‘Happiness’ is a concept that I seem to be increasingly encountering. It is the subject of a piece of work that my colleagues in Arts and Society are involved with in collaboration with the Happy Museum Project, an initiative that is encouraging UK museums to support transition to well-being and sustainability in our society.
The Happy Museum Project was born from psychological research suggesting that happiness and well-being are not related to material wealth. On the contrary, an emphasis on material wealth has led to a focus on the short term, causing the majority to feel pressure to “keep up” and leading to more unhappiness. Key to a sustainable notion of well-being, according to the Happy Museum Project, is what they call ‘support learning for resilience’, which encourages learning that is curiosity driven, engaging, informal and fun and can build resilience, creativity and resourcefulness.
Of course this is not a wholly new concept. We’re becoming increasingly familiar with research that shows that over a certain comfort threshold, increased wealth doesn’t correlate with general satisfaction, take Bhutan’s Gross National Happiness index, for example, which was developed in the 1970s. Now the UK government has started to focus on the notion of happiness, with the announcement of the National Wellbeing Project in 2010, which will see them attempt to measure how happy Britons are and use the results to shape government policy.
One area where happiness does not seem to have been a central consideration however is in education. Take the new Ofsted framework, which requires inspectors to place emphasis on behaviour, safety and teaching but makes no mention of emotional wellbeing, sociability and support. The aim here may have been to concentrate on the essentials and perhaps the more quantifiable elements, but this only reinforces the lack of regard with which these qualities are held.
Plans for performance related pay for teachers could be taken as another example of overlooking the importance of happiness. Not only is this measure likely to increase pressure on teachers, making them less happy, but their performance is likely to be measured solely on academic results, as it must be, and not well-being. This is not to say that the two will always be unrelated. For example it seems obvious that if a child is taught in a way that is exciting, fun, collaborative and supportive then they will not only be happier but will be more engaged and therefore attain better results. But this policy risks increasing pressure on students to achieve academically, leading to more teaching to the test and so risking children’s well-being.
Additionally some proponents of performance related pay for teachers base their arguments on economics; a good teacher = a good education (good grades) = a good job = more money. Not only in the current climate is this not necessarily the case, as there are not enough good jobs for high achieving students, but if money doesn’t make us happy then we shouldn’t be thinking only about education in these terms.
So I come back to the Happy Museum Project’s central tenet – our culture must focus on the long-term and sustainable benefits of its actions. Whilst achieving good academic results may lead to happiness in the short term, it can no longer guarantee a child’s future well-being in the face of unemployment, recessions and climate change, although perhaps it can help. My point is not to belittle academic achievement, but to emphasise that like so many things, we just cannot be sure. What we can be sure of is that having confidence, emotional stability and resilience, will help this generation of students to survive this uncertainty and to cope better, if not always be happy.
I am not sure if it would count as flipped learning but, unable to be at Monday’s RSA/ Teach First event, I did the gig in reverse.
First, I looked at the outcomes from our post-event coffee-house discussion organised by RSA Fellows. Drawing on the RSA’s caffeinated origins in 18th century London (but facilitated using a very 21st Century technology of participation method), it was a chance for Fellows and Teach First Ambassadors to discuss one of the key questions raised by the event: how can we best judge what makes a successful school?
I then read the twitter feed, which, like many event hashtags contained too much regurgitation and too little critical analysis. Finally I listened to the recording from the event. I was encouraged by Sir Michael Wilshaw’s ‘plea for pragmatism’, that a great school needs a diversity of approaches from good teachers, where all are free to use ‘initiative, imagination and common sense.’ Teach First Ambassador Ndidi Okezi was especially inspiring and thought provoking, challenging all of us to commit to changing young lives.
Moving swiftly from regurgitation to analysis, here are a few reflections:
- It’s not just about those with Qualified Teacher Status. What is the best configuration of adults that can make the biggest difference to young people’s learning and development? Does the orthodox ‘80% of budget on teacher salaries’ school finance model constrain broader thinking about schools as 21st Century enlightenment organisations and the mix of skills, knowledge and attributes that a school community needs to educate young people? Tuesday’s education select committee report proposed that ‘greater effort is needed to identify which additional personal qualities make candidates well-suited to teaching’, praising Teach First’s core competencies (which are usefully congruent with RSA Opening Minds’ competence framework for pupils).
- Good teachers should be able to adopt, adapt and innovate practices. The Cambridge Primary Review talked powerfully about what makes teaching a ‘profession’ – that teachers should be able to justify their pedagogical approaches with clear reference to evidence. Although the government was right to make the Teachers’ Standards shorter and clearer, what’s missing is any concept of ‘evidence-based practice-making’ encouraging teachers to understand and use evidence, and to innovate robustly to add to the evidence base. My colleague Louise Thomas’ pamphlet on teachers and curriculum development pointed to some cultural barriers to innovation that those agencies which influence teacher development (in particular OFSTED) should take seriously.
- All four speakers seemed very certain of their opinions. Without using the dreaded ‘further research is needed’ phrase, it’s worth bringing in some doubt – that there might well be issues around teacher quality and pedagogy that we just don’t know enough about yet. For instance, the teaching of ICT and computer science, or more generally how we teach the most disengaged, vulnerable young people effectively. How should emerging research about the adolescent brain inform our thinking about what makes a good teacher of teenagers? To use Geoff Mulgan’s typology, as the amount of ‘stable’ knowledge declines in proportion to ‘in flux’ and ‘inherently novel’ knowledge, what does this mean for learning and teaching?
- If fewer people want to be teachers, does this matter? The number of applications to teacher training has fallen by nearly 15% this year, despite the economic downturn. A smaller pool of applicants tends to reduce quality, but it may be that a tougher performance management regime is weeding out the ambivalent and uncommitted before they even apply. Then again, when I signed up for my PGCE during the 1990s recession, I was both ambivalent and uncommitted (and heartbroken, but that’s not a story for this or any other blog). And I think I did just about more good than harm during my five years in the classroom. Do any ex-pupils out there want to confirm or deny?
On Tuesday the Lords discussed on the recently published Restarting Britain: Design Education and Growth from the Design Commission. The transcript of the debate provides interesting reading – partly for the way in which the Lords interpret the word ‘design’, drawing on their personal stories: working as trend spotters in the fashion industry, establishing technical colleges to teach hand skills, or simply owning a Lachasse suit. Below are a few snippets.
The Lords raised the design community’s old grievance that their skills are often misunderstood:
“…many people regard design as largely concerned with aesthetics or with products such as furniture or ceramics. As a result, they regard it as a marginal issue-something that is good and desirable but not essential.”
They affirmed that certain important capabilities are effectively learned through design training:
“Design teaches “a problem-solving approach; the capacity to work collaboratively; interdisciplinary capability; taking into account the participation of the end-user … and the habit, and satisfaction, of creating projects which work … [these qualities] are … hard to acquire from other subjects.”
Most frequently they noted – unsurprisingly given the report’s title – that design is critical to the UK’s economy:
“…our education system needs to be design-linked with technology for the future, for our economy and, most importantly, for jobs”
“One distinguished magazine editor told me that British designers are the creative engine of the French fashion industry. We seem to be able to produce design talent but it appears that we just do not know how to use, develop and nurture it.”
“…we have grown used to hearing it bruited about that the UK’s record of scientific invention and the great strength of its creative industries-product design, architecture, fashion, media, games software, entertainment and advertising-would equip us well enough for the future. However… the uncomfortable truth is that, with a few very honourable exceptions, we have not been good enough at carrying these capabilities through into consistently world-beating products and services.”
The eulogies for design continued, with the accusation implied that the Government was not taking Design-with-a-capital-D sufficiently seriously. Baroness Wilcox hit back on behalf of DBIS:
“While we welcome the commission’s contribution to this important subject, we must dispute the suggestion that the Government do not fully appreciate design as a lever for growth … We do not see it as “whimsical”, which I heard Sir Paul Smith say was the view of design that many people have when they should be looking at the beautiful design of an engine or water bottle. He actually said that design “isn’t all red hair and bare chests” when he was interviewed this morning about the relocation of the Design Museum.”
Leaving the red hair and bar chests aside, her response gave the impression that the Design Commission were pounding on an open door, but the contribution that struck me as most thoughtful was from Baroness Morris:
“I have never known anyone who was against design. There is no army of people out there making a case against it. Sometimes when that happens, because there is no core to the debate, you find that everyone thinks that it is a good thing but no one really fights for it to be as good as it could be.”
She advocated that rather than top-down directives on design education, more demand creation (as exemplified by the Design Council’s Designing Demand programme, I suppose) could be a better route:
“…it is all too easy to say that if we made [design] compulsory for every child in every year of schooling the problems would be solved, but I am not sure that that is the case. The more difficult task is to win the case and make it so good that schools want to teach it and children want to learn it. Sometimes, giving something the hook of compulsion actually makes you take your foot off the accelerator in making it a very good subject.”
Which to me at least, seems like a more designerly approach.
The idea of ‘being a realist’ is rather slippery. Realism in everyday parlance is taken for granted as a sort of common sense perspicacity. We can all relate to being told to ‘get real,’ or ‘be realistic,’ but what that actually means, when you stop and think about it, could be all sorts of different things to different people.
In academic circles, realism is even more slippery, with a cascade of categories you need a lot of patience to pick a path through. At the top: philosophical realism, scientific realism, political realism, artistic realism. Beneath each of those, more specifics: critical realism, transcendental realism, naïve realism, so on and so on. There’s a veritable spaghetti junction of realism out there.
In my research training, I studied ontology and epistemology – basically what there is to know, and how we know it. Lots of people think this stuff is boring, but for me, it is in these questions that the real power to effect change lies. In the world of academic research, the paradigm within which you conduct your work is probably the number one defining influence on what you do, even if you don’t say so yourself.
For a long time there was a tug of war between quantitative and qualitative paradigms; positivism versus interpretivism. It doesn’t get much popular press, but in the relatively recent past, profoundly significant advances in the philosophy of science have brought us to a point where we have a real opportunity to transform our world by adopting a different stance to what we know about it. And, it’s realism.
only realism can save us from the state of crisis we are in
Personally, I’m hugely influenced by Roy Bhaskar’s Critical Realism, but I have one major criticism, which is that it can be bloody difficult to understand. And, what’s the use in world-changing philosophy, if it isn’t going to make sense to enough people for it to take hold? I find Ray Pawson’s version of realism a little easier to digest, probably because his work is so firmly rooted in in the type of real world research I’ve done myself, like evaluating educational and public health interventions.
So, it’s rather bold, perhaps, but I’ll risk sounding ridiculous and assert that only realism can save us from the state of crisis we are in. Adam Lent wrote yesterday about ethical revolutions. Whether we are indeed on the cusp of a time of ethical revolution and not further descent into crisis depends on changes happening on many levels. So many of our power structures are built on evidence bases which have non-realist foundations which by their nature try to eliminate complexity and identify clean causal relationships. With this explicit rejection of the reality of the complex world we occupy, we’re shooting ourselves repeatedly in the feet.
With this explicit rejection of the reality of the complex world we occupy, we’re shooting ourselves repeatedly in the feet.
I’ll try to illustrate. In public services, we are constantly trying to do things within complex social systems, and in order to know whether the things we’re doing are effective, we need to measure and evaluate. With something like an educational intervention with the aim of, say, reducing teenage pregnancy, its effectiveness might be measured by counting the number of teenagers who become pregnant after receiving the intervention and comparing that with the number of pregnancies amongst those who didn’t get the lesson.
The research will try to ‘control’ out all of the social factors which influence whether or not teenagers become pregnant, and make a claim as to the causal relationship between the intervention and the outcome. We want to be able to conclude,’ if the kids have the sex education class, they won’t get pregnant’. But of course, the world is messier than that. The best sex education in the world doesn’t stop condoms breaking every now and then, or emergency contraception failing.
The positivist view of the world relies on the exclusion of critical but unpredictable factors. This type of research might lead to nice, neatly analysable statistics, but whether it’s useful or not, or answers the most important questions is another matter. Realist evaluation, by contrast, assumes that in order to infer a causal relationship between two events (i.e. sex education and teenage pregnancy), it is necessary to understand the underlying mechanism that connects them AND the context in which the relationship occurs. Rather than asking simply ‘what works?’, a realist evaluator asks ‘what is it about this intervention that works, for whom, in what circumstances?’ More complex, yes, but more useful also.
Even if you’re with me this far, you might well be thinking, ‘fair enough, but how is this going to save the world, exactly?’ I have a feeling it’s going to take more than blog post for me to fully unpack this and show why it matters so much. I promise I shall try to avoid becoming terribly dull…
RSA Connected Communities has started a new project with Nathan of the MIT Center for Civic Media to create a new, cost-effective way to measure the social impact of public services and civic interventions and to allow people to see their own personal networks. We’re designing a mobile and tablet app for recording real-life social networks: your friends, families and contacts. The open source software we build will also be useful to journalists, ethnographers and anyone trying to make sense of rapidly changing social phenomena. Here I illustrate how we are currently recording this data, and why I think it is important that we change the way that we do it.
What is data?
Data is a rushed researcher putting together a survey to capture the full extent of a human life on paper. The scales are based on someone else’s testing. The newly combined scales are then re-tested on new people. Any newly invented questions can change as a result of piloting; the old questions – based on someone else’s testing – must remain constant. These newly tested combined scales – with the odd bit of cut and paste – are then recalibrated and re-launched.
A community researcher goes door to door. “Hello! My name is… “ Door shuts. “Hi! I’m… Some version of a person’s social network and social world is transferred from local person, to community researcher’s ear, to RSA paper survey. Interesting anecdotes and unusual answers are scribbled in the margins, for few paper-based-surveys have the space to fully annotate human complexity.
Back at the RSA HQ a data entry scribe enters these reams upon reams of human data. Comment boxes are full of the annotated scribbles, although some anecdotes are lost to time, bad weather and even worse handwriting. Data entry becomes data book; data book becomes social network; social network might become a Guardian Society supplement.
We have found that allowing people to see their own networks and understand them allows them to feel they can change them.
And so what? Your social network, your human network, is a map of you. And maps need to be used in the now, not in a year’s time when the roads have changed and bridges have been broken. The social app I am working on with Nathan from the MIT Center for Civic Media might allow us to do just that. It will be a means of researching somebody’s human networks and then playing it back to them, in real time.
Here in the RSA Connected Communities team – when not dealing with 4000 peoples’ worth of social networks and wellbeing, community health networks and the innovation networks of various councils – we are trying to help social network analysis become a real life tool. For this to happen it needs to make sense to people.
We already know that people with more diverse networks are healthier and happier. Our human networks help us to find work, with those with more diverse networks tending to have higher status and better paid jobs. We have found that allowing people to see their own networks and understand them allows them to feel they can change them. Poor networks are a real form of poverty: lack of mainstream social capital slows you down and closes off options.
You can paint me your social picture and I can ask “Does this look right, does this look like you?” before I join up the numbers
Through visualisation work to make network outputs more intelligible and the creation of network toolkits that hopefully make the subject more intuitive to people, we are trying to open up social network knowledge so it can be part of every individual’s personal toolkit. I really hope that the tool we are working on with Nathan will be a big part of this.
It will allow researcher and researched to really co-produce.You can paint me your social picture and I can ask “Does this look right, does this look like you?” before I join up the numbers. It will make the data better and it will do what the data protection act tried but failed to do: it will make you own your own data, because you can see, feel and change it.
This might become a way for people to check in on their own social networks every once in a while, or a tool that might measure your isolation and suggest a local reading group or walking club. I can imagine GPs using this kind of tool to help them socially prescribe local activities. Any organisation which acts with social networks – such as the NGO Tostan- could use this as a low-cost way of measuring the impact of their interventions.
Organisations which rely on interviewing broad sections of people to understand new social phenomena – such as Human Rights Watch or any news organisation worth its salt – could use the tool as a prompt in interviews, a means of recording data and a way on ensuring that they have actually managed to ask a diverse group of people and not just people who float in similar circles.
So over to you. These social networks are your human networks. And these human networks delimit that which is possible in your life. What does this tool need to do, if it is to be of real use?
I have attended a whole string of events on social mobility over the past couple of weeks, which have left me deeply confused about what people mean when they use the phrase. Becky Francis has made this point in a previous blog, but the social mobility is such a dominant theme in education at the moment that it bears some further examination.
At a seminar organised by us examining arguments for national and local curriculum in relation to social justice, esteemed educational sociologist Professor Michael Young said that he was ‘appalled’ at the way politicians use the term ‘social mobility’. If we actually mean ‘social mobility’ when we say it, he argued, then we have to accept that as some people move up, others move down. Especially when we’re talking (as has Michael Gove) about more students on Free School Meals going to Oxbridge. How can it be otherwise, unless Oxford and Cambridge are going to expand to accommodate all that untapped potential without displacing the children at independent schools who would otherwise have taken those places? There needs to be ‘space at the top’ if more children are to rise to the top. The same applies if we take social mobility to mean people moving between income quintiles, i.e. whether there is movement between children born to parents in the bottom 20% income bracket to the top 20% of earners when they grow up. This relative quintiles game is, by definition, a zero sum game.
When I brought this up at an event looking at the implications for social mobility of the government’s White Paper on Higher Education such thinking was branded ‘deeply worrying’ by several participants, including MPs. The idea that social mobility was ever a ‘zero sum game’ was rejected outright. I could see what they mean: research was cited showing that overall, students leaving Higher Education tended to access and retain employment with higher returns in status and in income than their parents had. So it seemed that they were talking about social mobility in terms of doing better than your parents did and I should have been clearer that I was not. This inter-generational kind of social mobility implies that overall there will be more degree educated people in good jobs than there were in previous generations. But does it also accept that those who were born to less well off families are still in less well paid jobs than those born to better off families, even if more of those jobs are degree-level and better paid?
Let’s just do a thought experiment: realistically, if students from all backgrounds performed more or less equivalently at school, and the proportions going to univeristy, to Russell Group Universities and to Oxbridge fairly reflected the make-up of society, then families used to the idea that their children will do relatively well and go to one of the best universities in the land (because that’s what children from families like theirs do), would need to get used to the idea that only the exceptionally bright will do so. The 7% of the population who attend an independent school would commandeer just 7% of the places at universities of all types (as opposed to nearly half at the most selective they do currently). Unless the number of university places is going to continue to rise (which looks unlikely in the short term) then more and more students from ordinary or disadvantaged backgrounds taking a finite number of places would mean fewer and fewer better off students getting a place. At all. Any any university. To take it to its logical conclusion, a genuine meritocracy might mean that the image conjured up by the term ‘NEET’ might have to change. The relationship between university degrees and top careers might also change, but this is pure, perhaps cynical, conjecture. Anyway, I can’t see it happening, but I hope that the point is clear.
This ambiguity in implications of the term ‘social mobility’ makes it a very useful hard-to-argue-with phrase for politicians to use, without having to acknowledge the implications of what success in these policies might look like for different sectors of society: one can see why they do it. But it also makes it extremely difficult for the rest of us to know what on earth they mean, and I think we need to start asking them to clarify. Do they mean ‘we want children to do better than their parents did so that society is better off overall’ (everyone wins), or do they mean ‘we want all children to do as well regardless of background so that disadvantage can no longer be conferred between parents and their children but neither can advantage‘? Because it matters: for our view of the sincerity of the attempts to tackle entrenched disadvantage suffered by some communities, and for the shape of the policies employed to do so.
One thing’s for certain: whatever politicians mean, their policies often have little to do with promoting social equality, or enabling those at the bottom to ‘catch up’ faster than those at the top race ahead which is, arguably, an alternative meaning of the term ‘social mobility’ but is better captured by other phrases now out of vogue, such as ‘social justice’ or ‘social inclusion’. And, as Michael Young argued, for countries like Finland and Sweden it is social equality which makes social mobility far easier to achieve.
Boris Johnson has been kicking up a stink over being brought to task on his misuse of statistics. The issue in hand is to do with the statistics which supposedly demonstrate the reoffending rate of prisoners leaving the Heron Unit at Feltham Young Offenders Institution, which is funded by the London mayor. When Johnson cheerfully announced to a Commons Committee that only 19% of prisoners leaving the unit went on to reoffend, compared with the 78% national figure, it didn’t bother him that the figures related to people who had only been out of prison for a few weeks. Not only that, but the comparisons made were inappropriate because they do not control for differences in the characteristics of the different populations.
These discrepancies were summarised by Sir Michael Scholar, who is chair of the UK Statistics Authority, and wrote to the chair of the home affairs committee to tell him that the figures do not stand up to scrutiny and should not be used.
When questioned about the issue during Mayor’s question time yesterday, Johnson was blasé, and has been quoted as having said, “There’s this guy called Scholar who writes me letters, who appears to be some sort of Labour stooge.” Making such a slur on a highly respected, impartial champion of trustworthy statistical evidence shows an unwarranted lack of respect. The question the mayor was being asked was whether, in light of this latest misuse of statistics, he would now sign up to the Code of Practice for Official Statistics. His response to that question was “I’m not minded to.” This casual dismissiveness is troubling and draws attention to what Ben Goldacre has called the “contempt with which politicians hold evidence and statistics”.
Making such a slur on a highly respected, impartial champion of trustworthy statistical evidence shows an unwarranted lack of respect.
Goldacre points out that what politicians want to do with statistics is to use them as narrative devices, adding weight to whatever story they’re trying to tell. In defending his misuse of the statistics, Johnson said “I used the statistics I had in my head about the success of the Heron Unit, because I want to promote that unit and I want to see more work done like that. And if it means advertising the success, I am absolutely determined to do it.” This basically amounts to saying that he believes the unit is working, irrespective of statistical evidence, and he’s going to do whatever is necessary to convince people of its success, regardless of whether the statistics he has in his head are valid or reliable.
This complete lack of concern for accuracy represents a deeper problem with the way in which politicians, journalists and the public treat statistical evidence.
This complete lack of concern for accuracy represents a deeper problem with the way in which politicians, journalists and the public treat statistical evidence. If we believe something works well, whether it’s a young offenders unit, a new way of teaching maths, or any kind of social intervention, it’s easy to assume that once it’s collected, the evidence is bound to demonstrate it works well, so therefore it’s fine to grab the nearest statistic that corroborates your view and use it to gain support.
There’s plenty of examples of how this nonchalant attitude to statistical evidence leads to policy mistakes and wasted resources. The Social and Emotional Aspects of Learning (SEAL) initiative is a case in point. Based on the instincts of well-meaning academics and policymakers, a national programme was rolled out, for which there was only flimsy evidence of effectiveness. Only when it had been set up and delivered nationally was a robust evaluation conducted, which demonstrated that it had virtually no effect on the domains it set out to influence.
Instead of dismissing expert advice, Boris Johnson should take seriously the need to gather and analyse evidence properly, and I think he really ought to apologise to Michael Scholar.
On 5th May British citizens will be asked to vote on their preferred voting system; First Past the Post (FPTP) or the Alternative Vote (AV). One of the boldest claims that the proponents of the AV make is that it will give voters “a stronger voice”.
If this were true (I have no idea if it is true I’m afraid) it would be an attractive offer to a lot of people. According to the Citizenship Survey just over a third (37 per cent) of the UK adult population believes they can influence decisions in their local area whereas almost three quarters (73 per cent) feel that it is important to have an influence and 44 per cent said they would like to be more involved in decisions made by councils affecting their local area.
Of course voting is only one part of this problem. There are a number of ways that we can influence the world around us ranging from voting to campaigning to getting out our brooms and cleaning the pavements ourselves.
The government has recognised this and have announced that they will fund the training of 5,000 community organisers; to act as “catalysts for community action at the neighbourhood level”. This has proved to be a controversial decision. There are even those who argue that community organisers should never take money from any government, ever.
Tessy Britton has written a couple of blog posts (here and here) with an interesting take on these questions. I think she is arguing that an Asset Based Community Development (ABCD) (http://abcdeurope.ning.com/) approach is preferable to an Alsinky style community organising approach if you want to build stronger communities.
You might crudely boil the question down to; “do we want to run projects or campaigns?”
I think the discussion can usefully be split into three parts (As Matthew Taylor has written it always seems to be three parts…); building campaigns, building stronger communities and building more empowered communities.
The main achievement that the London Citizens like to boast about is their success in securing the ‘London Living Wage’ for a number of workers, for example cleaners at major banks. This campaign used a number of classic Alinsky style techniques including focusing their campaign on one individual (normally the CEO of the bank in question).
These campaigns are able to achieve certain types of change. They are good at changing the practices of organisations that benefit from a community but are not rooted in that community (e.g. slum landlords, employers that pay low wages etc…).
Building Stronger Communities
The Alinsky model for community organising brings together existing organisations (e.g. churches, trade unions etc…) and gets them to focus on campaigning. Part of Tessy’s argument is that this approach is not conducive to building better connected, creative and stronger communities. Since the campaigns are designed around conflict and attack there is little space for creative collaboration. Instead, she argues that we should use an approach that brings people together in shared spaces in a way that celebrates and builds on those things that people already value. An example she gives of the type of project she supports is the People’s Supermarket.
This type of approach can be very successful, especially in areas that have a large amount of “hidden wealth” i.e. community assets (broadly defined), that can be connected or mobilised.
Building Empowered Communities
This suggests the tricky question; which of these approaches will give people the influence that they seem to want and that AV is promising?
Alinsky’s supporters point towards visible changes that happen directly as a result of their campaigns, whereas the ABCD enthusiasts point to the spontaneous emergence of new projects that arise out of their approach.
You will have to make your own mind up on this question. However, I do see a deeper similarity between the approaches than might be apparent.
Both approaches rely on building and utilising relationships within communities.
The Alinsky model works on the assumption that there are more or less formal associations already in existence within a given area. The organiser’s job is to bring these associations together, to connect the connectors, with a sense of purpose.
The ABCD model also tries to make new connections, although these are often between individuals rather than formal associations. Once these connections have been made the creative collaboration can take place.
One might even speculate that a community organiser using the Alinsky method would be much more successful if they worked in an area that had benefited from one of Tessy’s Traveling Pantries than if they worked in an area where there was much weaker levels of social connection.
But perhaps I am drawing connections where none exist?
Whatever you think of the content of Cameron’s speech, the written form of the speech is pretty striking. Most points are expressed in single or double lines, with three line points being the exception, and one or two deviant ideas spilling over into four lines.
It seems the key not to dwell on one point for too long. I am not sure what to think about this yet, but the next time you listen for a political speech, look out for this structure of sentences without paragraphs, ideas without qualifications, facts without sources.
Who writes his speeches?
Is this particular to Cameron, or are all political speeches written this way?
If so, why?
Does it make them easier to deliver?
Does it make them sound better to the audience?
Should we be worried that speech writers filter political ideas in this way?
Is it part of our the relentless dumbing down of political culture?
Is there an rhetoric expert out there who can enlighten us?
I was going to make these points as a comment on Tom Neumark’s recent post about taxes and benefits, but since they also pick up on something written by Emma Norris a couple of weeks ago on the politics of TINA, I thought I’d post them in their own right.
As we all know, George Osborne has just announced that Child Benefit will be cut for families where one (or more) parent pays higher rate tax. On the face of it, cutting a benefit for people who earn enough to be liable for higher rate tax seems like a no-brainer, an ‘easy win’, and we’re invited to ask ourselves whether they should have been getting it in the first place. In reality, of course, it’s not so simple: the lack of a taper makes the change easy to understand and administer, but it also means the cut will hit some types of family harder than others. Extreme but presumably fairly rare examples of this inequity have been widely touted, and the opportunity to criticise has been seized upon, often strongly.
So far, so predictable. But in this flurry of comparisons between families, a couple of important wider points seem to have been missed. First, universal benefits like Child Benefit or indeed the Winter Fuel Allowance recognise that there are periods in people’s lives when their circumstances mean their disposable income is lower than it might otherwise be. Having dependent children and being retired are the two main examples. Removing or restricting an existing universal benefit inherently involves targeting people who have less disposable income simply by virtue of their lifestage, while sparing those who have more. This hardly seems fair, no matter how much money the people involved have. Shouldn’t higher rate tax payers without dependent children be asked to contribute as well?
Second, perhaps more insidiously, cutting a universal benefit removes one of the few obvious stakes the affluent have in the welfare system – one of the few things they feel they ‘get back’ in return for the substantial contributions they make to it (I don’t count free access to the NHS, as this tends to be taken for granted, and you don’t see it in your bank account every month). These stakes, however small, remind the affluent that there is something in the welfare system for them, that they get some ‘return on their investment’, and it’s not all give, give, give. Withdrawing them risks breaking this relationship between give and take completely, subtly increasing resentment (and decreasing understanding) of the ‘benefits culture’ and people who are felt to take without giving, and widening social divisions at a time when we’re all supposed to be in this together. This would not be helpful.
The real rub in all this lies in the fact that, taken in isolation, the idea of Child Benefit for higher rate tax payers is pretty indefensible in the current economic situation. No one would countenance it if it did not already exist. But it does exist, and the reason why cutting it has caused such uproar is that it has become the status quo: families have come to take it for granted, to expect it and, in many cases, to depend on it. Ironically, removing Child Benefit ought to increase levels of empathy with those on benefits, as it forces parents who feel they can’t do without it to reflect on the fact that ‘benefit dependency’ can affect them as well. But I don’t expect people will see it like that.
And what about TINA? Apart from raising VAT, at the moment cutting Child Benefit is the only substantial fiscal measure on the table, and once again TINA has been brought out to argue its case. We’re told it’s a difficult but necessary choice. It may well turn out to be a necessary element of a wider suite of cost-saving measures, but whatever the politicians may say, it’s surely not the case that ‘there is no alternative’ to it at this point.
I’m no economist, but increasing higher rate income tax a little would presumably raise/save the same sum, and do so by targeting all higher rate payers, not just parents with less disposable income. And it would be linked to income, so be fairer than an all-or-nothing benefit cut that will hit those earning just over the tax threshold harder than those on higher incomes. There is always an alternative, and the Treasury must have considered this and others. Further cuts and tax rises may well be introduced in due course, and changes to Child Benefit may prove necessary as part of this, but it would be nice, as Emma suggests, to know why there are no alternatives right now.
Just for the record, I have two young children, and so receive Child Benefit. In answer to Tom’s question, I would prefer to make my contribution to reducing the deficit through higher levels of income tax and have Child Benefit continue as a universal benefit. But you probably could have worked that out for yourselves. And incidentally, my wife disagrees with most of what I’ve said here, so please feel free to tell me I’ve got it all wrong!