‘Struggle Street’: hard-hitting documentary or middle-class voyeurism?

A new Australian television show, Struggle Street, has attracted much controversy and commentary. The three-part documentary was commissioned by the public broadcaster, SBS, and made by KEO films. The production company’s web site describes Struggle Street as an ‘observational documentary’ that will provide an ‘insight into the experience of those who’ve been dealt some of the worst conditions to start their lives’ and ‘provoke not just a change in public perception, but a debate about the direction of public policy as well’. The show is set in the western Sydney suburb of Mount Druitt and focuses on a number of working-class people experiencing poverty. Mount Druitt has a reputation of being ‘rough’ due to its concentration of public housing, and the western suburbs of Sydney have been marginalised due to their geographical distance from the metropolitan centre and their working-class demographic.

The controversy occurred after the broadcast of a promotional trailer. Some of the show’s participants contacted their local area mayor to complain about how they were depicted in the trailer. The mayor, Stephen Bali, attempted to put a stop to the show’s airing and staged a protest outside the headquarters of SBS. Bali described the show as ‘publically funded poverty porn’ and ‘rubbish’ television. To assist in making his point, a fleet of garbage trucks joined him outside the SBS offices. The mayor (who also had the support of Unions NSW) claimed that not only were the participants being portrayed in a negative way, but the show’s production team had engaged in unethical behaviour and he accused them of staging scenes and misrepresentation. While SBS did agree to pull the promo video on the request of participants, the network’s head of program content, Helen Kellie, defended the show, and it was broadcast as scheduled.

In part because of the protest, the show attracted much interest and debate. Multiple news items, reviews, and commentaries have been written on the show, and it is now one of SBS’s highest rating programs in recent years.

So is it ‘poverty porn’, as suggested by the mayor, or a serious observational documentary intended to create debate and effect change, as stated by the creators? And what happens when we view the show through a working-class lens?

I find the term ‘poverty porn’ problematic, in part because it diminishes the real experience of the participants. I prefer ‘middle-class voyeurism’, which describes both the production and the reception of the show. The show was created by the same company that produced the British series Skint, which also garnered criticism due to its portrayal of working-class poverty in the UK. It could be suggested that the middle-class producers of Struggle Street are exploiting their working-class subjects in order to advance their own careers. After all, the participants are not paid for their time, and the producers do not seem to be offering any long-term assistance to the neighbourhoods depicted. The show is most likely to be watched by middle-class viewers (who are the main demographic of public broadcasters), and most reviews and commentary appear to be written from middle-class perspectives. We see this when KEO’s director of programmes, David Galloway, compares the setting of Struggle Street to that of his previous production River Cottage Australia (which is a cooking show set in a ‘historic and picturesque village’). He describes the two shows as ‘heaven and hell’ and states that people ‘end up’ and are ‘lumped’ in Mount Druitt, making the area sound like a dumping ground for the poor.

The first episode of Struggle Street was very interesting. The participants reveal their struggles with unemployment, disability, homelessness, drug addiction, and lack of formal education. They are candid and generally unselfconscious. Their efforts to make do and try to provide for themselves and their families reveal the social and political reality of working-class life and poverty. They also demonstrate working-class resilience, resourcefulness, and the importance of community as they provide assistance to each other. The show includes working-class humour and philosophical discussions of daily life. As such, it provides important insight into the effects of poverty on working-class Australians. Rather than operating as voyeurism, Struggle Street has the potential to help viewers understand these effects. For those who have lived in poverty, the show validates their experiences and stories, even though some middle-class viewers may not recognize some of the nuances of that experience.

After the show aired, responses ranged from support for the aims of the show by those who believed it offered a glimpse into the lives of marginalised people, to concerns about its potentially exploitative element. The show was described as ‘brutal and raw’, ‘powerful and poignant’ and ‘required viewing’. It was also described as reinforcing stereotypes and being bad reality TV (rather than documentary) that contained a caricature of Mount Druitt that was unrepresentative of the area as a whole. Most positive reviews agreed that the narration was intrusive and judgmental and the soundtrack distracting and clichéd.

What I found most interesting is the almost complete absence of class from the discussions. Apart from one negative piece (written by an academic) that suggested that ‘class is a taboo topic’ (and also criticized the show for its ‘abjectifying images’ and ‘class racism’), no one mentioned the class system that creates poverty. Commentators used terms such as ‘disadvantage’, ‘dysfunction’, and ‘hardship’, and although some mentioned government policies that lead to cuts in local services, almost no one acknowledged structural class inequalities.

The discussion was even worse on Twitter. Some tweets reflected the reviews and commentary by journalists, but others mocked and attacked the participants of the show with classist and derogatory remarks. For example, one suggested that a person receiving government benefits should not be able to afford a mobile phone. Some Tweeters from western Sydney attempted to distance themselves from the participants, claiming that not all people from Mount Druitt were poor. This sentiment appeared in some of the published commentary as well. Some community leaders were quoted as disappointed with the ‘hopeless’ tone of the show, which ‘undermines all the good work we do’ and reinforces stereotypes. This points to the politics of respectability, as working-class people who are in employment distance themselves from the unemployed and poor.

For all the controversy, there is a place for observational documentary that focuses on the lives of working-class people. Their stories need to be told on working-class terms, though that in itself can be hard to define. While some of those featured in Struggle Street initially complained about how they were represented on the show, two of the show’s main participants, Ashley and Peta Kennedy have stated they are pleased with how the show highlighted their struggle.

In an ideal world, perhaps, poor and working-class people would produce their own documentaries, but poor and working-class people rarely have the resources to do that. Instead, they must collaborate with middle-class filmmakers, and that means there is always the potential for exploitation and sensationalism of working-class experiences for the sake of entertainment. The participants of Struggle Street deserve to have their stories told, and if they are unhappy with their portrayal they should have the right to make these concerns heard. The key, and the challenge, is ensuring that working-class people have control of their stories.

Sarah Attfield

 

The power of stupid ideas: ‘three generations that have never worked’

This month I ran a workshop with a group of first year undergraduate sociology students at Teesside University (in the North East of England). Our students tend to be from working-class or lower-middle class backgrounds and often the first in their families to go to university. I’d been invited to give an insight into a ‘real life’ research project, and I began by asking for responses and thoughts about some quotations:

‘Behind the statistics lie households where three generations have never had a job’ (ex-British Prime Minister, Tony Blair, 1997).

‘…on some deprived estates…often three generations of the same family have never worked’ (Iain Duncan Smith, 2009; now British government Minister for Work and Pensions).

‘To reintroduce the culture of work in households where it may have been absent for generations’ (Universal Credit, Department of Work and Pensions, 2010; this is a document that introduces a very major overhaul of UK welfare payments).

‘…there are four generations of families where no-one has ever had a job’ (Chris Grayling, ex-Minister for Work and Pensions, 2011).

The idea that there are families in the UK with three (or four, or five and even six have been claimed) generations where no one has ever had a job is a particularly powerful orthodoxy. It is often repeated, rarely questioned, becoming part of a taken for granted vernacular. I was struck by the students’ comments. One said, ‘well, it must be true if all these [people] are saying it’. Another felt the same because ‘they wouldn’t say it unless there was loads of data to back it up’. Simple ideas boldly spoken (and repeated) by people in authority can carry real weight.

But is this idea true?

One of the most avid propagators of this claim is Iain Duncan Smith, Minister of State for Work and Pensions. Although students imagined that ‘there must be loads of data to back it up’, his response to a Freedom of Information Request enquiring about the evidence for his (and others’) assertions about this was that ‘statistical information on the number of UK families that never work is not available.’ Rather, he explained, his views were based on ‘personal observations’.

But my colleagues and I are social scientists, so instead of relying on ‘personal observations’, Tracy Shildrick, Andy Furlong, Johann Roden, Rob Crow, and I began rigorous research to see if there really were families like this. We have continued thinking, analysing, writing about, and presenting the complexities of the research material that we gathered since then. The research generated other questions, but, unusually for a sociological study, we found a clear and unequivocal answer to this first question: the existence of families where ‘no one had worked for three generations’ is highly unlikely.

We searched very hard to find such families. We chose two extremely deprived working-class neighbourhoods – in Glasgow and Middlesbrough, because we assumed that they were the sorts of places most likely to reveal this phenomenon. Despite deploying all the strategies and tactics we could think of (including financial inducements), we were unable to find any. This does not mean that they do not exist. Some people believe in fairies or Yetis, and one cannot prove they do not exist. We can say, however, that it is highly improbable that they do. Or, if they do, their numbers are infinitesimally small. Other research drew upon the best available secondary statistics and concluded that less than half of one per cent of all workless households in the UK might have two generations where no one had ever had a job. Households with three generations that have never worked are, logically, going to be far, far fewer in number than even this tiny fraction.

This was, actually, a quite predictable conclusion. A little socio-economic history helps. How long is ‘three generations’? Maybe sixty years, so back to the 1950s, or earlier. The proposition is that there are families where no one has had a job since the 1950s. The UK welfare state has become tougher and tougher over this period, particularly in the last few years. We have very tight ‘conditionality rules’ and ‘activation tests’; recipients of unemployment benefits must provide evidence of their worthiness for these on a weekly basis. It is difficult to imagine a person being able to defraud the state for the whole of his/ her working life – and then his/ her son or daughter doing the same and then his/ her son or daughter after them, for sixty years.

We also need to think about what has happened in working-class communities over this period. Certainly the neighbourhoods we studied were impoverished and had high unemployment rates, but they have not always been so. In the 1960s, Middlesbrough was a very successful, prosperous local economy with full employment. During the 19th and 20th centuries it became world famous for its prowess in industrial production (being the source of the Sydney Harbour and Golden Gate Bridges, and the Indian Railway network). Glasgow’s importance was so profound that it became known as ‘the second city of the British Empire’. Middlesbrough had ‘full employment’ in the 1950s and ‘60s; jobs (for working-class men, at least) were in good supply during the exact periods in which this plague of intergenerational worklessness was said to be taking grip. If we are to properly understand the stories of these families and how they became distanced from the labour market, we need to locate family biographies in place and history and, following CW Mills, to trace the connections between ‘private troubles of individual milieu’ and ‘public issues of social structure’. These localities have experienced radical disinvestment and the wrecking of their economic bases. To use Alice Mah’s phrase, they have undergone ‘ruination’, with Middlesbrough now having the reputation of ‘the most deindustrialised locale in the UK’. In hearing the stories of these families we were not hearing tales of ‘welfare dependency’ stretching across the generations but about how, through massive deindustrialisation, many of the working-class families that live in these places have been stripped of the possibility of making a decent life through decent employment.

Debunking welfare myths is an important job for social scientists but so is trying to understand what purpose these myths serve – and why they retain their power. By the end of the workshop, students were getting quite angry and raising questions about the power of the myth: ‘so how can they say this? It’s ridiculous. It’s just daft!’. They were able to understand these simple messages about deindustrialisation and the wrecking of regions, so why can’t clever and powerful people – the Prime Ministers and Ministers of State in the UK (from different political parties) that continue to espouse stupid ideas?

I think there are lots of answers to such questions. One is that myths about a lazy, work-shy underclass serve a clear ideological function: they help ‘sell’ the sweeping cuts to social security spending that have been enacted by the UK government under their austerity programme. Social security budgets have received some of the deepest cuts – and these have tended to be viewed very favourably by the general public, working-class and unemployed people included. Conditions of widespread employment insecurity and falling wages breed mistrust, fear, and anger. ‘Others’ are blamed. These are fertile conditions for stupid ideas about ‘shirkers’ who see ‘unemployment as a life-style choice’ and who ‘sleep their days away on benefits’ in families where ‘no-one has worked for three generations’ (all terms used by government ministers). In other words, we are witnessing the resurrection of the age-old phantom of the ‘undeserving poor’, trotted out to ease the way for further welfare cuts that, in fact, hurt some of the already most disadvantaged and vulnerable people in our society.

Robert MacDonald

Robert MacDonald is Professor of Sociology at Teesside University, UK. He has researched and written widely about social exclusion, work and youth.

 

Guilt by Association: Hillary and the Working Class

As the 2016 Presidential campaign revs up, we’re seeing a political version of guilt by association as Hillary Clinton tries to position herself in relation to the cornerstones of her husband’s legislative agenda: the Violent Crime and Enforcement Act (VCEA, 1994), the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Act (PRWOA, 1996), and the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA, 1994). Liberals and progressives widely recognize that these policies had an immediate and devastating impact on people of color, the white working class, and organized labor. They also had continuing influence, at once contributing to and mirroring current issues and debates involving poverty, incarceration, and trade agreements.

A brief historical summary might be helpful. The VCEA, based on the idea that increased incarceration would lower the crime rate, was part of President Clinton’s attempt to capture the “get tough on crime” zeitgeist. As criminologist Jeremy Travis suggested, the federal government promised increased funding to states that increased punishment for drug offenses, and 28 states and the District of Columbia “followed the money and enacted stricter sentencing laws for violent offenses.” As a result, the number of prisons and the rate of incarceration of the poor, blacks, and Latinos have increased. That may have helped the growing prison industry, but later studies show there was little correspondence between incarcerations and lower crime rates.

The PRWOA was central to President Clinton’s and the Republicans’ goals of trimming the federal deficit but also weaning the poor off of government assistance by cutting welfare benefits for the unemployed. The legislation reduced the amount of time that individuals and families could receive benefits and established work requirements. It also reduced federal funding and required states to decrease welfare caseloads and closely monitor the work activities of welfare recipients. Aid to Families with Dependent Children Program was replaced with Temporary Assistance for Needy Families, which included requirements for job training, GED programs, and subsidized employment opportunities. While the new policy may have decreased the cost of government assistance, it did not reduce poverty. In fact, the poverty rate has grown.

NAFTA aimed to eliminate tariffs and non-tariff trade barriers, protect intellectual property, and established a dispute resolution procedure between Mexico, Canada, and the United States. Proponents argued that these changes would reduce poverty and immigration. NAFTA did contribute to increasing trade, which has roughly tripled in the last 20 years, but the trade gap also widened to $181 billion with Mexico and Canada as over 1 million manufacturing jobs moved largely to the Mexican border areas. NAFTA contributed to deindustrialization and the declining standard of living of workers and their families. It was especially hard on residents in rustbelt states, including Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and Kentucky. It also undermined small-scale agriculture in Mexico and exacerbated the current immigration crisis. As former President Clinton acknowledged during Congressional testimony in 2010, his trade policy “has not worked” to alleviate poverty. He called the policy “a mistake.” On NAFTA’s 20th anniversary, even Forbes was forced to grudgingly admit that, at best, “the trade deal was a mixed bag, a generally positive yet disappointing economic experiment.”

Twenty years later, Hillary Clinton faces the prospect of running against President Clinton’s political legacy. At the same time, the same legislative concerns that gave rise to his legacy are in play again – trade, poverty, and criminalization. Like anyone tainted with guilt by association, Hillary is in the tricky position of distancing herself from a family member without being either disloyal or disingenuous.

In a recent speech, she called for criminal justice reform, including changes in sentencing and social services, increased use of body cameras for police accountability and transparency, and addressing the fundamental unfairness and injustice of the “war on drugs” for African-Americans. Despite all hoopla about speech, it largely repeated the current mainstream debate about the flaws in the criminal justice system. Nor did Hillary acknowledge that the VCEA had contributed to the problem. Republican Rand Paul noted the contradiction, saying her ideas would “undo some of Bill Clinton’s work,” which she had supported. He also noted “the number of prisoners under federal jurisdiction doubled” during the Clinton years.

 

In recent years, we’ve heard increasing concerns about increased levels unemployment, wage stagnation, and poverty. While Hillary has expressed a clear interest in wealth and wage inequality, she has not articulated a legislative agenda to address it, not has she suggested increasing social spending or rolling back any of the cuts from PROWA.

The same is true of trade. The proposed Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP) provides an excellent opportunity to oppose free trade in favor of fair trade. But this would require political tacking given her past support for NAFTA and other trade agreements. As Robert Kuttner has suggested, though, Senators Sherrod Brown, Elizabeth Warren, Bernie Sanders, and even Charles Schumer have opposed the TPP, providing Hillary with plenty of political cover, and she could increase her populist appeal by opposing it.

Yet Hillary might have an even more difficult hurdle. Even if she repudiates her husband’s political legacy and advances a progressive agenda, will Americans believe her? A recent Quinnipiac University survey of registered voters shows that while most think she had strong leadership qualities (62%), 54% do not view Hillary Clinton as honest or trustworthy. The question of character will be especially important to the working class and African Americans who haven’t forgotten how they were deceived by “slick Willy.”

John Russo

Former Co-Director, Center for Working-Class Studies

 

 

 

 

 

Putnam’s Poignant Folly: Empathetic Blaming

Robert Putnam graduated from high school in 1959 in the small Lake Erie town of Port Clinton, Ohio, and for his widely-praised book Our Kids: The American Dream in Crisis he revisits some members of his high school class to illustrate what life was like for those who grew up and started careers and families in the years 1945 to 1975 – what Putnam calls the “postwar boom” and in France is known more spectacularly as “the Glorious 30.” He very poignantly contrasts those glory years with grim portraits of life in Port Clinton today. What was once a supportive small-town warmth where standards of living were improving and opportunities were expanding for almost everybody has become a town divided between gated communities in a narrow strip along the lake and an excluded and much larger working-class community that ranges from destitution to quiet desperation.

I grew up during the same period as Putnam in a similar, if much larger, town that has experienced pretty much the same fate, though rather worse and without a lake from which to be excluded. It’s hard for folks of my generation to avoid experiencing what some contemptuously call “smokestack nostalgia,” as if what we are nostalgic for is the smokestacks and the “solid particulate matter” they emitted onto our homes, cars, and bodies.

More than a little nostalgia is justified, however, for those three decades if you focus on the right things, which Putnam usually does not. When Putnam graduated from high school in 1959, for example, real median family incomes in the U.S. had increased by more than 40% in the previous ten years and would increase by another 40% in the next ten years. Poverty was decreasing from 32% of the population in 1949 to 11% by the end of the Glorious 30 in the early 1970s. Real wages for production and nonsupervisory workers nearly doubled during the period, and the income gap between black and white families narrowed by 10 percentage points.

In contrast, by all these measures nothing has substantially improved since 1975, and much has gotten worse, much worse. “Back in the day,” for example, the top 10% got only about 1/3rd of all income, but they get one-half now, and the famous 1% got about 10% of income then, while today their share is 22%. Income taxes were steeply progressive (with top marginal rates ranging from 70% to 90% through the 1970s), and because unions were strong, the benefits of productivity growth were shared with workers, sharing that ended in the mid-1970s.

Putnam is aware of most of these numbers, and of their impact on people’s lives, as he details the disastrous decline in “upward mobility” that has put “the American Dream in crisis.” He is also aware that there are two kinds of upward mobility – the “rags-to-riches” kind that he calls relative upward mobility and the “rising-tide-lifts-all-boats” kind that he calls absolute upward mobility. Both kinds are desirable and both are declining. Putnam’s folly is to focus exclusively on relative upward mobility, which leads him into discussions of working-class family forms and parenting styles as root causes of the crisis in the American Dream.

Relative upward mobility occurs when over a lifetime some people move up from a lower to a higher income class – usually measured in quintiles; because there are always five quintiles by definition, in order for some to move up, others must move down. Relative mobility is about “careers open to talent” and equal opportunities for everybody to get to the top. It is key if you want to have a meritocracy. Absolute upward mobility, on the other hand, occurs when real incomes and standards of living increase across the board for everybody (or almost everybody).

Think of the common phrase “getting ahead.” It can mean getting ahead of others (relative upward mobility) or it can mean getting ahead of where you were before regardless of whether you passed anybody in the process (absolute upward mobility). Putnam’s exclusive focus on the former leads him astray because, as he more or less inadvertently shows, absolute upward mobility is very probably a necessary condition for increasing relative upward mobility – as that’s what happened during the Glorious 30 and is not happening any longer.

By contrasting well-crafted and moving portraits of upper-middle-class and poor working-class families in Oregon, Georgia, California, and Pennsylvania, as well as in his native Ohio, Putnam is able to show the overwhelming range of disadvantages children in these poor families face.   And he is able to make a strong case for the need for public institutions (especially schools) to provide “compensatory funding” to improve these children’s chances of getting ahead. But in doing so, he not only gives up on the working-class adults he portrays (most of them in mid-life), he gently and empathetically blames them for their children’s fate.

If they would just get married before they have children, stay married, and then raise their children with the “concerted cultivation” approach middle-class parents use, they could improve their children’s chances of success. There may be a case to be made for this point of view, but Putnam undermines it by getting carried away with his middle-class paternalism, suggesting at various points that hugging their children more, having dinner together, and using time-outs instead of spanking would help to equalize poor and working-class kids’ opportunities.

By focusing on equalizing opportunities without equalizing incomes, Putnam hopes to improve poor and working-class kids’ chances of succeeding in our “knowledge economy” – which for Putnam means getting a college education and a job that requires that education. Problem is he seems to have no idea that when today’s 12-year-olds graduate from college, only 1 out of 4 jobs at best will require a bachelor’s degree. What about the other 75% who do work that needs to be done but who are paid increasingly low wages and whose jobs are more and more precarious in every way you can think of? Putnam gives them an empathetic literary hug, but otherwise is silent.

Putnam’s folly is to think that we can achieve greater equality of opportunity without addressing our runaway inequality of income and wealth – that is, without drastically reforming our tax system so that investors are no longer privileged over people who work for a living, and without dramatically raising wages, especially at the lower end, regardless of how much education workers have and whether they are good, bad or mediocre parents.

Jack Metzgar

Chicago Working-Class Studies

Taskers in the Precariat: Part 2 – Essential Reforms

In “Taskers: The Precariat in the On-Demand Economy: Part 1,” I defined three types of taskers — on-demand, crowd labour, and zero hours employees – and highlighted the problems associated with these new forms of work: insecurity, low and fluctuating incomes, chronic uncertainty, lack of control over time, and the dismantling of occupational communities. I now want to propose policies that could improve taskers’ economic status and work conditions.

The on-demand economy and the precariat are here to stay, and we must fight for new forms of regulation, redistribution, and social protection to redress growing inequities. Real wages for the precariat – including taskers and others — will continue to stagnate. Income redistribution will have to come by other means. Forging a new system will not be easy, but is vital. As even intelligent conservative economic interests recognise, growing inequality threatens economic, social, and political stability.

However, the specifics of tasking also demand remedial policies. Let us start by considering policies for society, then policies directed at labour brokers, and then policies for protecting and enhancing the position of taskers themselves.

At society level, we should stop trying to compress taskers into the category of employee. Labour statistics define workers as either “employees” or “self-employed.” Neither of these terms, nor “freelancers”, is appropriate for describing the status of most people doing tasking, since they lack freedoms associated with being an independent seller of services, and they not employees in the old sense of mutuality of obligations. We should designate “tasker” as a separate category.

In the US, several class action cases are being heard to determine whether taskers in certain sectors should be classified as employees. While we might debate the specific conditions under which taskers could be identified as employees, we would do better to overhaul old labourist rules that privilege employees. It would be better if legislation dealt with the issues more generically. And in any case, why should only “employees” be covered by the protections built up in the 20th century? All forms of work should have the same rights and entitlements. The term ‘labour rights’ is a contradiction, since it is people who have rights, and these should apply to everybody, regardless of their specific labour or work status.

The emergence of taskers has intensified the frictions and divergent interests of different groups of worker. Anybody who thinks there is a unified working class in current circumstances is hallucinating. This is why we need a new system of collaborative bargaining between complementary and substituting occupational groups. The collective bargaining capacities of taskers must also be strengthened. On the one side are employers and labour brokers; on the other are employees, taskers, and freelancers.

Another social concern arises from the fact that the labour brokers are rentiers, earning vast amounts for doing very little if we accept their claim that all they do is provide technology to put clients in touch with ‘independent contractors’ of services. Thus, Uber and its rival Lyft say they are technology, not transport, companies.

By treating taskers as ‘independent contractors’, brokers avoid paying contributions that would entitle taskers to state benefits, and they avoid paying non-wage benefits that employees should receive. In return for their intermediary role, brokers typically take 20% of earnings. But they are free-riding on the public, since if taskers fall on hard times, they will need benefits from the state. Normal employers have to make a contribution to pay for benefits; brokers currently avoid doing so.

Accordingly, the authorities should establish a tasker levy (tax) of, say, 20% of labour brokers’ earnings or for each tasker they contract. Similarly, if they require taskers to use their own equipment, such as a car or machine tools, brokers should pay part of insurance costs. If this is meant to be a “sharing economy”, as its apostles claim, then costs as well as benefits should be shared.

As for the brokers, if we accept that they represent an emerging ‘profession’, they should be pushed to establish stronger professional associations whose members develop and subscribe to formal Codes of Ethics. All brokers should be registered and required to join an association that could monitor conduct of members.

As for the taskers, occupational licensing must be rolled back. Licensing is the form of state regulation promoted in the neo-liberal era in place of guild regulation. In the US, over 1,000 occupations are now subject to licensing, mostly unnecessarily. Licensing often operates as a barrier to the right to practise. The insurance industry and commercial interests dominate licensing, transferring risks, uncertainty, and costs onto workers, and often enabling licensing boards to block or punish someone without due process. Labour brokers and the precariat in general should be united in wishing to see less licensing.

Licensing should be limited to occupations that involve real dangers, as in the case of surgeons, architects, and builders. Otherwise, occupational self-regulation should be revived. And there should be more reliance on accreditation, that is, membership in an association that testifies to competence or experience. For all professions, an international accreditation system should be constructed, with standardised rules. This would allow anybody to practise a particular form of work, but it would ensure that they were competent and met set standards. For example, Uber drivers should be required to display signs indicating whether they are licensed, accredited to a drivers’ association, or neither. They should also be required to show they are insured. Failure to inform a client in advance should be sanctionable.

On wages and prices, in the case of crowd labour, all taskers involved in Dutch auctions should have the right to know what rates are paid to successful bidders and what conditions have been applied. Those on zero-hours contracts should be compensated for inconvenience and insecurity based on hours. Such “stand-by bonuses” are required in Germany and could be set as a base salary. They should also be allowed to do other work without exclusivity clauses in their contracts. Both zero-hours employees and crowd-labour taskers should have the right to decline on-demand tasks without loss of pay or opportunity unless given at least 24 hours’ notice, so that they can gain more control of their lives.

All forms of on-demand labour should involve written contracts (signed and scanned), drawn up and agreed before tasks are allocated or performed, with at least one witness to each party in broker-tasker agreements. Taskers should also be compensated if the broker obliges them to undergo more than one round of consideration before a decision is made to contract them.

Taskers must have a right to know what information brokers share about them and to have false information withdrawn from electronic circulation. To protect taskers, no company should be allowed to inform other firms that a tasker has brought a complaint or sued for compensation, unless a conviction for fraud by the tasker has been obtained. In other words, blacklisting must be banned.

Similarly, customer rating of individual taskers should be curbed. Some brokers dismiss taskers if they receive several poor ratings (made feasible by the app). That might sound reasonable, but it could lead to crude discriminatory practices, and it lacks due process. Prejudiced customers could use the app to grade taskers from ethnic minorites negatively solely because they do not like such people. There should, at least, be demonstrable evidence and opportunities for taskers to defend themselves before actions are taken.

One exploitative aspect of crowd labour requires a special response. Some corporations, such as the Los Angeles-based Business Talent Group, Fox Mobile Entertainers, and Tongal, pay modest prizes to taskers who submit commercially viable ideas. The firms buy ideas at a fraction of their commercial value, since they can patent them, creating a monopoly income stream lasting for twenty years. This is one of the most exploitative tricks in labour history. Regulations should stipulate that taskers should receive at least 50% of the income stream of any of their ideas that is patented.

Finally, taskers should have a right to publicly-funded legal advice, subsidised by contributions from labour broker corporations. Taskers should be required to make a partial payment, to discourage frivolous actions. But having access to legal advice would encourage both sides to make agreements transparent and standardised as much as possible.

Achieving these reforms will require social struggle by and for the precariat. We must realise that the precariat’s vulnerability today is a threat to all of us tomorrow. When sweating spreads to taskers, the threat to wages and working conditions for those outside the precariat grows. We must wake up to that threat.

Guy Standing

Guy Standing is a Professor of Economics, SOAS, University of London.

Reclaiming Football for the Working Class

The campaign for employers to raise wages in the UK had an important victory last week: football clubs in England’s Premier League agreed to pay a ‘living wage’ to full-time, permanent staff, following a deal worth £5.14 billion with Rupert Murdoch’s Sky Sports and BT to screen live matches for the next three years. That some of this astronomical TV revenue will benefit the communities in which football clubs operate recognises the continued significance of class in the grassroots campaigns of football supporters. Despite such success, the notion that football in the UK is the ‘people’s game’ requires more than a piecemeal pledge to pay workers a fair wage. The sport has become increasingly gentrified and ordinary people have been deliberately demonized and priced out of attending football, once a cultural ritual in working-class communities.

Football in Britain has historically been the bastion of male working-class culture. The professional sport has its roots in factory towns and cities of the north of England. Some of the UK’s most successful football clubs were the product of industrial communities such as Manchester, Liverpool, Sheffield, Glasgow, and Newcastle, with some formed from works teams. Huge stadiums were built to accommodate an overwhelmingly working-class fan base, with Glasgow once home to the three largest stadiums in world football, including Hampden Park, originally designed to hold over 180,000. For many male workers, watching their football club – or their country – was the cornerstone of social life. But that has changed drastically over the last thirty years, because ticket prices have made regular attendance something that only a certain strata of society can afford.

We shouldn’t be overly nostalgic about this, since some positive changes have occurred in the British game over the past three decades. Stadia, once little more than tin sheds with wooden planks for seats, have been transformed into safe and accessible spaces for supporters. A number of fatal disasters at football demonstrated that cramming tens of thousands of fans into cramped, poorly policed terraces could not continue. Hooliganism – once rife at football grounds across the UK – has been largely eradicated from within grounds due to regulations on design and security. The image of British football as a dangerous environment, associated with violence and shocking levels of racism has been largely transformed (although instances still occur).

To achieve this increase in safety, football clubs, the state, and the police have deliberately priced the working class out of attending matches and gentrified the sport. When British football experienced its darkest days of the 1980s, supporters took the blame. This was particularly evident in the aftermath of the Hillsborough Disaster of 1989. During an FA Cup semi-final between Liverpool and Nottingham Forrest, a crush in the terraces resulted in the deaths of 96 Liverpool supporters. Liverpool represented the polar opposite of Margaret Thatcher’s vision for Britain: it was working-class, Labour voting, and trade union supporting. In part because of that, the British elite and the media systematically blamed the Liverpool supporters for the tragedy, describing those involved as drunk, out of control hooligans determined to cause trouble, attack police, and pickpocket the dead. Only in the last few years has the extent of the cover up become fully apparent as families of the dead have fought for justice. It took until March 2015 for match commander PC David Dukenfield to admit that it was the police – not the Liverpool fans – who opened an exit gate that directly caused the crush.

Hillsborough, and the demonization of supporters, was the catalyst for change in the British game. A report on the disaster recommended that stadiums become fully seated, with standing outlawed in the top two English leagues. The Football Supporters Association opposed this, arguing at the time that clubs would use this as a reason to increase ticket prices. As they predicted, the cost of attending football has consistently increased at inflation-bursting levels. In the English Premiership, the cost of tickets rose by 1,000% between Hillsborough and 2011. Had football admission prices followed standard inflation, a match day ticket to watch Manchester United should have cost £6.20 in 2011; instead, the cheapest ticket was £28. In 2014, a BBC Cost of Football survey found that the average cost of going to football rose twice as fast as the cost of living in the previous three years. Football is no longer a cost-effective pursuit of the working class. It is now reserved only for those deemed responsible – and wealthy — enough to attend.

Despite such attempts to gentrify the support base in English football, organised supporter campaigns continue to emphasise issues of class and community. The Football Supporters’ Federation, for example, has demanded that clubs make £20 tickets available at all matches, and supporters have campaigned for clubs to pay a living wage to their employees. Success has been limited. Clubs have little incentive to reduce prices, and the Premier League’s living wage agreement does not apply to contracted staff, which represents the vast majority of those working in stadia on match days.

In order for football to once again provide an arena where the British working-class can congregate based on the ritualistic passion of sport, the entire governance of the game has to change. British clubs should consider the German model, where football is run for the mutual benefit of clubs, supporters, and the national game. In German football, supporters must own over 50% of the football club, giving ordinary fans a majority stake in all aspects of its organisation. This creates a substantially different mind-set: the President of Bayern Munich explains that “We do not think the fans are like cows to be milked. Football has got to be for everybody.” In the German Bundesliga, the average price of a match ticket is £10. Achieving anything similar in the UK requires continued pressure from supporters to make the game more affordable, as well as acceptance that the reaction to Hillsborough was largely motivated by the demonization of the working-class rife under the Thatcher administration. But it also requires acknowledgment that debates about the peoples’ game are also, often, debates about class.

Andy Clark

Andy Clark is a PhD student in History at the University of Strathclyde in Glasgow. His research focuses on the resistance of women workers to factory closure in Scotland during the early 1980s, with an emphasis on the impact of deindustrialization on working-class society and worker militancy.

The Return of the Undeserving Poor

In the nineteenth century, critics and policy makers made a clear distinction between the “deserving” and the “undeserving” poor. The deserving poor worked hard, kept their homes and families clean, went to church regularly, maintained sobriety, and otherwise adhered to middle-class morals. They deserved help because their poverty was not their fault. But the undeserving poor had earned their poverty not only by refusing to work, or to work hard enough, but also by rejecting the middle-class model. If they were poor, it was because they hadn’t tried hard enough.

 

This should sound familiar to anyone who’s been reading op-ed pages lately. While no one has yet directly accused today’s poor people of being “undeserving,” scholars and pundits have been fretting about their morals. In Coming Apart: The State of White America 1960-2010, Charles Murray argued that declining morality among the lower class (which as one reviewer noted, Murray was “too polite” to name) was creating economic and social dysfunctions. Robert Putnam traces similar patterns in his latest book, Our Kids: The American Dream in Crisis, though Putnam also notes the role of deindustrialization in shaping those patterns. But in response to Putnam’s study, David Brooks focuses on the moral issues rather than economics or policy. In many poor areas, he writes, “there are no minimally agreed upon standards for what it means to be a father. There are no basic codes and rules woven into daily life.” He suggests that we should hold the poor and working class “responsible” for their choices.

These and other commentaries suggest a shift in focus in American public discourse about economic inequality. Rather than hearing about the power of a few elites to influence policy so that they gain an ever larger share of wealth, and rather than analyzing how business and employment practices contribute to the stagnation and decline in wages – the kinds of issues raised by the Occupy Movement — the debate increasingly focuses on whether those who have less are victims of policies and business practices or of their own flawed morality.

 

Poor and working-class people, some critics argue, contribute to their troubles by not having stable marriages, giving birth to too many children from too many fathers, not being reliable workers, and over-indulging in drugs and alcohol. They focus on momentary pleasures rather than long-term planning, and parents aren’t sufficiently willing to sacrifice to improve their children’s lives. For commentators like Murray and Brooks, these behaviors are based in weak morality, not in social or economic conditions. The discussion echoes ideas that surfaced in the 1960s, when the Moynihan Report famously blamed the economic struggles of African Americans on the rise of the matriarchal family.

This is not to say that we shouldn’t be concerned about the effects on children – and on the wider social fabric — of drug and alcohol abuse, household instability, or domestic and neighborhood violence. These are real problems, and they undermine children’s sense of security and connection and teach children to have low expectations for their futures, which in turn can contribute to problems in school. However, analyses that look only at the problems in poor and working-class communities miss important strengths that may not be visible to the more elite outsiders who conduct these studies and write the columns. They may miss the networks of mutual aid that help people survive when they lack other resources, and they undervalue the street smarts and resilience that children can learn from growing up amid struggle.

 

More important, they too easily dismiss the structural and policy causes of these patterns and underestimate the challenges of creating stability in an era when steady jobs are becoming ever more scarce. How can people establish stable home lives when so many jobs are temporary, poorly paid, and require workers to juggle constantly changing shifts at multiple work sites? One explanation of the instability of many poor and working-class households appears in Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow, which outlines how instead of reducing drug use or the drug trade, the war on drugs ensured that many poor children grew up with their father in prison instead of in the home. As Alexander notes, after prison, fathers often can’t return to their homes or find stable employment.

Critics too often oversimplify both the causes and the debate. For example, Ross Douthat suggests a false and simplistic divide, claiming that those on the left blame poverty entirely on money, while those on the right blame it on morals. Putnam’s book makes clear that both the issue and the debate are more complex than this. But though he ties the social decline of the poor and working class to the loss of industrial jobs, he then suggests solutions that focus on strengthening families and education, suggesting policy changes that don’t address the larger economic causes. And in today’s political climate, his prescriptions reflect wishful thinking rather than realistic strategies.

 

To be fair, both Brooks and Douthat temper their concerns for the morality of the poor with calls for the elite to change, as well. As Brooks writes, “privileged people suffer from their own characteristic forms of self-indulgence: the tendency to self-segregate, the comprehensive failures of leadership in government and industry. Social norms need repair up and down the scale, universally, together and all at once.” Douthat offers an even stronger critique of the elite, though he still casts the problem in moral terms: “our upper class should be judged first — for being too solipsistic to recognize that its present ideal of ‘safe’ permissiveness works (sort of) only for the privileged, and for failing to take any moral responsibility (in the schools it runs, the mass entertainments it produces, the social agenda it favors) for the effects of permissiveness on the less-savvy, the less protected, the kids who don’t have helicopter parents turning off the television or firewalling the porn.”

I want to suggest a different way of thinking about the elite’s role, focused less on personal morality and more on social responsibility. What might happen if the elite stopped pursuing profit at all costs and embraced the social responsibility of creating working conditions that foster stability for working families? What if instead of blaming the “undeserving poor,” they took responsibility for using their own power to change the conditions that create instability for poor and working-class lives?

Sherry Linkon