Should fewer people be encouraged to go to university?

The obvious conclusion to draw from Allister Heath’s claim that the fastest job growth over the next few years will be in occupations that that don’t require university degrees is that fewer people should be encouraged to go to university. That’s certainly the spin put on it by Heath’s sub-editor, who headlined the piece, “Tell youngsters the truth: the UK needs you to work not go to university”. That also seems to be Heath’s view, judging from his swipe at Tony Blair’s target of getting half of school leavers into university. However, I can think of three possible objections to such an inference. The first is that we cannot depend on these projections as fixed, unchangeable constraints as policy. The second is that a skills mismatch may help drive economic efficiency. The third is that universities should be judged on their merits beyond just preparing people for jobs.

Economic projections are fairly dubious at the best of times, but it would be an obvious mistake to assume that nothing can be done to alter the relative growth rates of different types of jobs. After all, higher education teaching is listed among the fastest growing professions, but that is unlikely to remain the case if student numbers are significantly cut. Though he cautions against top-down planning, it is clear that Heath believes the list of policies he suggests at the end, including lower taxes, less regulation and improving infrastructure will create more graduate jobs. Thus one response to the projections is for the government to undertake the policies it believes can contribute to the development of more jobs requiring university degrees. So the first reason to continue to keep encouraging school leavers into university is because you believe that jobs can be created for them.

The second reason is to promote the meritocratic ideal that most capable person for a job should fill it. If student numbers are contracted to near enough the exact level of graduate jobs, there is no guarantee that the least academically capable will be the ones squeezed out. For one thing, risk aversion and a lack of information or social precedent mean that those from poorer backgrounds are more likely to be deterred. For another, many students do not reveal and develop their aptitudes and abilities until they are at university. Meritocracy is obviously a moral ideal – may people believe it is necessary for fairness. But it is also likely to bring about greater productivity and efficiency.

What of the ‘extra’ graduates that are unable to find jobs to match their skills? It is at least possible that they will be more productive in whatever job they end up in than someone who didn’t go to university. After all, beyond the direct technical knowledge imparted by university courses, there are a number of transferrable skills beneficial in almost any workplace, things like communication and time management. There is some evidence that this is the case, but it has also been suggested that these advantages can be wiped out by the lack of motivation of workers who lack job satisfaction because they feel over-qualified.

Of course, even in those cases where attending university is not economically beneficial, either for the individual or the economy at large, there are still a host of reasons why we might encourage people to go to university. The social, cultural and political benefits of a university education have been discussed by at length. It has been suggested that universities help breed a more cultured, moral and democratic society. These benefits are surely not restricted to educating those who stand to get a job at the end of the process.

More radically, for those who accept that the current level of economic development is ‘enough’, university may be seen as playing a role in ‘leisure smoothing’, giving young people an important period of freedom from the demands of paid employment. This fits Robert Skidelsky’s vision that “We shouldn't be aiming to extend the domain of work into old age, but to extend the domain of non-work into young age”. Thus universities might be seen as a sort of retirement community for the young, where they are given the opportunity to be active and social without the demands of making an economic contribution to society.

Now it might well be that these arguments are insufficient to take the sting out of Heath’s critique of the present ideology around higher education. It might be enough to show that is beneficial to have a bare minimum level of university graduates, but not enough to show that the current level is justified. That depends on the empirical facts and the weight given to the different considerations set out here.

However, I think that this debate raises a couple of very important issues for how we should think about higher education, wherever you stand. Firstly, how should the option of higher education be presented to young people? Heath’s indignation in the article comes from the belief that many university graduates are likely to feel disappointed and betrayed, believing their degrees to entitle them to better jobs than they expected. If going to university does not guarantee a graduate job, then Heath is almost certainly correct that it is wrong to mislead school leavers with false promises. Perhaps a better alternative is to present it as a calculated gamble, with a good chance of bringing about a certain type of job and lifestyle, but no guarantee. Moreover, if the economic benefits of university are smaller than we previously believed, perhaps there should be more focus on the non-economic advantages it brings? (If these messages are successful they might increase the job satisfaction of disappointed graduates, and so contribute to productivity)

The second issue this raises is the question of funding. If it turns out that much of the benefit of a university degree doesn’t accrue directly to the individual, but involve the more diffuse goods of economic efficiency through meritocracy and socio-cultural goods, this might be an argument for a greater public funding of higher education, taking  more of the burden off individuals.

Do academics publish too much?

Inspired/provoked by an old Noel Malcolm piece that’s doing the rounds, Jacob Williamson has turned his attention to the state of modern academia, and the question of whether there’s just too much of it.

Both Malcolm and Jacob trade on well-established stereotypes: academia isn’t what it once was, with the pressure on young academics to publish voluminously and make a name for themselves sending them down increasingly esoteric alleyways as they struggle for something novel to say. The standard academic article, on
this view, merely restates what dozens of others have said, with a minor twist at the end.

While that picture isn’t entirely false, I think that criticism is too easy, and that there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with publishing behaviour. Jacob and Malcolm seem to have two main problems with the volume of academic literature.

The first is that it is no longer possible (as Malcolm used to do with Hobbes scholarship) to keep up with all the literature on a particular topic. As Jacob says, “There’s a place for secondary texts to shed light on primary material, but this much light? It becomes blinding”. But why should you expect to be able to keep on top of all the thoughts that a whole world’s worth of scholars are having? Surely a field where ideas come slowly, drip by drip, is stagnant, or at least lacking in energy or vibrancy?

Two points can be made in favour of the arcane academic research that I think is worthwhile but that everyone within a field shouldn’t have to wade through. The first is that however obscure an issue is, it is worth discussing as long as somebody else, anybody else, is interested in it. The second is that apparently dull and narrow research can actually enhance what we might think of more worthwhile and consequential research, by sparking off new ideas, or being synthesised together.

It might still be asked how scholars can find work that interests them in this mountain of work, and this is indeed a problem. But there are mechanisms – the tiered pyramid of academic journals means that following the higher prestige journals should ensure you read the things of greatest general interest. Keyword searches and citations from fellow scholars can also help.

The second objection is that quantity is prized over quality. Instead of considering a topic in depth and thinking through their ideas, academics are forced to rush through superficial research in order to move onto the next publication. Worse still, they might shirk from considering really difficult questions because they require too much of an investment of time.

I don’t think this is entirely true. After all professional success for academics is not just a function of the number of publications a scholar has, but also of the prestige of the journals they are published in. Academics do have an incentive to polish their papers and seek out novel questions because they are likely to be published in better journals.

In any case, I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing if academics are given a bit of a nudge to share their ideas with the rest of us before they feel they are totally perfect. That Ralph Walker and Lesley Brown (praised in Jacob’s post for their sparse publication record) should hoard their ideas and views to share only with students and immediate colleagues tries me as a shame. I’m sure most of us have experienced the benefit of being forced to have work ready for a hard deadline, rather than being left to forge it in our own time  - why shouldn’t academics be similarly galvanised by the demand that they produce visible output to show for all the time they spend thinking and reading?

Moreover, I’m a bit puzzled by the assumption that just because academics are asked to write a lot, they must be lacking for things to say. I find this particularly odd coming from Jacob, who is an intimidatingly prolific blogger. Academics, almost by definition, are people who have ideas. Usually lots of them. Not all of them are good, but it’s not always possible to tell how good an idea is until it is released into the world. I think that’s an experience most bloggers can relate to. So if Jacob can share four or five ideas a week on his blog, why does he feel unable to share four or five ideas a year in academic papers? It is the same impulse behind each – the same desire to throw ideas out into the world and see if they attract interest or provoke discussion. If it’s good enough for bloggers, why not academics?

Improving Germany’s model democracy

Germany has one of the best electoral systems in the world. If I were writing a constitution, I think only New Zealand could serve as a better model. I’ve briefly discussed the advantages of mixed member proportional representation (MMPR) before, but here are some of the main benefits:

1. The question of which person you want to represent your local area and the question of which party you want to govern the country are separated.
2. Each voter has equal influence over the ultimate distribution of seats – unlike systems which give rise to '’swing states’ or ‘marginal constituencies’, where voters have more power
3. There is less incentive for tactical voting, as proportional representation ensures that votes for smaller parties are not ‘wasted’

I think these three features – less ambiguity over what people are voting for, equalising the influence of each voter, and ensuring that voters’ genuine preferences are considered – mean that MMPR is more democratic than other systems.

However, recent events in Germany show that it can still fall short of these lofty democratic principles. In the January 20th Lower Saxony election, it has been suggested that a number of CDU supporters voted for the FDP. Why would they do this? Because the FDP is more likely to cooperate with the CDU than other parties, and it was in danger of falling short of the 5% share of the vote necessary to win any seats in parliament. It has been suggested that the general election later this year might witness a similar phenomenon.

The election was analysed mostly in terms of its implications for the fortunes of the CDU, but more troubling are its implications for democracy as a whole. CDU supporters voting FDP violates principle 3) above, that democracy should aggregate authentic, and not falsely stated preferences. Less obviously, it also violates 2) – that each vote should have equal bearing on ultimate electoral result. The CDU supporters misrepresented their preference because they believed that voting FDP would give them more influence on the distribution of seats. Voting FDP gave them more power because they had the chance not only to be the marginal voter who decided the destination of a single seat, as all other voters did, but additionally gave them the chance of being the marginal voter whose vote carried their party over the threshold, and decided a hatful of extra seats.

The flipside of the extra influence wielded by voters whose party is close to the parliamentary threshold is the disenfranchisement of those whose favoured party fails to meet the threshold – their votes effectively count for less than the rest of the electorate, raising the spectre of the ‘wasted vote’, another phenomenon MMPR is supposed to avoid.

These problems are minor niggles compared to the inequity of voting systems like the US or the UK, but the undignified scenes in Lower Saxony let the German system down. If Germany is to live up to the high democratic standards it has set itself, it would do well to lower the threshold for entry to parliament (at 5% it is amongst the highest in the world), or better yet, abolish it entirely.

What Indian roads tell us about anarchy

 A common retort to anarchists and libertarians* is to say that if they really want to see how great life is when people get the government off their backs, they should visit Somalia, or other failed states where rule of law has effectively collapsed. Having spent the last couple of weeks in India, I might add another less extreme suggestion: if you want to see an excellent illustration of what anarchy really means, spend some time driving on the roads of Kolkata.

In what sense are Indian roads anarchic? Anarchy, as any dictionary will tell you, comes from the Greek an (without) arkhos (chief or ruler). Indian drivers live up to this ideal by bowing before nobody - unconstrained by traffic lights or regulations. It is best described as a system of minimal rules – drivers more or less do what they want, when they want. Thus overtaking, undertaking, random u-turns, driving in the opposite direction to traffic, tailgating and drifting freely between lanes are commonplace. Of course, the metaphor is imperfect – the police can and do stop drivers who are excessively reckless and of course, the very infrastructure of the roads is mostly state-provided – but even if it falls short of full anarchy, the approximation is instructive (maybe closer to a libertarian night watchman state?).

Now while the injunction to visit Somalia is clearly meant to demonstrate the unattractiveness of anarchy, I think the story here is a bit more nuanced. Indian drivers display many of the typical libertarian virtues that are often seen as being crowded out by state regulation. Driving on Indian roads every day makes demands on your skill and ingenuity that are unimaginable in Western countries. Cars are required to manoeuvre through the tightest spaces, to slalom in between other cars, and ultimately the boldest and nimblest win. On Western roads, driving is simple and formulaic, and even if you can do something inventive and dextrous, like squeezing between the cars in front, you wouldn’t be allowed.

Another line of criticism against statism is that it ‘enervates’ or ‘emasculates’ people, who become passive and dependent on state structures, weak and pathetic sissies. Insofar as libertarians or anarchists accept this view, there is plenty again to commend Indian driving, which is, in a word, very ‘male’. According to the popular stereotype of women drivers, they are too hesitant  and lack spatial awareness. Both are cardinal sins on the Indian road. As I’ve already mentioned the unruliness and lack of space requires incredible precision. Moreover, an average drive involves so many games of ‘chicken’ that no driver makes any progress without a big dollop of bravado and horn-blowing. The timid, in short, are bullied off the roads.

The biggest drawback of anarchy on the roads are obvious enough – the increased risk of accidents, which are also everyday occurrences. But more than this, the feeling of insecurity takes its toll even if you avoid accident. Driving in India must be exhausting because of the constant vigilance required, given that anything could happen at any minute, new hazards round every corner. Even if you reach your destination unscathed, every other journey involves near misses, brief moments of terror – swerving at the last minute to avoid head-on collisions, or having to break suddenly as somebody fails to stop at a junction.

Less striking, but equally revealing is the sheer selfishness of Indian drivers. Consideration for other drivers is rare – all anybody is interested in is reaching their destination as quickly as possible, with little apparent awareness that other people’s journeys might matter too. The everyday acts of patience and courtesy you see in other countries, like staying in line in traffic, or stopping for other cars at junctions, are almost non-existent. Far more common is almost self-defeating self-centredness, such as harassing smaller vehicles in front, or rushing to impose yourself as far forward as possible instead of allowing cars in front the space to manoeuvre out of difficulties.

It would be wrong to infer from this that Indians are somehow anti-social or inconsiderate. The more plausible explanation is structural – in the absence of a system they can trust to give them security and ensure their interests are looked after, people have no choice but to sharpen their elbows and fight for themselves. And that, to me, poses a challenge to libertarians and anarchists alike.

* I fully appreciate that libertarianism and anarchism are different philosophies involving different belief systems. However, since this post discusses their common anti-statism, the differences between them are not all that relevant.

Should votes be for sale?

Ahead of Tuesday’s U.S. Presidential election, Stephen Levitt, citing the work of Glen Weyl, has made a provocative suggestion for improving the electoral process – people should be permitted to vote multiple times, paying increasingly higher fees for each additional vote. I’m attracted to this idea because it addresses one of the major drawbacks of ‘one man, one vote’, that every vote counts the same, regardless of how strong the preference expressed is. It is problematic (to me, at least – others may have different intuitions) that a vote cast by a fervent anti-Republican, who fears that a Romney victory would be as calamitous as a zombie apocalypse should be cancelled out by the vote of someone who thinks the candidates are much the same, but that Romney just has the edge. To be clear, the objection is not that the former voter is better informed or qualified to vote, just that they feel stronger about the issues – the opinionated but ignorant would still be likely to buy plenty of votes.
 
A trivial example should make my intuition clear. Suppose a group of people are trying to decide what topping to get on their pizza. Four people have a weak desire to get prawn, while two have a weak desire not to get prawn. Meanwhile, one person is strongly against prawn because it will cause them to have a severe allergic reaction, and require them to go to hospital. If the decision is put to a simple majority vote, the group will opt for prawn, 4-3. Yet it seems wrong to me that the preferences of those who gain so little from having the prawn should be counted equally with the person who is allergic. For a more clearly political example, perhaps the views of those enjoying a modest tax cut should not be counted equally alongside the person who loses vital services to pay for the cuts.

The obvious objection to the vote buying proposal, which Levitt discusses, is that it gives disproportionate political power to the rich. His response is unconvincing – he points out that such a transparent system would be better than the status quo, where the rich exert greater influence through campaign finance. But that is just an argument to reform campaign finance, not to create an alternative way to perpetuate the inequity.

Moreover, the objection is deeper than Levitt appreciates - insofar as the vote buying scheme gives greater power to the rich, it fails in its attempt to reflect the strength of voters’ views, because it fails to account for the law of diminishing marginal utility. The logic behind the vote buying scheme, as I understand it, is that it forces people to put their money where their mouth is. In buying $50 worth of votes for the Republicans, I am showing that a Republican government is worth $50 to me. The trouble is that that $50 is a much more powerful statement when it comes from a poorer person, involving a more significant sacrifice on their part. If $50 pledged to the Republicans means giving up a meal at a nice restaurant, and person A dines at nice restaurants regularly, while for B it is an annual treat, then it is clear that B wants the Republicans to win more.

The obvious way to reflect this would be to make voting fees progressive i.e. proportionate to income. So the richer you are, the more you have to pay to vote.

Even with this amendment, there are two types of concern I have about the scheme. On one hand, I am sceptical as to whether this measure would be successful in achieving its own stated goal - to successfully reflect public opinion. On the other hand, I wonder whether this goal is the only desirable one to have.

The first reason for scepticism about vote buying accurately capturing people’s real views is that it depends on people being able to provide an accurate and meaningful valuation of how much an electoral outcome is worth to them. Yet as behavioural economists such as Dan Ariely have shown, this is something most people struggle to do without a set of reference prices for context (do you have a clear idea, right now, how much you would be willing to pay for a certain number of votes in the next election?) This is further complicated by the fact that people wouldn’t be buying a Romney or Obama victory, but just the mere possibility of being decisive one way or the other.

Even if people could accurately gauge how much their vote is worth, the market for votes might still be distorted. Just because a person is willing to  pay $100 to vote for Obama, this might not fully be a reflection of their endorsement of the president. People might pay a voting fee for all sorts of reasons, just as people vote for all sorts of reasons just now – out of a sense of civic obligation, to express gratitude for the historical sacrifices of their forebears, out of a sense of power. Each of these motivations means that the amount they pay for their vote will fail to track their enthusiasm for the candidates.

A more fundamental objection to the vote buying scheme is that it fails to understand hat voting is really about. It could be argued that it is not just about taking a snapshot of public opinion, but that it has some other function, which is subverted by vote buying. For example, political theorists have long argued that democracy has an educative value – by giving citizens the responsibility of a say in how the country is run, they are encouraged to live up to that faith by engaging with politics, developing and trusting their own judgement. If engagement with politics becomes a prerequisite of voting, then those who are not inclined to involve themselves in politics will simply shrug off this responsibility, and opt not to develop these faculties.

Whatever you think about the vote buying proposal, it offers an illuminating challenge to the way democracy proceeds just now – does it really expose an important problem with the status quo? And if so, what is wrong with its proposed solution? In answering these questions, we get a clearer idea of the strengths and weaknesses of democracy, and why (if at all) we value it.

The difficulties of a ‘coalition of the rational’ on immigration

One of the intriguing ideas to emerge from the Labour party conference earlier this month is shadow immigration minister Chris Bryant’s proposal of a non-partisan ‘coalition of the rational’ in favour of immigration. The idea is attractive and interesting because it raises the ideological complexity of the issue. However, it is this very complexity that threatens the feasibility of the hope.

What Bryant appears to recognise is that immigration is an issue that cuts across the traditional left right divide, pitting libertarians against conservatives on the right, and liberals against egalitarians on the left. If those in favour of migration are to prevail, they are of  course going to have to reach out to those on the other side of the spectrum.

However, it is important to recognise how difficult this diversity of opinion makes forming and maintaining such a coalition. I think it’s generally true that the inherent difficulty of coalitions stems from the fact that people agree on something, but do so for different reasons. Immigration is unusual because of the extremely high number of different ways in which people can be in favour of it: because it promotes economic prosperity, because it helps businesses, because it reduces state regulation, because it brings cultural benefits, because it atones for historic injustices, to name but a few.

Both Bryant and Don Flynn of Migrants’ Rights Network, who has also discussed the idea, appear to be too optimistic about the scale of the differences between potential coalition partners. Bryant’s moniker for the group suggests that all unprejudiced ‘rational’ people will inevitably come to the same conclusion. Meanwhile, Flynn seems to suggest that there are only two necessary conditions for the project to be a success: transcending party tribalism, and establishing the facts about immigration.

Both these views seem to suggest that a common appreciation of ‘the facts' is all we need to establish common ground on immigration. But this is a gross oversimplification of the diversity of possible positions on the topic. For a start, how would we even know what the relevant facts are? Is it about the effects of immigration on growth, unemployment, Gini coefficients, or what? Different facts will seem salient or irrelevant to different people, and I would suggest that no set of facts will convince people of all perspectives.

Even more threatening to the vision of a coalition of the rational is the fact that the same set of facts may be received in diametrically opposite ways by different people. Let’s say immigration doesn’t significantly affect the bargaining power of labour, or cause wages to fall. That might encourage egalitarians to favour immigration, but equally it could alienate pro-business types from the cause. If it were to emerge that immigrants are overwhelmingly high skilled, the news might be taken as positive by those who see immigration as an engine of growth, but it is unlikely to be cheered by cosmopolitans concerned by brain drain in developing countries.

The point is that the very diversity of values and assumptions that make a wide pro-immigration coalition possible also make it inherently fragile, especially to new facts. And frankly, that is what makes the idea so interesting.

The Banal Nationalism of Olympic coverage

The Olympics are invariably a troubling time for those wary of the excesses of patriotism and nationalism. This time around the BBC’s coverage of the games has been singled out as reflecting a narrow concern for promoting the glory of the British athletes, and failing to draw sufficient attention to the successes of other countries. The BBC’s director general, Mark Thompson is alleged to have expressed his concern over the tone of the coverage, criticised as ‘jingoistic and sentimental’ by American journalists who insist “U.S. journalists would never openly root for the home team”. Robert Shrimsley nicely sums up the way that the coverage was skewed towards ‘team GB’: foreigners were only deemed worthy of attention if they are:

“a) as famous as Usain Bolt or Michael Phelps; b) a great sporting discovery who will become synonymous with the London games; c) a double amputee and, most importantly, d) not in the way of a British medal hope”.

There seem to be two issues here. First, the BBC is being criticised for the tone of its coverage i.e. for cheering British competitors too blatantly. Second, the BBC is being criticised for its editorial decisions over which events to focus on in their coverage. The first issue doesn’t seem too hard to remedy – it just calls for commentators and presenters to have a little more self-control. The second is more fundamental  – can anyone really imagine the BBC giving similar airtime to Kazakhstan’s weightlifting success, or South Korea’s shooting medals?

That this is so offers a nice example of the phenomenon Michael Billig calls ‘banal nationalism’. The idea of banal nationalism refers to the way that apparently innocuous, everyday occurrences reinforce the fact that we live in a world divided into nations, and emphasise the significance of our national identity. Billig focuses on the subtle and insidious: “not a flag which is being consciously waved with fervent passion”, but “the flag hanging unnoticed on a public building.” Of course, the Olympics involve plenty of conscious fervent flag waving, and it was fervent conscious flag waving that the BBC’s tone has been criticised for. But I think the banal nationalism of the BBC’s coverage, reflected in its editorial decisions, is even more interesting, not least 

because it seems so obvious and inevitable that it rarely invites comment.

Banal nationalism derives its force from the numerous times a day that we are reminded of our national identity, our commonality with our compatriots, or our difference from foreigners. For example, when the British news refers to the British government as ‘the government’, it reinforces the idea that it is the government that British people should care about, to the exclusion of all others, whether or not the matter in question affects them personally. Similarly, the division of newspapers into ‘domestic’ and ‘international’ news reinforces the mental division between compatriots and foreigners.

We can see the banal nationalism of Olympic coverage by comparing it to the coverage of other sporting events. I don’t think that most cosmopolitans have any problem with the idea of rooting for teams in spectator sports – I think most would acknowledge that this adds to the enjoyment of the event. However, supporting a country in the Olympics is different to supporting a football team. For a start, the degree of choice that accompanies the latter decision is greatly reduced – many people choose to support teams other than their home team, for a number of reasons, including liking players in the team, or enjoying their style of play. Yet in the Olympics, it is deemed aberrant to pick and choose countries or competitors to support in this fashion. Even if you already have favourites, there is a pressure to discard them – I imagine many British supporters of Roger Federer felt compelled to abandon him in the interests of ‘team GB’.

The notion that it is aberrant not to get behind your home country is fostered by the media coverage of the games. It is presumed that you will be most interested in the fortunes of the competitors of your country, whichever sport they compete in, whether you like that sport or not. It is presumed that you only care about the backstories and narratives of your compatriots. Even if you wanted to support another country, the lack of attention given to non-British competitors gave viewers essentially two options: with us or against us. This mirrors and amplifies the banal nationalism of news coverage more generally – the assumption that you care more how the British judokas are doing reflects the assumption that you are more concerned about the British earthquake victim than those trapped beside them.

Interestingly, just as global telecommunications are generally beginning to offer an alternative to the narratives of banal nationalism, so modern technology provided the best hope of escape from the banal nationalism of the 2012 Olympics coverage. Between its interactive online and TV broadcasts, the BBC offered the chance to watch near enough every event of the games, without biased commentary or analysis, if you wanted. To take an example, one sport I really got into during the past fortnight was handball. Before 2012, I had never watched an Olympic handball match, mainly because Britain isn’t very good at handball. But since I no longer had to depend on the BBC’s guess of what I wanted to watch (Britain winning things), I was free to discover a new sport and cheer for teams that aren’t GB. Yet as I’m sure Michael Billig would insist, resistance to banal nationalism is near futile – even if we overcome a few particular instantiations, it is so powerful and pervasive that it is basically inescapable.