No representation, no rights–the plight of the invisible working class

The attack on the rights of Britain’s workers continues apace…George-Osborne-laughing

As the Conservative Party Conference rumbles on in Birmingham, I was surprised to hear a note of what felt almost like socialism from Chancellor and professional “posh boy” George Osborne in his speech on Monday. New businesses, he said, should hand out shares to all their workers, giving them a stake in the company’s success and motivating them to work harder. I could hardly believe my ears. A senior Tory – the one most responsible for the ever-widening gap between rich and poor in this country – espousing the idea that the fabled “wealth creators” should share some of their largesse with their underlings, by forming, in effect, co-operatives?

Ah, but there’s a snag, which came up next. In order for the workers to take advantage of this munificent offer, they would have to sign away some, perhaps all, of their employment rights. That sounds more like the Osborne I’ve come to know and loathe. The Osborne that wants to, in effect, bribe the British worker, already one of the least protected workers in Europe, to give away some of the few paltry rights he/she has left.

Meanwhile, a recent brainstorm by some new Tory high fliers has produced a particularly nasty little pamphlet called Britannia Unchained, in which they proclaim that British workers are the laziest in the world. And all the time, unemployment figures are kept low with fixed term contracts and part time positions which now seem the default instead of a full-time, permanent position. Never mind that these workers have to claim state benefits in order to live. They’re not “unemployed”, which makes the figures look better. They’re the new working class – the “working poor”.

Remember when we actually had a “working class”? It used to be almost a badge of pride for some; the idea that you were getting an honest wage for an honest day’s graft, and you were thrifty enough with your meagre income to eke out a modest but unpretentious standard of living. Ah, it were grand in them days…

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Somewhere down the line, that disappeared. Perhaps it was during the blindly aspirational 1980s, when we were told that we all had social mobility; perhaps it was when John Prescott declared that “we are all middle class now”. Somehow, the label “working class” took on a mantle of shame, as though if you hadn’t reached “middle class” status, you just weren’t trying. So everyone started calling themselves middle class, regardless of how redundant that made the term. The rot probably set in when we started using terms like “lower middle class” and “upper middle class” in place of the middle/working class division. But however you want to label yourself, the vast swathes of the population toiling away for meagre payments means that the working class is still very much with us.

George Monbiot recently wrote an article recalling the July speech by Barack Obama, in which the US President proclaimed of businesses “you didn’t build that (by yourselves)”, the first part of which was ruthlessly appropriated out of context by the Republicans for their own agenda. Obama was referring to the fact that private enterprise always depends, to some extent, on spending by the state, financed out of taxes – roads, education, infrastructure and so on, while Monbiot focused on how many of these “self-made millionaires” had inherited the means to their success.

But they both ignored another vital aspect of “you didn’t build that by yourselves” – the workers who staff those businesses. The wealthy business owners like to twist the English language to portray themselves as benefactors by calling themselves “job creators”, a term predicated on the idea that their businesses give people jobs. And so they do. But it’s a two-way street. Yes, without those “entrepreneurs”, the businesses wouldn’t exist to “create the jobs”. But without the jobs then being done, by workers, the businesses themselves would crash and burn.

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There’s been a lot of demonising of the very rich by the left, and the rich have taken exception to being described as “parasites” (even though it doesn’t seem to bother them when applied to the benefit-claiming poor). But the increasing agenda of hacking away at workers’ pay, rights and conditions makes the label all too appropriate. In a fair capitalist system, the relationship between a business owner and his/her workers should be a symbiotic one; the business owner provides jobs for the workers, the workers do the jobs that need to be done, for a fair wage, to keep the business running. Both have a stake in the business’ success, and both are motivated to ensure it. That way everybody wins.

But the agenda of the parties on the right, both here and in the US, is that progressively fewer rights and benefits should be conferred on those workers, while progressively more should flow the way of the already better off business owner. The Tories in the UK and the Republicans in the US clamour for lower taxes and less regulation for the rich, while hacking away at the pay, conditions and few remaining rights of their workers.

In the UK, the lobbyists for the rich urge us to get rid of the already paltry minimum wage, which despite its recent increase from £6.08 per hour to a princely £6.19 is still falling in real terms and was never enough to live on. The shortfall is then made up by the UK taxpayer in the form of tax credits, which effectively subsidise the profits of big businesses by allowing them to get away with paying wages that aren’t enough to live on.

The Tories’ pet businessman Adrian Beecroft and state-dismantling fanatic Mark Littlewood, of “thinktank” the Institute of Economic Affairs, hector us constantly that even that level of minimum wage is too restrictive for businesses to succeed, and it should be done away with. Together with the right to redundancy pay, or to appeal unfair dismissal (the qualifying term of which has already been doubled). There are already moves to legislate that industrial tribunals to consider unfair dismissal should be paid for by the plaintiff regardless of their success, which coupled with the massive slashing of entitlement to legal aid will ensure that this means of redress becomes less and less of a viable option for those sacked because they’re the wrong race, the wrong gender, the wrong sexuality, or simply because the boss doesn’t like their face.

Meanwhile, when the workers threaten to protest against legislation whittling away their pay and rights by threatening to withdraw their services, they’re portrayed as being selfish and uncaring by the political establishment (even Ed Miliband, who can’t tell us that strikes are wrong often enough). But if the rich threaten to withdraw their services, by moving abroad to a more desirable tax regime, politicians can’t kowtow to them quickly enough. A protesting worker gets demonised by the Daily Mail; a protesting business owner gets the tax laws changed in his/her favour. We live in a democracy (allegedly). Which of these groups could rightly be said to constitute a majority?

When we’ve reached a state of affairs when the business owner’s appreciation of his workers’ contribution to that business is non existent, and the business owner wants to take more for less from the workers, that relationship is by definition no longer symbiotic. In a situation where one party takes from another while giving nothing back, you call it what it is – parasitism.

Now, to be sure, the working class of today bears little resemblance to that of yesteryear. The wholesale destruction of Britain’s industrial base began by the 1979 Tory government, and carried on with such gusto by the ideologues of New Labour, left the country’s workers (those it had left) employed primarily in service industries. As much as possible was outsourced overseas to where maximum profit could be gained by exploiting workers used to far less.

But not everything could be shipped overseas. Today’s working class is the vast army of people who serve you in shops, who serve you in restaurants, who answer the phones in the few call centres still left in the UK. And they have nobody to represent them at all. The Tories, of course, never did, despite the Alf Garnett-alikes who always voted for them. The Lib Dems, protest though they will, are so keen to be centrist they represent very few. And the leader of the Labour Party, started by the Trade Unions precisely to give the worker a voice in governing the country of whose population they were the majority, now bleats about the need to appeal to “the squeezed middle”, following in the Middle-England chasing footsteps of his supposedly discredited predecessor Tony Blair.

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There was a time when workers had representation, of course. Arguably too much of it. The collective bargaining power of the Trade Unions, hitched to the political clout of the Labour Party, was responsible for attaining many of the workers’ rights we have today, the ones being sliced away at by the Coalition. Thanks to Trade Unions, we no longer have children working sixteen hour days in factories, and workers have the ability to challenge perceived unfair dismissal.

But like so many given a dose of power, the unions grew arrogant. The heady scent of power rose to their heads so that, by the 70s, their fits of pique over the most trivial of issues would regularly bring production to a standstill, while madly unreasonable demands for pay increases crippled Britain to such an extent that the tremulous Heath government, embattled by power cuts and three day weeks, was effectively toppled as a result.

It was inevitable that there’d be a reckoning with their old enemies when the Conservatives got back into power in 1979. So it proved, with the Thatcher government introducing legislation that crippled them while peddling a media narrative that they were all nest-feathering “loony lefties” on the take. Militant union leaders blindly played right into their hands, with the bitter conflict of the mid-80s NUM strike effectively destroying their reputation for good.

So like a seesaw, the balance of power had swung from bosses to workers back to bosses again. And it continued to stay over on the bosses’ side with a “New Labour” party that sought to emulate its adversaries’ agenda. Tony Blair’s modification of the party’s defiantly socialist Clause IV allowed him to start peddling off the state’s assets with the same fervour that Thatcher and Major once did; under New Labour, we got the first public/private partnerships in the NHS, and the first academy schools.

Today, trade unions have so little sway in the private sector that only one in seven employees is a member. The public sector remains the only area in which unions are strong, which explains the Tories’ rabid desire to promote a private/public conflict. Demonise the “tax-sucking, gold-plated salaries” in the public sector, and you’ll have the private sector crying out that its working pay and conditions should be brought down to their level.

This is the political equivalent of shooting yourself in the foot. Let that happen, and bosses will be free to suggest that pay and conditions should be degraded yet further, with no one left to have a higher standard to compare with. Private sector workers shouldn’t be angrily demanding that their public sector equivalents get worse off; they should be angrily asking why they themselves aren’t better off.

Sadly, the current crop of unions are still doing themselves no favours wheeling out 70s-style caricatures like Bob Crow as their figureheads, and demanding full-on socialism. I may have some left wing views, but I think total socialism has, to all intents and purposes, been proved unworkable. The thing is, so has total free-market capitalism.

What’s needed to redress that balance is a compromise between the two. And what’s needed to achieve that compromise is a voice for that now-voiceless mass, the working class. If Labour won’t do it, and the unions can’t do it, maybe it’s time for some new kind of organisation that will, before the few persuade the many to give up their last pennies in exchange for cheap trinkets.

Red Dwarf: Series 10, Episode 1–Trojan

“While you sleep, we’re probably saving the universe.” – Space Corps slogan

“While you sleep, we’re probably shaving off your pubes and gluing them to your head.” – Dave Lister

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Ten years ago, I would never have expected to see new series of Battlestar Galactica, Doctor Who and Dallas. Yet they all came back, and were actually rather good. Now, after 2009’s misfire ‘special’ Back to Earth, Red Dwarf too is back for its first proper series since 1999. And like the others, it’s also actually rather good.

If you’re my age, you probably have a nostalgia for the early to mid-90s, when Red Dwarf really hit its peak originally. Series 1 and 2, both in 1988, were pretty good, but it was with series 3, 4 and 5 that it really got the formula right – a perfect synthesis of high concept sci fi and traditional sitcom. When series co-creator Rob Grant left, leaving Doug Naylor to go it alone, it went a bit too far down the ‘sci fi’ route at the expense of the comedy, with ambitious, over complicated multi-part stories.

The nadir of that trend was perfectly encapsulated in the 2009 comeback Back to Earth, which was little more than a self-referential, self-indulgent rerun of classic series 5 episode Back to Reality. Back to Earth was three times as long and about a tenth as good; there were a few good gags and character moments, but it really had little to offer beyond a redundant restaging of Blade Runner and some post modern fourth wall breaking. It didn’t help that there were no actual sets (all CG), and no studio audience for the cast to bounce off.

So for this new series, it’s gone back to basics. Single episode stories, told in half an hour, with no complex continuity and a decent balance of comedy and sci fi. Let’s be honest, the comedy in Red Dwarf was never what you’d call cutting edge or groundbreaking – stick those characters in a 1950s army base and you’d basically have Sgt Bilko. But traditional though it was, the comedy worked because it had well-crafted characters, some good gags and perfectly timed performances from a cast who had genuine chemistry.

And now they’re back. Noticeably older, yet still very much the same people. Lister is still a “semi-literate space bum” who’s smarter than he lets on, Rimmer is still “a sad weasel of a man”, Kryten is still a neurotic mess, and the Cat is still shallow, superficial and comically dumb. There’s a comforting familiarity about this that Back to Earth never seemed to quite capture. True, Kryten now has a beer gut (impressive for a mechanoid), and Lister is noticeably pudgier, but it’s the old guys behaving in the old ways.

Still not groundbreaking stuff, but genuinely funny – if you’re looking for groundbreaking, look somewhere else. Half the fun of the comedy is in its sheer inevitability; you just know Rimmer’s well-crafted air of sanguinity (“hey ho, pip and dandy”) won’t last as soon as he sees he’s failed his astro-nav exam again. The fun is in seeing how long it takes for him to crumble and how Chris Barrie’s face will contort when he does. Sure enough, it hit with perfect timing, and Barrie’s face was an utter picture.

Elsewhere, running gags involving the high incidence of moose-related car accidents in 70s Sweden or the agony of being endlessly on hold with an inane shopping channel were delivered with exquisite timing both on the part of the cast and the director (Doug Naylor back at the helm again). Having a studio audience has really helped here. It was notable that the old series 7, the only one until Back to Earth without an audience, never sparked properly in humour terms either.

The plot, such as it was, was fitted in between various sketch-like comic exchanges, just as it ever was. It involved the crew salvaging another space derelict that turned out to be a super duper Space Corps ship just like the ones Rimmer’s loathsomely successful brothers commanded. Then lo and behold, who should turn up but Rimmer’s brother Howard, also a hologram, leaving Arnie J no option but to pretend to be Captain of the Space Corps ship.

As a result, we got some of the digs at the style of Star Trek pomposity Red Dwarf has always delighted in puncturing. The crew wear “snug, elasticated jumpsuits”, the control board has a “green glowing thing”, the captain’s chair has “a whole 40 buttons”, and turning right is signified by everyone aboard leaning in the same direction.

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But as ever, the humour was counterpointed with the real pathos that comes from having genuinely likeable characters. As Rimmer discovered that his brother wasn’t a Space Corps captain after all, but a lowly vending machine repairman just like him, it threw his character into sharp relief. He may be a “cancerous polyp on the anus of humanity”, but you understand why and even (reluctantly) care about him.

There were plenty of callouts to the past to please the fanboys; references to Petersen (originally played by Mark Williams) and Kochanski (thankfully not here) were present and correct. Howard Goodall’s title music was unchanged, and his incidental score even included a repeat of the Rimmer Munchkin Song melody in Arnold’s last scene with his brother.

 

This episode felt like a throwback to 1993, when the show as at its best. Fanboys might be annoyed at the lack of resolution to previous plot points; how did the Dwarf escape the corrosive virus at the end of series 8, what happened to the rest of the resurrected crew, why is Rimmer now dead and a hologram again, whatever happened to Kochanski? But Red Dwarf, much like Doctor Who, has never been afraid to junk established continuity for the sake of a good (and funny) story. I don’t care that the boys from the Dwarf are older, or that they’re doing the same things they always did. It’s just good to have them back, and back on form.

Dallas (the next generation): Season 1, Episode 5

“I’m gonna make this right. And I’m taking you down – brother.” – Bobby Ewing

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Previously, on Dallas: Last week, the double dealing reached fever pitch as final moves were made in the game to get Southfork.

  • The deal to sell the ranch to the ‘Del Sol Conservancy’ went through, and Bobby had a farewell barbecue
  • Bobby’s treacherous lawyer Lobell was prevented from blowing the deal with a nifty bit of blackmail, as ‘Marta’ entrapped his beloved son into some druggy looking photos
  • JR succeeded in shafting his own son, by using Marta and Lobell to remove John Ross’ name from the newly minted Southfork deeds, leaving him as sole owner
  • John Ross spent his week blackmailing Rebecca with his knowledge that the fateful email which averted Christopher’s marriage to Elena came from her IP address
  • Calling his bluff, Rebecca took Christopher aside at the barbecue to tell him everything…

This week opened with a splurge of revelations that pretty much blew open every double-dealing plotline in the show so far. Rebecca did indeed reveal that the email had been sent from her computer, and that it had been sent by her shifty, stubbly brother Tommy, who’s now wormed his way into the Ewings’ affections, as the opening move in a scheme to set her up as Christopher’s wife, gaining… something. Chris and Bobby think it’s money, but we know it’s actually the frozen methane plans (whatever they might be).

Afflicted with a conscience that must be a severe hindrance to her chosen occupation as con artist, Rebecca thinks that confessing all to Christopher because she loves him will get her off the hook. Fat chance – Christopher may be nice, but he’s still a hot-blooded Ewing man. Pausing only to slug Tommy in the face in front of the whole party, he got on with packing Rebecca’s things and telling her to “make sure I never see you again”.

A bit of a blow, to be sure, but a mere trifle compared with the next scene’s revelation to Bobby (handily delivered by the US mail in a sealed envelope) that the new owner of Southfork is none other than JR Ewing, and not some nice Conservancy after all. Bobby hit the roof (as much as a nice guy can), and Patrick Duffy got an electric confrontation scene with a smirking Larry Hagman. Inventing some guff that he had to buy Southfork to keep it out of Cliff Barnes’ hands, he told Bobby, “I’m taking back what should have been mine in the first place”.

Understandably not convinced, Bobby vowed to undo the deed. With everything now in the open, battle lines have again been drawn between the feuding Ewing brothers, just as they always were in the original series.

Lobell, knowing his plotline’s over at this point, had the good grace to clear out his office and bugger off, so Bobby found a more trustworthy-looking lawyer to explain (at some length) the rules of the plot to come. It seems that JR’s ownership is legitimate even if the original sale was fraudulent, as the subsequent sale to him wasn’t – unless he knew about the initial fraud himself. All clear?

So Bobby and the ‘nice’ Ewings must now find a way to prove that JR was in on it from the start. Shouldn’t be too difficult; I predict it taking another five episodes or so. Christopher and Ann have made a start by promising to undertake the kind of dodgy dealing that Bobby would never stoop to. She was straight off to see her ex, conveniently the owner of the trucking firm JR’s employed to move the oil, and ask him to stop the trucks; while Christopher went straight to the breaking and entering of John Ross’ office.

John Ross, meanwhile, also found out that he’d been done over by his own father, and wasn’t very happy about it. Not only had he had his name removed from the Southfork deeds, his father has also screwed up his sex life by telling the increasingly loopy ‘Marta’ about his dalliances with Elena. Cue Marta looking psychotically annoyed as the camera jump cut to ever closer shots of her deranged stare.

But it looks like JR’s doing it for John Ross’ own good, like a sort of malign Obi Wan Kenobi. “You wanted to learn about the oil business,” he sneered at his son while watching the Dallas Cowboys. He then announced that, his plans accomplished, he was heading off to… somewhere. And leaving John Ross in charge, to get that oil drilled. Before he went though, there was a symbolic passing of the Stetson from father to son – or old baddie to new baddie. But JR’s still the best thing about this show, so wherever he’s gone, let’s hope he’s back soon.

Family matters

Nothing new on the Ewing front, but we discovered that Bobby’s saintly wife Ann may have a bit of a dark past. She hinted as much to Rebecca, this being the reason why she’s prepared to give Miss ConArtist 2012 another chance. I’m guessing Ann’s dark past has something to do with her slimy ex-husband Harris Ryland, who owns what seems to be the only trucking firm in Dallas. She seemed creepily willing to accede to his every demand in a 50 Shades of Grey-like submissive style, so who knows what they used to get up to behind closed doors?

Who’s double crossing who this week?

Actually, at this point, pretty much nobody. Everyone’s cards are on the table now, and they all know where they stand. That can’t last though, or it wouldn’t be Dallas. Expect a new round of double-dealing to commence next week.

Hey look, it’s that guy from that thing:

A few guest stars this week might have rung bells. Bobby’s earnest, exposition-spewing new lawyer is played by Glenn Morshower, a prolific player of solid, dependable authority figures. You might remember him from such TV shows as every season of 24, where he played Secret Service Agent Aaron Pierce, one of the only characters in that show who never betrayed anyone to anyone else:

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Ann’s unspeakably creepy ex-husband Harris Ryland is played by well-known follically challenged genre stalwart Mitch Pileggi. Pileggi’s played quite a few baddies in the past, but for most of us he’ll forever be stern-but-fair FBI boss Walter Skinner from The X Files:

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And not strictly an actor (as his performance here amply demonstrated), but a well-known sports figure popped up to hobnob with JR – Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones:

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This week’s big cliffhanger:

Only one this week, a change from recent episodes. Having obtained Marta’s sex tape from John Ross’ office, in which John Ross calls her by her real name, Christopher now has proof that JR’s son at least was in on the fraud. But that’s not enough to take Southfork back from JR – they have to prove that the slimy old reprobate knew about it himself. So Christopher confronted John Ross with the evidence (which must have been sort of creepy, knowing your cousin’s been watching you have sex with a psycho), and gave him an ultimatum – either testify to his father’s involvement in the fraud, or go to jail for it himself. Where I’m guessing he’d be quite popular, with his pretty face and hot body…

After last week’s fairly sedate episode, it was good to see the show back on rip-roaring form in a packed episode as all the secrets came out and finally everyone can be as nasty as they want to be. Now that Bobby, Christopher and Ann are on the defensive, it looks like the battle for Southfork will be truly joined as of next week. But I’m guessing JR has more than a few cards up his sleeve still…