Reclaiming History for the Left

Caroline Lucas has achieved little as an MP, though not for want of trying, but the news that she is standing down at the next election has triggered fulsome praise for the Green's only parliamentary representative, which is as good an indication as any that she hasn't rocked the political boat nor, to mix my metaphors, set an intellectual cat among the anti-intellectual pigeons of British public discourse. Predictably, her latest book, Another England: How to Reclaim Our National Story, has been well-received, not only by soi-disant progressives but by conservatives who find her English particularism resonant (it probably helps that she admits that leavers had the best tunes during the EU referendum). Though some liberal commentators have wheeled out the strawman of progressives being uncomfortable with national identity, this has simply served to allow them to exhibit their own patriotic instincts ahead of a new Labour government that will be swept to power on a sea of Union Jacks and England football kits. I'm not going to review the book, but I think the reception given it is a useful jumping-off point to discuss the idea that the left (however defined) can "reclaim" national history.

According to Sunder Katwala, "She suggests that an emotionally intelligent, progressive politics might focus a little less on factchecking and a bit more on how to compete to shape the myths, memories and stories that shape who we think we are to progressive ends." This is pernicious nonsense, not simply in the contempt it shows for history or the hypocrisy over "sacred facts", but in its twin delusions that progressives can succesfully compete to shape national myths and that such mythmaking can serve progressive ends. The first delusion is obvious when you consider the minimal influence progressives have over the media that construct the myths, preserve the selective memories and select the stories that collectively constitute our narrative history, and that's without noting what little sway it has is limited to "progressives" of a particularly conservative bent. This partly explains why she has recourse to the consolations of novels, but it should also be noted that fiction offers the chance to enact virtues that one might be reluctant to apply in reality. For example, as Katwala perhaps credulously puts it: "Lucas suggests the social consciences of Charles Dickens, Elizabeth Gaskell and Nevile Shute could inspire new arguments for universal basic income." Well they didn't at the time of writing.

Tim Stanley points out that what vibrates with him in Lucas's work is its concern with manners: "Blending art with political analysis, Lucas writes far more forcibly than authors of Left and Right who think a nation is defined entirely by its constitutional order, or that if the party they happen to support isn’t in power, England is lost for good. These fashionable doomsters lose sight of what really matters, of what really shapes a tribe. I’ve read countless books about the historical precedence for Brexit and Boris Johnson, but none that convincingly explains why the English obsess about the weather, let their teeth go yellow or make love in the dark with their socks on. I care far less about Magna Carta or the strength of the Royal Navy than I do about our once-solid reputation for good manners – being eroded, alas, by iPhones and the invasion of American familarity." There is an obvious echo of George Orwell in both Lucas's approach (salutary lessons about Englishness drawn from literary classics) and in Stanley's cultural commentary (he fails to appreciate the artifice of his own prejudices - e.g. the "yellow teeth" trope originated as an American critique of NHS dentistry). The point is that Lucas and Stanley, like Orwell before them, are operating in a conservative register.

The British left has long been bedevilled by the conservative tenor of its dreams of a better society, combining a pre-industrial rural nostalgia with the sober respectability of the self-improving working class. This tends to be heightened whenever there is the threat from the radical left, and the reaction invariably emphasises an aesthetic and moral critique over a material analysis, hence the prominence of the literary Fabians in the early decades of the twentieth century, the instrumental revival of Orwell in the 1980s and 90s, and more recently initiatives such as Blue Labour and the commentary of John Cruddas that sought to mount an emotional defence of a working class culture that rejected continental theory (and the EU). A good example from 2017 was Julian Coman's eulogy for Robert Blatchford's Merrie England: "Labour needs to return to 'its roots in a kind of moral and civic critique of the excesses of capitalism'. This was the core thrust of Merrie England, and the original spirit of a Labour party that had its roots in religion, not Marxism. But during the 20th century, the “ethical tradition” faded as the parliamentary party became more pragmatic and managerial, while the left pursued the more confrontational Marxist route of class struggle".

Progressives will struggle to compete in the shaping of national myths not only because of the asymmetry of power in the media but because their own historical ignorance tends to result in them believing that there is a radical kernel within the conservative nut. A good example of that this week was George Monbiot evoking the Norman Yoke, apparently unaware that Hereward the Wake and his ilk were originally popularised as part of a Victorian anti-Catholic campaign and more recently in the service of Euroscepticism. The problem with reclaiming history, like reclaiming symbols such as the flag, is that it concedes the struggle at the outset. You might as well try to reclaim the monarchy or the House of Lords. Where the left has advanced in the war of position is in presenting an alternative history, and we know the left has been successful here simply because of the scale of the reaction against it since its breakthrough in academia in the 1960s. In many ways this has been an over-reaction, ignoring that most history courses at British universities remain conservative and that the comment pages of newspapers are full of rightwing historians complaining about being silenced.

As ever, the right has sought to hijack the left's techniques and language, hence initiatives such as the History Reclaimed group, which seeks to turn back the "woke" tide and thereby resist the demands for a full accounting of colonialism and reparations for slavery. This is arguably a more accurate and therefore honest use of the word "reclaim" than is found among progressives, making it clear that the right once monopolised narrative history and is determined that it should do so again. Is this a fight worth having from the perspective of the left? The second delusion of progressives bothered by the conservative near-monopoly on popular history is that winning the fight will somehow lead to progressive political outcomes, but this runs dangerously close to making history a fetish with magical properties. Just as putting a million people on the streets to demonstrate against the Iraq War did not stop that war, so religiously attending the annual Tolpuddle Martyrs Festival to hear Billy Bragg sing A New England isn't going to result in the abolition of anti-union laws.

Computer Says No

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is a misleading term because we don't have a full understanding of human intelligence yet, so the comparison is necessarily imprecise.  The Turing Test, aka the imitation game, isn't simply about a machine mimicing human responses - which is easy enough to do - but about our ability to reliably identify the expressions of human intelligence in comparison to software-generated text. The uncertainty as to whether it is a human or a machine on the other side of the screen reflects our inability to infallibly spot the human as much as our inability to unmask a computer-generated mimic. This uncertainty is obvious when we consider bureaucracy. Long before the possibility of LLMs, it was common for people to complain that interacting with commercial organisations or the state was like dealing with a machine. Bureaucratic procedures seemed designed to excise all humanity from what were notionally social interactions. As a result, bureaucracy was routinely derided as stupid, even though the manifestations of this stupidity were deliberately designed and presumably satisfactory to the designers.

The Large Language Model (LLM) approach to AI assumes that human-like intelligence can be derived from enough text. But there is a problem with this that is becoming increasingly apparent. Improving the model means expanding the corpus, but that in turn means more rubbish, which humanity routinely produces in text form. Many think that we may already have reached a limit and that futher expansion of LLMs will result not simply in diminishing returns but the passing of an inflexion point after which the models become dumber and dumber. The underlying issue here is not that factual errors in the corpus can give rise to "hallucinations" but that text is not a uniform expression of a general human intelligence. Rather text is a highly formalised set of what we might call genres. These are broader than knowledge domains, e.g. technical dialects, and reflect more generic purposes for which text is used, such as education or reportage. For example, the text produced by bureaucracy has well-known characteristics. It can be ambiguous, sometimes impenetrable and even downright nonsensical, but these are not necessarily failings from the perspective of the authors.

Henry Mance in the Financial Times recently noted how the problem of contamination is increasingly framed as one of reputation: "[the cognitive scientist] Gary Marcus suggests performance may get worse: LLMs produce untrustworthy output, which is then sucked back into other LLMs. The models become permanently contaminated. Scientific journals’ peer-review processes will be overwhelmed, “leading to a precipitous drop in reputation”, Marcus wrote recently." Reputation is an interesting word to choose in this context. It doesn't just suggest predictability or reliability - the idea that you will get the "right" answer. It also suggests that the answer is definitionally true because it is the answer given by authority. But this is a mundane truth rather than ex cathedra. According to Mance, "AI will become embedded in lots of behind-the-scenes tools that we take for granted." Again, the phrase "taking for granted" suggests that AI will advance to the point where its output is accepted as authoritative even if trivial. This doesn't assume that the AI will never be wrong, that it will be infallible, but that the rate of error will be low enough to be tolerable, much as bureaucratic mistakes are.

The future of AI may turn out to be restricted language models rather than the largest possible. Much of what is described as "AI training" is actually human intervention to limit the interpretative scope of the software: to rein it in. This will help address the contamination issue, essentially through brute force quality control, but it will also allow the AI to operate within a narrower semantic field where the epistemological rules are rigorously observed. In other words, just like a bureaucracy. This is intelligence in a very narrow, dry and unimaginative form. And that points to a rather depressing future. While there may be exciting applications of the technology in sexy areas like medical scanning and diagnosis, the big returns have always been anticipated in administrative and service functions, hence the predictions for "lost" jobs tend to focus on accountancy, customer support and the like. AI will probably thrive best in areas where rigidity of thought and a strictly bounded intelligence, even an unyielding monomania, is prized. 

Technological development reflects above all the appetite and capability of the socio-economic environment to exploit new techniques (or old ones rediscovered). And that in turn may be determined by the longevity and ubiquity of previous technologies. Famously, the Chinese writing system - tens of thousands of morphemes - led to the dominance of woodblock printing and the relative underutilisation of movable type until the mid-19th century. But the latter technology produced a revolution when combined with the Latin alphabet in 15th century Europe. To give a contemporary example, modern software is riddled with skeuomorphs, from calendar apps that mimic desk diaries to the shutter-click sound of a smartphone camera app. The visual and aural prompts are intuitive only to the extent that we have been trained to recognise their forbears. If camera apps mimiced the "poof" of a flashlight powder explosion, rather than a click, we'd still understand it perfectly well, despite few of us ever directly experiencing a magnesium flare.

We may not be able to create a genuine artificial intelligence - i.e. artificial in the sense that it convincingly mimics the human sort - because we cannot escape the constraints that we place on human intelligence. The great myth, shared by liberals and libertarians (though not echt conservatives), is that human genius is unbounded. In reality, it is inescapably situated in history and society. In theory, globalisation and modern mass media should mean that new ideas spread rapidly and pervasively, but you'd have to be naive to imagine that there are no technologies underappreciated or lying dormant in the modern world. AI hasn't come to the fore because it is our shining hope (though it's worth noting that it has quickly acquired the near horizon of expectation characteristic of fusion power), but because it seems already familiar, all too familiar, in its combination of impressive authority and crass stupidity. AI will advance largely through the realms of business administration and public services, and so it will inevitably inherit the cultures (i.e. the vocabulary and semantics) of those realms. AI will not be a Culture Mind, of the sort imagined by Iain M. Banks, but a faceless version of the DHSS circa 1983.

To the Greater Glory

In an LBC interview in which Rachel Johnson sought, under the cover of reflections on Easter and the decline of Christian worship, to push a polite, middle class version of the Great Replacement Theory (here in the form of mosques springing up across Europe as churches stood empty), Richard Dawkins, the evolutionary biologist and "famous atheist" (as Fox News put it, channelling their inner Viz), described himself as a "cultural Christian", which seemed to come down to regretting Sadiq Khan celebrating Ramadan. This immediately overshadowed Johnson's agenda and even led to the Daily Telegraph's parliamentary sketchwriter, Madeline Grant, hailing a "spiritual volte face" unprecedented since Paul on the road to Damascus, illustrating once more that this class of frivolous journalism is characterised by its inability to pay attention as much as by its lack of descriptive originality. Grant appreciates that Dawkins remains an atheist, but she none the less uses the term "conversion" to describe his act of witness, so what exactly is the professor emeritus converting to?

The obvious point to make is that Dawkins hasn't really changed his tune over the years. There has been no conversion, no sudden flash of revelation. He has been a cultural Christian - relishing the form but deriding the content - in plain sight all along. His rebarbative style was always an expression of the academic top table milieu that formed him rather than some innate radicalism. He would happily call you a superstitious idiot, but he would not support Denis Diderot's contention that "Man will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest". Too uncultured; too much redolent of the mob. Grant's article gives us a clue as to what is really going on here when it segues via some waffle about the decline of Christianity in Scotland to a full-throated attack on the SNP's "draconian hate crime legislation", which then links to the usual defence of St Joan of Rowling. Dawkins himself has been a loud defender of the novelist (and also Kathleen Stock) against what he descibes as trans activist "bullies". 

His fundamentalist defence of biological sex is driven by the same British empiricism that motivates his atheism. That philosophical approach, dating back to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, has obvious overlaps with the evolution of political and economic Liberalism, but it also stimulated Romanticism in the cultural sphere, both as an anti-Enlightenment reaction and as a compromise between conservative and progressive impulses. What Dawkins refers to as cultural Christianity is an expression of that: a man of science among the picturesque abbey ruins contemplating the sublime. But cultural Christianity has deeper roots, going back to the English Reformation. Dawkins is very much an Englishman in this respect, the parallel Scottish Reformation with its Calvinist intolerance and strict social observances being as uncongenial to him as contemporary Islam (Scotland enters his mental space only with the Scottish Enlightenment of David Hume and Adam Smith). And we shouldn't forget that the attack upon the Roman church, and the fact that it was a top-down movement - a raison d'etat, is as much a part of the evolution of English atheism as the Enlightenment was.

Anglicanism is ridiculous as theology, the monarch as head of the church being only the most obvious of its absurdities. But as an expression of a culture dedicated to property rights, born out of the expropriation of the monasteries under Henry VIII and the resulting emergence of the political gentry and the improving tenantry, it was immensely powerful and retains a cultural clout today precisely because of its legacy property portfolio. When Dawkins lists the charms of Christianity he quickly moves on from hymns and carols to emphasise the danger of losing "our cathedrals and our beautiful parish churches". He's not talking about Catholic churches or Methodist chapels here, and nor is he making a point about architectural merit. Likewise, Rachel Johnson's worry that those churches are emptying while new mosques spring up is not simply Islamophobia but a belief that "our" culture is defined by its property and more precisely by who has the right to own it. She admits her own Christianity "waxes and wanes" as if this wasn't the most Anglican statement imaginable.

Both Dawkins and Johnson are products of the English gentry so this mindset is natural to them. They cannot imagine a country in which the right sort - i.e. people like them - aren't in control. When Dawkins describes Christianity as "a fundamentally decent religion", in contrast to Islam, he isn't making a theological point but describing his comfort with an "ethos" that is congenial to him and his class, and congenial precisely because it is the historic expression of that class's social and political interests. When he expresses concern that the King as Prince of Wales was sympathetic to Islam, he doesn't stop to consider that many of the monarch's subjects are Muslims: these people are other. Likewise, his distinction between Anglicanism and fundamentalist Christianity in America centres less on any doctrinal differences, or even attitudes to such matters as evolution, female ordination or abortion, than on the expressions of class: the idea that American Christianity is fundamentally vulgar and unschooled as much as it is irrational or bigoted. 

Some of his critics have pointed out the inconsistency in Dawkins being happy with the decline of Christian worshippers but unhappy at the prospect of losing Christian buildings. But to imagine that one depends upon the other is to misunderstand this country's history. The state religion of the United Kingdom is the Church of England (the official churches of the peripheral nations are irrelevant), but the raison d'etre of that church is property, not theology, and it worships the greater glory of the English gentry, not God. In appearing to line up with the forces of conservatism, whether expressed as Islamophobia or transphobia, Dawkins is simply reaffirming his own liberal credentials as he sees them: a robust defence of empiricism, property rights and the superiority of native culture. Not only is there nothing surprising in Dawkins' latest contribution to the discourse but he has proved himself once more to be wholly consistent in his views.

Inflection Point

It's a regular feature of economic discourse in the UK for senior economists at the Bank of England to deliver lectures that are historically-informed, questioning of orthodoxy and apparently open to new ideas, from UBI to the blockchain. None of which ever seems to inform the Bank's core policies. Andy Haldane is perhaps the most high profile recent example, but you could also see the form in the recent speech of an ex-BoE economist, the Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer. Rachel Reeve's Mais lecture was trailed negatively in the conservative press - the emphasis on the praise of 1979 as an inflection point reliably winding up lefties - which meant that its reception predictably swung too far in the opposite direction, with delirious praise in the liberal media because she'd decided that Thatcherism was a failure in its own terms and auserity self-defeating, as if these were novel ideas. But she did not reject the Thatcheritie diagnosis: "Once again, we have found ourselves in a moment of political turbulence and recurrent crises with the burden falling on the shoulders of working people – with at its root, a failure to deliver the supply side reform needed to equip Britain to compete in a fast changing world." 

Though she cites many historians and economists as authorities, Reeves isn't always accurate in her thumbnail sketches. For example: "The political economist Karl Polanyi who came to Britain from Austria as fascism rose in the 1930s wrote of the tendency of market economies that become disembedded from their societies to undermine the conditions for growth and provoke powerful political counter-movements of both left and right". In fact, Polanyi's point was that capitalism - a historically contingent form of social relations - deliberately undermines society by creating fictitious commodities in land, labour and money, which produces a counter-movement that seeks to embed the market in society by means of economic regulation and social provision. Far from originating on the left or the right of the political spectrum, this counter-movement is essentially centrist, constructing a broad consensus and operating through established political structures and norms. For example, the 19th century Factory Acts or the early 20th century moves towards a welfare state. 

In citing Polanyi and Joan Robinson, Reeves is insisting that "economics is not just about quantitative models and abstract theory – it is about values, rooted in political, philosophical and moral questions, about human nature and the good society." This all sounds fine and dandy until you soberly consider the track record of the Labour right when it comes to philosophising about the good society (Tony Crosland's The Future of Socialism was a long time ago), or wonder about the morality of people who take sinecures with water companies and employ confected outrage to expel or deselect fellow party members. Of course, what Reeves is really arguing for is not a humane and holistic approach to governance but the restoration of the pre-eminent role of the state. In 2017 William Davies described neoliberalism as the "‘disenchantment of politics by economics". Building on that, in 2021 Grace Blakeley noted that "The last fifty years of neoliberal hegemony has reshaped statecraft away from the governance of the market and towards governance by markets." What Starmer and Reeves intend is not a straightforward reversal of that, i.e. a return to the dirigisme of the 1960s, but a new compact with capital in which the state acts with more visible authority specifically in order to legitimise markets.

To that end it makes sense to claim that we are now in a new economic paradigm and that neoliberalism is history, a claim some on the left have been happy to echo, but is there any evidence for this? Reeves accepts neoliberalism's crude public image: "Governments and policymakers are recognising that it is no longer enough, if it ever was, for the state to simply get out of the way, to leave markets to their own devices and correct the occasional negative externality." But this is a myth: the market has always been a political construct. The idea of state and markets in opposition, or even persistent tension, is ahistorical. Starting with Adam Smith's "propensity to truck, barter, and exchange", capitalism has been presented as innate to human nature. But Polanyi's point is that it wasn't, and that this was what caused the trouble. Reeves's claim that the market "became disembedded" is a simple misrepresentation of his position, suggesting a failure of regulation as markets became more sophisticated rather than the interposing of a hitherto unknown form of social relation that dramatically disrupted society ("All that is solid melts into air"). 

According to Reeves, the new paradigm means "embracing the insights of an emergent economic consensus. The Harvard political economist Dani Rodrik speaks of a new ‘productivist paradigm’. The US Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen has branded the Biden administration’s agenda ‘modern supply side economics’. Across the world, related ideas appear under different banners. I use the term ‘securonomics’." The idea that these developments represent a new economic consensus is dubious. The very fact that we have many labels for the same idea should be enough of a clue. This is not simultaneous emergence but a coordinated ideological campaign. It also ignores history. Governments have always had a productivist bent, notably in strategic areas such as defence, energy and agriculture (Biden has explicitly tied his industrial strategy to national security), just as they have always concerned themselves with social reproduction. The chief policy question has typically revolved around the state's role in the discretionary economy, with a subsidiary question being where the boundary exists between that and the strategic core (i.e. mandatory) economy that the state will never cede control of. 

In the UK context, this debate centres on the foundational economy, which encompasses retail (i.e. of food and the other necessities of social reproduction), care, transport and utilities (Reeves refers to it as the "everyday economy"). The topical question is which  parts should be nationalised. That Labour isn't currently demanding the renationalistion of power or water tells you that they do not intend to significantly shift the boundary between the discretionary economy of rigged markets and the mandatory economy of strategic industries. Instead, we can expect the state to take on a more robust regulatory role (Ofwat is clearly trying to work towards this new regime). We might even see investors expected to take the odd haircut. But what we won't see is any challenge to property rights. Starmer and Reeves have made it clear that social investment depends on economic growth, and that that in turn will only be delivered through private sector investment so the government must guarantee fiscal stability and protect the rights of investors.

Citing Karl Polanyi and Joan Robinson doesn't completely distract from the obvious absence in the speech, namely any reference to John Maynard Keynes, and the reason for that is that his work, despite its impeccable liberal credentials as an attempt to save capitalism from itself, obviously doesn't sit well with the fiscal straightjacket that Labour has decided to wear. Interestingly, Keynes' famous antagonist, Friedrich Hayek, doesn't get a namecheck either, but he is very much there in Reeves's comments on the ability of the state to plan the economy: "It is not the crude model of the state directing industrial development and correcting externalities as seen from the centre, but instead an approach that recognises the informational and capacity constraints of government, working in genuine partnership with business to identify the barriers and opportunities they face." This is the influence of Hayek on information theory, but it is also pretty clearly a justification for allowing the private sector greater access to the NHS.

Beyond the partnership bromide, Reeves's prescription for growth is a combination of political and economic stability, increased business investment, and a somewhat nebulous unlocking of "the untapped potential throughout our economy". This includes "Acknowledging those sectors in which we enjoy – or have the potential to enjoy – comparative advantage and can compete in a global marketplace". But where do we genuinely enjoy comparative advantage? For the first two decades of this century it was in the unique combination of being inside the EU but outside the eurozone. When Peter Mandelson says rejoining the EU is not on the agenda, it's because he knows that we could not recreate that advantage through accession negotiation. The EU would demand that we give up sterling or at least level the playing field for financial services between the City of London and Frankfurt, Paris and Amsterdam. Unless the UK discovers another comparative advantage of a similar scale ("floating offshore wind and carbon capture and storage", which Reeves references, are unlikely to fit the bill), a return to the EU isn't going to happen except under conditions of desperation.

When she gets down to specifics, Reeves can only offer tired old forumulas. Reasserting Bank of England independence is to subscribe to the mythology of money as a commodity that Polanyi criticised. Planning (i.e. building, not directing industry) is presented as something that the UK is uniquely bad at, which offers hope of a quick fix, but planning reform is offered as a panacea in most developed economies these days, with similarly negligible results, which suggests it's anything but a quick fix. The more obvious issue is the concentration of capital in property, which leads to perverse incentives, and that won't be solved by another generation of new towns. Similarly, the suggestion that we need more labour market reform, even if under the cover of enhanced workers' rights, needs to be seen in the context of decades of labour market liberalisation, punitive benefits regimes geared to maximising employment, and an emphasis on skills training. The end result is a low-wage, low-skills economy with growing levels of inactivity and under-employment. Is more tinkering going to change that?

This week James Meadway made the point that if Reeves's lecture marks a break with neoliberalism it also marks a break with social democracy in its shift away from social reproduction (health, education etc) towards industrial productivism, but that this was happening at a time of a growing crisis in social reproduction (e.g. falling birth rates because family formation is too costly). So what fills the vacuum? The answer appears to be the transfer of the authoritarian practices exhibited under New Labour in the field of biopolitics towards the domestic economy. Less an inflection point than a swivel to a new target. The problem is that the Labour right's ideological bent, combined with the structural and cultural constraints this shift will face (it's far easier to beast the poor than SME owners), will likely see it run into the sand. Indeed, before Starmer has even entered Number 10, we are seeing shadow cabinet members eagerly returning to their favourite Aunt Sally of people on benefits who should be working. The suspicion is that the display of authority intended to restore the credibility of the state after the twin insults of Brexit and Corbyn will quickly devolve into mere authoritarianism.

AI, Comparative Advantage and Natality

Beyond the banality of stochastic parrots and their "hallucinations", AI exists as a socio-political thought-exercise: a what-if. As has been the way since the emergence of sociology and its creative cousin Science Fiction, this encompasses both dystopian hell and utopian heaven. Perhaps the most obvious combination of the two is the idea that AI will take all the jobs, delivering either something akin to The Matrix, where humanity is reduced to its utility as fuel, or to a world of leisure and ease in which we can all pursue our talents and interests: "to hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, rear cattle in the evening, criticise after dinner, just as I have a mind, without ever becoming hunter, fisherman, herdsman or critic." We have now reached the stage where official projections for growth routinely factor in AI as a magic ingredient. But beyond the glorified press releases of business consultancies predicting that AI will "impact" half of all jobs (consider what an accurate prediction of the impact of electricity would have been), there hasn't been much discussion of the mechanisms. In other words, how in practice will AI spread though the economy and how will employment patterns respond?

This is odd insofar as we have no shortage of historical data on the way previous technologies were deployed and how they reconfigured society. We all understand how the combustion engine substituted for horses and how that resulted in grooms being replaced by mechanics, and more recently we have seen how the technology of logistics has allowed employment in developed economies to shift from the primary and secondary sectors to the tertiary. The optimistic take on AI is that we'll see something similar: old jobs being replaced by new ones and aggregate wealth increasing, which translates to higher wages and greater purchasing power. If there is a fly in this ointment, it relates to the relative narrowing of wages between different parts of the world as industry reconfigures optimally. The middle class expands in the Far East while its peers in the American Mid-West stagnate, but at a global level there is aggregate growth. AI probably won't have a differential impact around geography, as raw material extraction and manufacturing does, but it will have an impact around cognitive differentials, which is why the more pessimistic prediction is for a decline in whitecollar employment.

Noah Smith is to be found on the optimistic side of the debate (as usual), but while his just-so stories of neoliberal progress can grind your teeth, he has made a useful contribution by trying to explain how the mechanism might work during the transition. He starts by outlining the negative view: "humans will have nothing left to do, and we will become obsolete like horses. Human wages will drop below subsistence level, and the only way they’ll survive is on welfare, paid by the rich people who own all the AIs that do all the valuable work. But even long before we get to that final dystopia, this line of thinking predicts that human wages will drop quite a lot, since AI will squeeze human workers into a rapidly shrinking set of useful tasks." In answering this, Smith's core point is that AI is not limitless. It will be constrained by computing power and energy - i.e. material resources. This will raise the opportunity cost of using it for low-value tasks that could be done by humans. Relative opportunity cost means that it will still make sense for humans to do jobs and be well-paid for them while AI concentrates on the really important stuff.

One of the features of economics (which proves that it is a social science rather than a hard science) is that many of its theories cannot be proven. This is not simply about the crisis of replicability, which typically affects microeconomics, but the difficulty of conducting real-world empirical trials at the macroeconomic level (hence the delusion that micro-foundations can be used to extrapolate macro policy). However, there are a few theories that are demonstrably true because the global economy provides a reliable test environment. One obvious example is the gravity theory of trade, which posits that it is cheaper to trade with near neighbours than far-off countries due to relative transportation costs. Despite the best efforts of Brexiteers to claim that technology has abolished distance, this clearly still holds true. The relevant theory for Smith's intuition about AI is comparative advantage, which is also demonstrably true for reasons to do with differential endowments - e.g. it makes more sense to grow bananas in the Caribbean and oats in Scotland than vice versa, and likewise someone with a high IQ and someone with lots of muscle power will gravitate to different jobs best suited to their abilities. So AI can concentrate on curing cancer rather than trying to win the Nobel Prize for Literature. 

One issue with Smith's model is that AI will produce greater rates of growth in those areas that it addresses. This is partly due to the compounding effect of the technology itself, but also because the movement of humanity into services that cannot be cheaply automated will necessarily intensify the unbalanced growth between the two sectors. William Baumol noted the effect by which low-productivity sector wages rose because of the competition for labour by high-productivity sectors. But if the AI sector isn't competing with the human sector for labour, there is no reason to think that wages will be bidded up. In other words, AI may not make humans redundant but it may lead to further wage stagnation because of that unbalanced growth. The best argument against this is that some of the fruits of AI must be recycled into wages simply to keep the system from collapsing (Smith envisages this in the perjorative terms of "welfare", i.e. UBI, though this is functionally no different to in-work benefits or a minimum wage), but that then emphasises the issue of distribution which comparative advantage does not circumvent. That gal with the high IQ is likely earning more than the guy with the muscles because there are more people with the latter than the former so basic supply and demand leads to different wages.

So perhaps the dystopia of AI is not that we all lose our jobs but that the economy becomes even more unequal in its outcomes. The jobs that AI won't do will include both grunt work and highly-valued work, but at the aggregate level of the economy we may end with many more of the former relative to the latter than was previously the case. Another way of thinking about this is to note that wages (returns to labour) have declined while asset wealth (returns to capital) has increased since the 1970s without the input of AI. We've had plenty of wage stagnation, particularly since 2008. If there is a more fundamental and powerful force at work (let's call it neoliberalism) the question then becomes how will that force accommodate AI? It's a reasonable assumption that it will reinforce or even exacerbate the existing trend towards wealth inequality and wage stagnation. In theory AI could disrupt this trend, but then any number of technological breakthroughs since the 70s that were characterised as disruptive turned out to actually reinforce neoliberal political economy (that is in the real world version, rather than the textbook fantasy, e.g. the growth of monopoly), so there's little reason to think this episode will be any different. 

The error is to assume that AI will carry all before it, reconfiguring society in its own image, hence the hysterical colouring of much commentary, but technologies are moulded by society as much as they do the moulding. Marx noted that "The hand-mill gives you society with the feudal lord; the steam-mill society with the industrial capitalist", but the reality, as Karl Polanyi countered, is that society also gave us the Factory Acts. If AI really were disruptive of the fundamentals of the economic system, the counter-movement would focus on the protection of the key factors of production, such as land, labour and capital, but to date the focus has been on the enforcement of propriety around generative deepfakes and the threat to the traditional media's interpretation of truth. If this carries an echo of the counter-movement of the nineteenth century, it is more of Christian revivalism than social progressivism. What this suggests is that AI won't be anywhere near as impactful as either the optimists or pessimists predict, but it also suggests that its greatest impact may be to exacerbate and accelerate existing trends.

One of those trends, which can be directly linked to the way that neoliberalism has expanded the logic of the market into the sphere of the family, is falling birth rates. As Steve Randy Waldman notes, natality is one area where comparative advantage has to cede to human emotion. Though much of child-rearing is handed over to specialists, most obviously teachers, it remains essentially a form of "cottage production" that struggles under the neoliberal logic of competition: "The relationship between wealth and natality is nuanced. When wealth is certain, its increase is likely pronatal, as people can bank on greater resources to cover the burdens of childrearing. But when wealth is uncertain, when it is delivered via tournaments that deliver outsize rewards to winners, then increases in 'expected' (meaning average) wealth likely translate to decreases in natality. The bigger the prize, the greater the cost of anything that will reduce your chance of winning." There should be no surprise that the current iteration of the Californian Ideology emphasises both the dramatic potential of AI and the necessity of pronatalism.

My guess is that AI won't become a general purpose technology (GPT) on a par with electricity or the Internet. This is because it will be too expensive, and that in turn is because there is no upper limit to its ambition, even if there are hard limits in the form of silicon and energy. You only need so much power and bandwith for most tasks, so GPTs like electricity and datacoms only need to be good enough. We already have good-enough AI, but it's fruits are underwhelming. Consequently, AI resources will increasingly be focused in specialist areas where its potential is greatest, e.g. more medical imaging rather than chasing the dream of fully autonomous vehicles. Noah Smith is right in his emphasis on comparative advantage, but as a neoliberal he assumes that the invisible hand of the market will optimally decide on how to allocate those scarce AI resources, rather than it being a political decision that will be taken to reinforce neoliberalism itself. Wealth inequality will continue to grow, even if AI companies replace oil corporations and technology manufacturers on the stock exchange, and the symptoms of that inequality, notably falling birth rates, will continue to elicit angst and ineffective amelioration.

Stalemate in Russia

The death of Alexei Navalny has been interpreted as evidence that Russia has once more entered a stalemate. This doesn't refer to the minimal movement of the frontline in Ukraine but to the belief that Russian society is once more stuck, much as it was in the Brezhnev years, and that all anyone, inside or outside the country, can hope for is Putin's inevitable demise by natural or unnatural causes. The current gloomy predictions, centred on this weekend's presidential election, are that he isn't going anywhere soon. He has stablised the economy on a war-footing, international sanctions have proved ineffective in bringing social pressure to bear on the military campaign, and weariness in the West means that Ukraine will face a frozen conflict for years to come if not pressure to negotiate the partial surrender of invaded territory. I have no particular insight into the military situation, though I would note that my simplistic assessment that Russia hasn't got the materiel to take Kiev and Ukraine hasn't got the mapower to liberate the Donbass and Crimea remains sound, if hardly original. What I'm more interested in is the changing perception in the West of Russia, that "riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma", as Winston Churchill patronisingly put it. 

The trigger for this line of thought was an article in Eurozine by Kirill Rogov - Russia's Future and the War - published in the immediate aftermath of Navalny's death. The heart of Rogov's argument is the oscillation between pro-European and anti-European sentiment, with Navalny presented as an ikon of the former: "This regular pendulum movement can be seen throughout Russian history – periods of pro-European modernization, followed by periods when the anti-European agenda is prevalent. The rapid adaptation of European models and practices is then replaced by hostility to the European ideal and efforts to replace it with Russia’s ‘national’ or even ‘civilizational’ identity." There are two problems here. One is the claim that "As the face of European idea in Russia, Navalny incorporated everything that the forces of revanchism in the country oppose." Even the most superficial review of Navalny's history reveals a man who was happy to play the Russian chauvinist when it suited him. Like many Eastern European politicians (and many Western European ones), he moved seamelessly between liberalism, nationalism and Islamophobia. As Jeremy Morris noted, "the anti-Putin contains many ingredients of Putin himself".

The second, and bigger, problem is the idea that Russia is bipolar. Some of this is simply recycling of old tropes about Russia's propensity for suffering and its tendency towards manic depression, which owed as much to the long shadow of serfdom and the knout as to the tortured speculations of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. The modern equivalents are the trope of alcoholism as an expression of social ennui and, topically, the accusation of fatalism in the face of political corruption. But there is an obvious inconsistency in the idea that Russia is governed both by a persistent structure of feeling (the "Russian soul") and by a tendency towards a periodic volte-face centred on its attitude towards Europe and its associated "modernisation". Rogov's attempt to prove the reality of the latter leads to some questionable history: "The Bolshevik project in the twentieth century was probably the longest period of Russian anti-Europeanism. It was certainly the most extensive and bloody attempt to establish in Russia a system of institutions and values completely opposed to European ones. However, after the Soviet regime entered the phase of its demobilization in 1960s, it was only a matter of decades before a pro-European elite had formed in the Soviet Union, leading to an anti-communist and pro-western revolution."

As any fule kno', the Boshevik project was consciously pro-European and modernising, hence the belief that revolution in Russia might trigger a general proletarian uprising throughout the continent. The Comintern was focused on generalising a Marxist analysis of history, not on emphasising Russian exceptionalism. Marx and Engels themselves contributed to the debate in the late-nineteenth century on whether Russia could proceed directly from the "primitive communism" of its agrarian base to socialism. They said no (the proletarian phase was necessary), but the key points to draw out here are that the Russian left was looking to European models and Marx and Engels were insisting that revolution in Russia would require first revolution in the West. This was finessed by Lenin as an alliance of workers and peasants, and would eventually give way, after the failure of revolutions in Germany and Hungary, to Stalin's "socialism in one country", but at no point did this entail a rejection of Europe. Even at its most extreme interpretation in the 1930s, Soviet Communism remain infatuated with European ideas of industrial modernity, scientific rationality and the appreciation of high culture (if not its contemporary expressions).

It's perfectly reasonable to characterise Russian history as one of warmer and cooler relations with the West - nobody would claim that today's froideur over Ukraine is the same as the sympathy shown towards Putin during the Second Chechen War. But the stronger claim being made is that these changes in temperature can be sourced to a reaction by Russia - the West being blameless (the idea that Putin was incited to invade Ukraine by the expansion of NATO is a version of this, albeit one that points the finger at Western carelessness as much as Russian pique). As Rogov puts it, "Periods of pro-European orientation in Russia often coincide with – and are stimulated by – signs of the success of Europe and the European project. ... when Europe reached a trajectory of sustainable growth at the end of the twentieth century, democratizing citizens’ access to the benefits of this growth by creating a mass consumer society, while at the same time making a breakthrough in European integration, it provoked the crisis and collapse of the totalitarian anti-European empire in the East." 

If this dynamic were really at work, you'd have to ask why the USSR didn't collapse in the 1960s when the signs of the success of the European project were visible to everyone (consider the UK's repeated requests for accession to the EEC) and at a time that Rogov claims the Soviet regime was "demobilizing". He explains the delay as the gradual formation of a pro-European elite, as if Khrushchev inherited a backwater that had to be slowly opened to the West in the manner of Peter the Great, rather than a major power with broad international influence and two decades of close political, economic and cultural involvement with half the European continent. And can we really say that the 1980s and 90s in Western Europe was a period that "democratized citizens' access to the benefits of growth"? That phrase echoes the rhetoric of Thatcherism, but it doesn't chime with popular experience during an era of privatisation and rising inequality. The benefits of growth since 1979 have not been equally shared and the neoliberal political economy that has dominated Western Europe these last 40 years cannot be plausibly described in terms of greater democratisation.

The simple truth is that the bipolar nature of Russia reflects a lasting ambivalence in the West about how the country should be treated, rather than something innate to Russian society. Insofar as Russians do resent the West, it relates to that ambivalence: the unwillingness to accord the country equal respect and the sense that it can never quite qualify for membership of the club. That ambivalence ultimately reflects Russia's Eurasian position, hence the disproportionate focus in the West on its relations with China: the worry that they might ally and so present a threat to the US hegemony in which Western Europe has invested so much. Such an alliance would probably have little impact on geopolitics, contrary to the "heartland" theory of Halford Mackinder that Rogov alludes to with talk of Russia as part of the "Greater European Periphery". That 77% of Russia's population is west of the Urals, and that much of the other 23% were moved east by diktat, doesn't lessen the suspicion in the West that the country is essentially an Asiatic horde waiting to descend on European civilisation, hence the quagmire in Ukraine is easily translated into a clear and present danger for the Baltics and even Poland.

Rogov's analysis is hopeful in the sense that he thinks the pendulum will inevitably swing back: "Breaking off economic ties with Europe so abruptly and maintaining hostility towards Europe at such a high degree would produce strains on society and very strict forms of authoritarian control. After some time, when this control proves too expensive, or for other economic or political factors, prevailing opinion will turn back in favour of Europe." This strikes me as naive on two counts. First, it imagines that Russian politics is always and only ever about Europe and attitudes towards it, which is obviously ridiculous. And second, it implicitly identifies public opinion with a narrow band of the middle-class: the liberal intelligentsia that admires an idealised Europe as a way of avoiding having to think about Russia in domestic terms - a stratum that Rogov himself represents. As Tony Wood pointed out in Russia Without Putin, what ultimately matters is the post-Soviet system of capitalism, of which Putin is as much a prisoner as anyone in a Siberian labour camp. 

That system has functioned well enough in the interests of the elite, and even the liberal intelligentsia. It has been coming under pressure in recent years, and the Ukraine misadventure can certainly be tied back to that fact and the regime's need for positive achievements, but it has yet to produce a coherent domestic opposition to that system, let alone a credible challenger to Putin. Alexei Navalny's narrow focus on elite corruption meant that the wider economic system never really came into view politically, while his personalised approach to campaigning presented too many in Russian society with the excuse of preferring the devil (and relative stability) they knew. As Wood put it in 2020: "Russia's imitation democracy is capable of reproducing itself whether Putin is in charge or not. It if is to be replaced by something substantively different, an alternative to the system as a whole will have to coalesce - not just an anti-Putin who can take the current president's place." Insofar as Russia is once more in a stalemate, it is because of the failure to develop an anti-capitalist opposition.

The Coming Tide

Barring the unforseen, Wednesday's budget is probably the last major political initiative we'll see prior to the calling of the general election (an Autumn statement, if it happens first, is likely to be more of the same). As such, it told us little we didn't already know about the leading parties: that the Tories will emphasise their commitment to lower taxes, and that Labour will offer little in the way of differentiation. Further austerity is therefore baked-in. The decision to abolish (i.e. rebadge) non-dom tax status was as heavily trailed as the reduction in NICs. Yet Labour appear to have been wrong-footed, having no alternative up their collective sleeve for the former and quick to support the latter as part of their own commitment to lower taxes on "hardworking families". The increase in child benefit was the one (mild) surprise, but even that made perfect sense as a gesture towards a pivotal demographic inclined to turn out at the polls. Most of the benefit will accrue to higher income households and will do little to offset the cost inflation suffered by those on lower incomes.

The predictability of the budget announcement makes Rishi Sunak's hyperbolic Downing Street statement on the Friday after the Rochdale by-election seem even more of an oddity in retrospect than it appeared at the time. He clearly wasn't teeing-up some major economic or foreign policy initiative, but equally the claim of democracy in existential peril hasn't heralded any major new policies in respect of policing, just a demand that the Met in particular gets tougher. In reality, the erosion of the rights of protest has been an incremental process since the early-80s, something done as a matter of bureaucratic routine rather than a novel initiative that needs to be announced from a lectern outside Number 10. The revelation that the Prevent scheme now considers socialism and anti-fascism to be warning signs of potential terrorism is the latest fruit of that process, and also a clear sign that the Home Office is confident that an incoming government under Keir Starmer isn't going to raise an eyebrow at a definition that automatically places the left of the Labour Party under suspicion. 

Sunak's speech has been interpreted as a diversion from the Conservative Party's Islamophobia, but that strikes me as an overly negative motivation. The Prime Minister has never given the impression of being a man of strong beliefs, or of being particularly concerned about the party's public image, so it may make more sense to view this simply as an attempt to shore up support by appealing to social reactionaries and the Jewish community. But there are two problems with that. First, those are demographics that the Tories already enjoy dominance among, so appealing to them in this way seems unnecessary, unless the party's internal polls are predicting something truly dire. The second problem is that Keir Starmer's alacrity in supporting the Prime Minister's authoritarian impulse means this isn't a dividing line between the parties. Some Labour supporters will see this as evidence of Starmer's astuteness in avoiding a trap, though I think he was merely being himself. But again, the idea that outbidding Labour on the restraint of protest will be the key issue at the polls seems unlikely.

Perhaps the simplest explanation is that Sunak wants to remind us he is still Prime Minister, there being few other issues on which he is able to command supportive media attention. In other words, this is another symptom of a government that has run out of ideas and has yet to convince itself that it knows how to avoid the coming electoral tide. Attention switched this week to Jeremy Hunt, and we shouldn't under-estimate the possibility that Sunak's statement was simply intended to pre-emptively distract from the inevitable media attention given to the Chancellor. If there is one thing we have learnt over the last decade it is just how self-regarding and bitchy Tory politicians are. Hunt's budget sought to cement the idea that the Tories are the only party who can be relied on to deliver tax cuts, even though the popular mood is very much in favour of increasing public spending after almost a decade and a half of austerity. You could see this as a last desperate attempt to make the political weather, but I think it's more a case of the Tories going down swinging, an approach apparently alien to Labour politicians (if only Gordon Brown had had the balls to abolish the House of Lords in 2009).

This determination to unashamedly do what Tories do should be borne in mind when we consider the growing body of commentary on the future of the Conservative Party. This can be broadly divided between the psephological focus of the moment and the longer-term analysis of the Tories as a historical and sociological force. For the first, there has been much heated talk of "meltdown" and "wipeout". In a first-past-the-post system this is conceivable: there is an inflexion point at which falling levels of support lead to an exponential increase in seats lost (i.e. getting into what might be called Lib Dem territory in terms of national levels of votes-per-seat). However, opinion polls and by-elections are rarely wholly reliable guides to general elections, and we must never under-estimate the fact that conservative voters are by temperament conservative and so stick with the devil they know. The second approach has tended to focus on the long-term demographic and material challenges for the party: in short, that they've lost the young (actually all cohorts up to about 60) and that their dominance among the old means their base will gradually shrink. The traditional transmission of youthful liberals into middle-aged conservatives appears to have broken down under the weight of unaffordable housing and rising income inequality. 

In this context, the "culture wars" and the associated authoritarian turn against youthful protest are seen as an attempt to motivate that elderly base and retain the social reactionary vote detached from Labour in the so-called "Red Wall" seats of the 2019 general election. There are a number of problems with this theory, not least whether the Red Wall even exists independent of Brexit and why the only people in small Midlands and Northern towns who vote are apparently either OAPs or crypto-Fascists. But if there is one thing we know about the political commentariat it is that it remains endlessly fascinated by the far-right, hence the outsize attention given in recent weeks to Liz Truss's attempt to carve out a speaking career in America, the anti-Enlightenment New Conservatives, and the ever-present Nigel Farage. While the media's intermittent focus on the left is always about preserving the Parliamentary Labour Party's ideological conservatism, its focus on the far-right is about normalising the idea that the Tories are a genuinely broad church and that radical shifts are natural and welcome (consider Chamberlain to Churchill, or Heath to Thatcher).

One product of this broad church assessment is the idea that the Conservative Party is an unstable alliance between conservatism and liberalism, hence it is apparently at risk of being "torn apart" by someone as intellectually shallow as Suella Braverman. But the party's actual raison d'etre is simply a defence of hierarchy, which makes it inherently stable. The default governing mode, which we are experiencing at the moment, is do-nothing because doing nothing preserves existing hierarchies. When the party has shifted to an activist mode, as in its adoption of neoliberalism in the 1970s, that has invariably been an attempt to restore hierarchy and its associated privileges. Thatcher's "Let managers manage" sought to restore capitalist power in the workplace while policies such as privatisation and right-to-buy sought to restore the privileges of property ownership (that ex-council houses ended up in the hands of petty landlords was a feature, not a bug).

Likewise, the idea that Labour is united by a common cause but divided by strategy misunderstands that socialism seeks to supersede liberalism, which is why the latter seeks to restrain and impede the former. This idea also ignores the structural imperatives to preserve hierarchies (consider the motivations and behaviours of the PLP). The motor of UK politics since 1832 has always been liberal "reformism", and the practical application of that has always been the creation of novel forms of governance and representation that preserve existing hierarchies while accommodating limited "progress". For example, nationalisation took industries into public ownership but largely retained and reinforced the existing management, which meant moves towards workers' control were stymied and the prospect of future privatisation preserved. Likewise, the return of those nationalised industries to private ownership has seen not only non-exec sinecures for helpful ex-politicians but the growth of a parallel bureaucracy of market regulation that shows a marked continuity with the QUANGOs of old.

The Conservative Party does not face an existential crisis, any more than democracy itself does, however both the party and our political system are subject to secular trends and material factors that will inevitably alter them. The Tories are facing a period out of office because the model of transferring economic control of public services to privileged private interests has finally hit the buffers. The crass profiteering around Covid contracts was like stripping an already emptied shop of its shelving. To paraphrase the lady, "The problem with Thatcherism is that you eventually run out of state resources to loot". The state has not shrunk, because it can't, and the rents extracted from it are now too high to bear, a point the public have got if the Westminster parties haven't. The challenge to democracy is that both the Conservatives and Labour remain in denial about the death of Thatcherism, despite standing amidst the mounting wreckage of the financial crash, auserity, Brexit and the pandemic. The palpable lack of enthusiasm for Labour, and the likelihood that enough of us will wearily troop to the polls to consign the Tories to temporary electoral oblivion, is a reflection of that sea-change.

Arsenal vs The Celebration Police

We're two-thirds of the way through the league season so now is a good time to look at how the fight for the title is shaping up. Arsenal sit third, one point behind Manchester City and five behind Liverpool, who have played a game more. Most pundits think it will be a straight fight between the teams currently in first and second place, with Arsenal failing to keep pace and City favourites because they have won the last three titles (and five of the last six, Liverpool winning the other). In other words, the assumption is that history will repeat itself: the early promise of Arsenal's challenge fading, City putting together a winning run over a dozen games and Liverpool making one of their periodic dashes for the finishing line. People rarely go broke betting that tomorrow's weather will be the same as today's, but there are reasons to believe that a new script might emerge. After all, it has to happen at some point. A feature of modern football is that as teams have become more drilled on the pitch, and as players have become more diligent and unassuming off it, managers have increasingly taken on the burden of providing personality and colour in the game, so that is as good a place to start the analysis as any.

Both City and Liverpool have managers either leaving or likely to leave in the not-too-distant future. Jurgen Klopp has already announced that he will be taking a sabbatical at the end of the season and while there is nothing official, or even rumoured, I think most people expect Pep Guardiola to fancy a change now that City have won the Champions League. His increasingly spiky dealings with the press suggest a man eager to burn his boats, and it's hard to believe he sees turning Jack Grealish into a world-class player as a suitably engrossing project any more. The counterintuitive integration of players like Haaland and Doku into the City squad looks like a master craftsman tinkering with his mechanism out of idle curiosity. He has always cut a dissatisfied demeanour on the touchline, but it's noticeable how much more morose he looks these days. Just as Klopp's manic grin has come to seem like the mask of a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so Guardiola's irritability suggests that he's near the end of his tether, or at least sufficiently bored to want to walk away.

In contrast, Mikel Arteta remains wound up to the point of mania, which means he's still on the upward curve of the managerial trajectory. It's nothing more that relative age, but it does suggest that the growth potential at the Emirates is greater than that at Anfield or the Etihad. This has been reinforced this season by the frequency with which other members of the coaching staff have been given prominence in the media, notably Nicolas Jover's contributions to set-plays and the rumours of suitors for Carlos Cuesta, and by the near-legendary status accorded the warm-weather training trip to Dubai. Even the goalkeeping coach, Inaki Cana Pavon, has been mentioned in dispatches in the context of the background to David Raya displacing Aaron Ramsdale. What this suggests is the emergence of a new narrative in English football, which is partly down to Arsenal's undoubted progress in recent seasons and partly the boredom of the media with the established narrative embodied by Guardiola and Klopp. Attempts to create a positive narrative out of Ange Postecoglou appear to have faltered, mate, while the negative narrative of Manchester United under Erik ten Hag also appears to be fading.

This has given rise to some odd behaviour in the media, most notably the arrival of the celebration police with their demands that Arteta and his coaches comport themselves with greater dignity, as if winning a game of football was akin to laying a wreath at the Cenotaph. Given that the same sources were always able to find fault with the touchline behaviour of Arsene Wenger, a man who was never less than dignified even when confronted by rank imbecility, these snipes are not worth responding to, but they are worth thinking about as evidence that certain pundits with North West affiliations are becoming uneasy. This doesn't mean that Arsenal are bound for glory, but it does suggest that the foundations are there for a sustained period of excellence that will unquestionably improve the chances of said glory. This is perhaps best understood if we look at the data. Over the first 12 games of the season, Arsenal garnered 27 points, scoring 26 and conceding 10. Over the next 13 games they took 28 points, scoring 32 and conceding 12. This looks like consistency, even if you'd ideally have liked 2 or 3 more points per third. The question is: can they maintain this pace and perhaps even improve on it?

Last season, the points haul per third was 31, 29 and 24: a fast start and then an accelerating decline at the business end. In Arteta's first two full seasons, Arsenal secured 13+21+27 and then 20+28+21. In other words, he has overseen periods of top-four performance (25+ points) but has been unable to sustain this over a season. 2022-23 saw title-challenging performance (28+) over two thirds, which was enough to achieve an 84-point second place finish. The hope is that this season will see a steadier return and thus a consistent table-topping points tally in the 85-90 range. 35 points from a possible 39 remaining is achievable, but 30 is more likely. However a final tally of 85 might be enough to win the title. It's worth noting that Man City had 55 points after 25 games last season and went on to take the crown with 89, but I suspect they'll drop a few more points along the way this season. Their games away to Liverpool and at home to Arsenal in March could well be decisive.

In terms of the squad and style of play, Arsenal look more balanced and varied. There have been hiccoughs and a periodic struggle with low-block defences (the defeat away to Porto this week being the latest), but there have also been examples of Arsenal confusing their opponents with their movement and the attention to detail on set-plays has been real and rewarding. As is usually the case at this stage of the season, Arsenal are going to need some luck on the injury front: specifically that they don't lose key players like Ødegaard, Saka and Rice. Given that they've lost Timber and Partey for almost all of the season, and Tomiyasu, Zinchenko and Jesus for part of it, you could say that they've already proved that the squad has greater resilience and depth. The question is whether they can now raise their game for the title run-in and take either or both of Liverpool and Man City to the wire. The one thing we can be certain of is that whoever manages to win the title this year will be fully justified in tearing off down the touchline to celebrate.

Antisemitism Again

There are a number of reasons for the Labour Party's continuing troubles over antisemitism. Having deployed it as a weapon for factional ends, there should be no surprise that it has proven to be a double-edged sword in the hands of the Tory press who, for commercial as much as ideological reasons, like nothing better than blood on the floor. Likewise, the patent insincerity of the more thuggish elements of the Labour right in claiming to be lifelong campaigners against racism and bigotry was always likely to blow up in their faces at some point. I'm genuinely surprised it has taken this long, but that in turn points to a third reason: that the media's indulgence of Keir Starmer's leadership was always likely to end ahead of the next general election. He lacks the charisma and novelty of a mid-90s Blair and the process of making Labour's manifesto "bullet-proof" against Tory attacks has left a vacuum that needs to be filled somewhow. When your leading defenders are either insisting that you are a serial dissembler who will suprise us all by being more radical in office, or that your lack of fixed principles is actually a sign of pragmatic maturity, then you know you're going to struggle when the electorate asks what it's getting in return for booting out the Conservatives.

Beyond the confines of the Labour Party, the contemporary salience of antisemitism obviously owes a lot to the conflict in Gaza, though it should be emphasised that the turn in sympathy against Israel and towards the Palestinians, which is what we're really talking about here, long-predated the 7th of October and can be traced back to the collapse of the Oslo accords. The defenders of Israeli policy, such as the UK's Community Security Trust, whose data on the level of "antisemitic incidents" is routinely relayed by the media without interrogation, have obviously sought to conflate criticism of Israel with antisemitism, to the point of now claiming that the phrase "Free Palestine" is anti-Jewish if addressed towards Jews or Jewish institutions. In other words, we are seeing the boundary of what qualifies as antisemitism expanded, a danger that many previously predicted in respect of the demand to adopt the IHRA definition without qualification, including Kenneth Stern. This rhetorical inflation has led to many tropes that were previously considered acceptable, if crude and insulting, to now be taken as prima facie evidence of antisemitic intent, which appears to be what has tripped up Azhar Ali and Graham Jones, the two prospective parliamentary candidates at the centre of the latest Labour "row".

There is a fine line between believing that Israel has opportunistically exploited the 7/10 attack to pursue long-standing aims in Gaza and believing that there was a conspiracy to amplify the attack in order to further those aims. In suggesting the latter, Azhar Ali was indulging his audience in a worldview assumed to be common among Muslims: not just that Israel is conniving but that it is cruel and callous. What this suggests is that the presumption of factions based on ethnic or religious heritage remains part of Labour's internal management culture. Party members, even relatively elevated ones such as councillors, are assumed to have bloc loyalties (specifically to Pakistani-heritage biraderi) and must therefore be appealed to by pandering to what are assumed to be that bloc's prejudices. The two leading theories as to who leaked the meeting are that it was either a member of another faction disappointed by Ali's selection or someone genuinely appalled by what he said. In either case, this was clearly a political decision, which indicates how misguided it was to try and address the participant's concerns through the medium of an imagined bloc identity.

In contrast to Ali's statements, Graham Jones's "Fucking Israel" is a nationalist rather than a communalist sentiment. Likewise the claim that anyone fighting for the IDF is a traitor. What this highights is the double nature of antisemitism, here in the form of two distinct traditions: the idea of Jews as insufficiently loyal to their "adopted" country (Jones) and the idea of Jews as having an intrinsic moral deficit wherever they are found (Ali). The former has tended to be characterised as a sophisticated, even aristocratic tradition (e.g. the Dreyfus Affair), while the latter has been seen as vulgar: the antisemitism of the marketplace (e.g. Kristallnacht). But in reality these two traditions have always overlapped to the point where there is no meaningful distinction in practice - i.e. in how they impact on Jews. It exists purely in the minds of antisemites. The distinction between an upper class patriotism and a lower class materialism was constructed to reflect better on that upper class and to quarantine the lower classes whose "excitable" responses to economic disruption had a tendency to expand beyond questions of Jewish culpability into broader debates about inequality and power.

The paradox of Nazi antisemitism - that the Jews could be characterised as both rich and powerful and at the same time as poor and verminous - was not simply a geographical distinction between the assimilated Jews of the Rhineland and the alien Jews of the Polish shtetls. It was also a class distinction in motive: the bourgeois antisemite resented the unequal competition of the bourgeois Jewish cabal and despised the vulgarity of the poor Jew, while the working class antsemite resented the power of the Jewish capitalist and despised the unequal competition of the Jewish worker willing to accept lower wages. The double nature of antisemitism reflects those class differences. Likewise, just as anti-black racism reflects the beliefs of "white" racists rather than any intrinsic quality of "blacks" (hence racism birthed race, not the other way round), so classic antisemitism - that is the antisemitism of the modern historial era rather than the religious antisemitism of the pre-modern era - reflects the ideology of the ethnically homogeneous nation, which was meant to unify the classes. 

That classic antisemitism, with its roots in the nineteenth century and its overlaps with "scientific racism", never went away because we never superseded the nation state. But it has altered over time, specifically the dual nature of antisemitism has seen a bifurcation. The vulgar Jew has retreated into history in most Western societies. This is not simply because of the demographic impact of the Holocaust in Europe or the successful upward social mobility of Jews in the US (incidentally a continuing theme in American culture, e.g. in recent films such as Oppenheimer and Maestro). There are still working class Jews, but you rarely see them in the media. Instead the community representatives are overwhelmingly middle or upper-middle-class, tend towards the centre-right politically, and identify with the establishment. Likewise, few of us are familiar with the reality of working class life in Israel because Western media prefer to present the country in middle-class terms as one of technology start-ups, liberal values (that admittedly need defending from the vulgar Netanyahu) and the IDF's gender-equality, with the charedim as little more than a background noise and the illiberal settler movement as semi-detached.

This has left a vacancy that has been filled by Islamophobia. The traditional tropes of antisemitism from the "lower" tradition have been transferred wholesale: the shadowy conspiracies and unfair competition (the underlying rumble about the Rochdale selection), the morbid religiosity, the desire to defile white women ("grooming" will be on the Rochdale ballot courtesy of an independent candidate). We can also see elements of the upper tradition echoed in popular forms - e.g. the treatment of the traitorous Shamima Begum. But if the upper tradition lives on, it does so predominantly, if paradoxically, under cover of philosemitism. The Jews are to be applauded because they have shown us what a true nation state looks like. They are defeating the Muslim interlopers, purging their land and ensuring the survival of the Jewish race. A good example of how these two traditions now combine was offered this week by Trevor Kavanagh, the former Political Editor of The Sun, who opined that all Muslims are by definition anti-Jewish. This manages to treat both Muslims and Jews as homogeneous groups with common characteristics, while also conflating all Jews with Israel.

What this suggests is that Labour isn't going to able to "rid itself" of antisemitism, or at least the appearance of it, any time soon. The Tories will insist on the association of Muslim support and antisemitism not simply as a way of attracting Jewish (and Indian) support to themselves but as a way of gradually detaching Muslim voters from Labour. The hierarchy of racism within the party reflects a factional approach, and that won't change so long as the party remains averse to actual politics and so preserves the utility of ethnic blocs. The groups that achieved national prominence campaigning against antisemitism in Labour under Corbyn, such as the JLM, are unlikely to cede that prominence now, which will encourage further rhetorical inflation. The identification of the left with antisemitism has been pursued to inoculate the party from any taint of socialism, but the consequence of this has not just been a shift to the right on the ideological spectrum but a movement in the boundary of antisemitism itself, as Azhar Ali and Graham Jones have just discovered. Too many people are now invested in the persistence of antisemitism within Labour for it to easily disappear.

Labour's Industrial Strategy

John McTernan was unfortunate in his timing. His plea for Labour to drop the pretence that the green prosperity fund was anything other than an industrial strategy came only days before the long-heralded confirmation that the expected next government will not be spending £28 billion per year transitioning to a low-carbon future or anywhere near that figure. Lost in the debate over whether this latest u-turn shows Labour cleaving to the Tory agenda or simply incapable of sincerity is his use of a term suggesting a more dirigiste approach to the management of the economy than has been visible of late. As a confirmed Blairite, McTernan would no doubt insist that New Labour had an industrial strategy, but in substance this amounted to little more than acquiescence in the once-fashionable idea that letting the financial sector do as it pleased would ultimately benefit all. In fairness, that was a strategy with a long pedigree in British politics. The formal industrial strategy of the postwar years was, like the wider concept of planning, an atypical interlude in a history otherwise tending towards laissez faire.

The UK's fitful attempts to craft an industrial strategy between 1940 and 1980 reflected the nature of the economic model that developed over the much longer period between 1750 and 1890. The technological advances of the age, which every schoolkid learns to recite as a series of names (Arkwright, Bessemer, Stephenson etc), gave the UK a significant first-mover advantage as they did not spread sufficiently rapidly to allow other nations to quickly develop competitive domestic production. There were two consequences of this: the growth of export-oriented capital goods sectors in the UK (shipbuilding, railways etc) with the corollary of a firm commitment to free trade, and the defensive adoption of protectionist policies by many of those competitors in an effort to shield and develop domestic production (notably the USA). The common ground was a commitment to sound money - the gold standard - which in turn benefited the UK by making the City of London the central nexus of global trade and capital financing.

The extroverted nature of British industry led to sectors dominated by multiple, small-to-medium size manufacturers specialising in niche products and selling to a global market. In contrast, the protectionist policies of the UK's chief competitors encouraged vertical integration within captive domestic markets, the classic example being the development of Standard Oil in the US, a company that spanned extraction, refining, distribution and retail (a model that remains central to the oil business today). The institutional effect of this was the emergence of the large-scale corporation and a tendency towards merger as a means of achieving growth, particularly notable in Germany around steel production, which was only occasionally restrained by anti-trust laws (e.g. the break-up of Standard Oil). After World War II proved the inefficiency of further expansion through territorial aggression, this birthed the modern multinational. 

While all this was going on, the UK found itself pulled between competing interests. The established capital goods and manufacturing sectors lobbied government to preserve their export markets, which gave rise to the conflict between free trade and imperial preference (the latter being an attempt to stunt the growth of capital production and manufacturing in the colonies, which inevitably failed because no one seemed to appreciate that this wasn't what the dominions themselves wanted). Meanwhile, there was a conscious effort to consolidate the fragmented primary goods and manufacturing sectors during the twentieth century, notably coal, steel and automobile production. Typically, this was done by a combination of nationalisation, the encouragement of private sector mergers, and various schemes in between where the state would act as a sleeping partner underwriting private capital with public money. 

What remained a constant was the interests of high finance and the influence it exerted on the UK state - what Giovanni Arrighi, in The Long Twentieth Century, refered to as its "pecuniary rationality". Despite the retreat from the gold standard and the emergence of capital markets in New York and Tokyo, the City of London continued to exert sway over the state's fiscal policy and industrial strategy, constraining the former (the "Treasury view") and showing little enthusiasm for the latter. Indeed, if nationalisation in the UK was characterised by a willingness to preserve the existing management culture and resist workers' control, it was also marked by a desire to side-step the City's lack of interest in domestic opportunities and to short-cut the process of private sector consolidation. The problem was that the fiscal constraints inevitably led to under-investment in those nationalised industries by the state: neither brave enough to defy the money markets nor brave enough to reform British management.

The technological first-mover advantage that the UK benefited from in the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries (roughly 1760-1840) now looks like a historical one-off, both in terms of the transformative effects it had on society (e.g. urbanisation) and in its duration, though you could make an argument for China's economic catch-up since 1978 being an echo of it, albeit through the absorption of common technologies into an untapped domestic market and then through labour cost arbitrage with the West. Subsequent cycles of advance, notably the second industrial revolution (1870-1914) and more recently the digital revolution (1970-1990), saw new technologies dispersed globally in ever more rapid bursts. This in turn means that the boost to GDP growth arising from new technologies tends to be weaker and much shorter. While tech-boosterism is still a thing among politicians and pundits, the likes of Tony Blair look increasingly naive in their fetishistic belief that the embrace of technology alone can transform a nation's fortunes. 

Today, growth above the historic mean, or even above the level of national comparators, can only arise in two ways. One is a historic conjuncture in which secular trends and contingent opportunities coincide to produce a benign environment. For example, a demographic bulge that rapidly adds youth to the working population or the demands of reconstruction after a period of major destruction. The second is a major change in the composition of the economy that provides a higher-level comparative advantage. For example, the discovery of oil, or other valuable resources, within a territory or the rapid expansion of an export-oriented industry that cannot be quickly replicated by competitors (such as semiconductor fabrication). Of course, these developments themselves entail risks, notably the resource curse in the first instance and exposure to fluctuating foreign demand and currency speculation in the second. A safer approach may be a state-led change in the compostion of the economy but for a developed nation with already mature technology like the UK such a change is more difficult to achieve: you can't just take it off the shelf as the Chinese did.

Outside these exceptional circumstances, the ambition for most states will be growth close to the international average. For developed economies, that's been around 2% per annum over the last twenty years. The UK is currently at about 0.5%, so there's certainly headroom, but getting closer to 2% won't generate the sort of tax incomes, ceteris paribus, required to fund much long-term investment, particularly given the demands to boost day-to-day spending on the NHS, social care and crumbling local goverment services. The green prosperity fund - or green new deal if you prefer, emphasising the pro-labour and pro-social aspects - offered a potential way out of this bind: a major retooling that would boost growth in the short-term and make the economy more competitive in the longer-term so sustaining that growth (or at least enabling the UK to keep up with its peer group). In rejecting the idea of using the green transition to boost growth, Labour are not simply allowing the Tories to set the agenda, or giving up on the climate crisis, they are confirming that the stranglehold of the City, last seen during the Truss debacle, remains very much in place. 

Labour hasn't been the party of the workers since the 1970s, and even then workerism was only one of a number of competing ideological strands, but it did retain a credible claim to be the party of growth long past that point and as recently as 2019. With this announcement, Starmer and Reeves have confirmed that it has given up that claim and is now simply the party of sound money: the "fiscal rules" have become a fetishistic end in themselves rather than the means to a particular fiscal end (higher spending, lower taxes etc). The move to the right on policy (i.e. all those promises reneged), like the authoritarianism and managerial brutality, are not simply the instinctive behaviours of the right wing of the party. They are an expression of an overarching commitment to sound money that inevitably produces a conservative, pessimistic mindset and a preference for austerity: the constraint of the growth they claim to be in favour of. Labour has no industrial strategy because it has no growth strategy beyond a pious hope.