possibilities of the Revolution, however briefly they were realised before being snuffed out. It is a reinstatement of the Revolution as more than the precursor to Stalin’s terror.

It is a history that the author seems uniquely place to write. A teenage communist, later Trotskyite and union activist, Bookchin became an anarchist in the ‘60s and one of the first modern ecological thinkers, fusing the two strands of thought in a philosophy known as social ecology. He grew up in the revolutionary tradition. His Russian grandparents even smuggled guns into the country on the eve aborted 1905 Revolution.

It is this background, which gives the book is vivid closeness to its subject and almost journalistic, ground-level description of events. It often reads like the Russian epic it is describing, rather than the dry academic tomes of an EH Carr.

The core of the book is the description of the radical democratic revolution Russian underwent after the overthrow of the monarchy in February. Not in government (the provisional government that replaced the Tsar appointed itself) but in the elected factory, neighbourhood and village committees, in the workers’ militia that outnumbered the police, and in the district soviets (or councils) which sprang up across Petrograd and Moscow, quite independently of the Bolsheviks and other socialist parties. “Workers, soldiers, sailors and peasants created a dazzling new social and economic reality that remade the institutional structure of Russian society,” writes Bookchin.

The factory committees, for example, apart from demanding rights such as the eight hour day and vetoing the appointment of unpopular managers, concerned themselves with all aspects of worker’s daily lives: “They saw to the saw the workers’ food supply, opening canteens and establishing co-operatives as hunger set in ... in time they took responsibility for the formation of workers’ militias, educational and cultural affairs, and campaigns against gambling and drunkenness ... Virtually no aspect of life escaped the attention of the committees. In one instance a committee took it upon itself to decide whether to busy scented soap for the workers.”

This sudden blooming of democracy after centuries of stifling autocracy created a momentum for change that the Provisional Government and the Petograd Soviet, dominated by orthodox Marxists who wanted to act as handmaidens to a bourgeois revolution, could not control. At a mass demonstration in July 1917, one sailor grabbed hold of the Socialist Revolutionary leader Victor Chernov, screaming: “why don’t you take power, you son of a bitch, when we are giving it to you!”

One revolutionary was prepared to. Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, had a profoundly unMarxist attitude of the power of individuals to change history and a personal maxim of “let’s just do it, then we’ll see” uncannily in tune with the advertising slogan of a modern footwear manufacturer. Bookchin does not condemn the bloodless Bolshevik coup of October 1917 which merely put the unelected Provisional government out of its misery. In fact early Bolshevik rule was distinctly libertarian, resembling the programme of Russia’s anarcho-syndicalists. Workers’ control in the factories was legalised, an immediate end to the war with Germany promised, land pledged to the peasants, equal rights for women and social insurance for workers were introduced, and the army replaced with a militia in which officers were elected.

Tragically it did not last. Whether obsessed by survival after the failure of western Europe to follow Russia into revolution or dominated by Lenin’s inherent authoritarianism, Communist rule gradually descended into dictatorship. Other socialist and revolutionary parties were kicked out of factory committees and soviets and arrested, workers were gunned down when they went out strike and a secret police or Cheka was established under the Polish poet Felix Dzerhinsky. Lenin was reduced to mouthing doublethink that “there is absolutely no contradiction between Soviet, that is socialist, democracy and the exercise of dictatorial power by individuals.”

But the descent into totalitarianism could have been averted. The Left Socialist Revolutionaries, short-time coalition partners of the Bolsheviks, had a different vision of Russia’s future based on worker’s control in factories, the traditional communalism of the peasantry and freedom for all socialist parties. In July 1918, furious at the German army’s continued incursions into Ukraine after the signing of the Brest Litovsk peace treaty, two members assassinated the German ambassador. Supported by 2,000 soldiers, the Left SRs barricaded themselves into the barracks of the Cheka, took over the telegraph office and declared that Communist rule had been overthrown. Lenin, with only 700 troops to defend  his regime, doubted whether he could hold out till morning. But the insurgents’ nerve failed them and their entire party leadership was subsequently arrested.

Finally in 1921, the Kronstadt sailors, ‘the pride and glory of the revolution’ according to Trotsky, rose up and called for a ‘third revolution’ to end the ‘commissarocracy’ and restore democracy to the soviets. But the Petrograd workers, exhausted by years of near famine conditions, did not respond and after a bloody battle the rebels were transported in chains through the streets of the city and then killed. “The Revolution had all but come to an end.”

The Third Revolution rescues from historical amnesia the men and women who fought and often died in revolutions that, however fleetingly, brought into reality radical ideas of freedom and democracy. But they ultimately were defeated. It was the authoritarians - the Cromwells, Robespierres and Lenins who emerged victorious. A lingering questions remains after reading this book - why do revolutions seem to inevitably devour their own ideals?