Begin Again

Last Friday was the final day of my job and of the organisation that I worked for. The last few of us recycled, donated, tidied, or claimed whatever was left in the office, had a final lunch, switched off the lights, locked up and left. It was a very emotional moment. Although all of us have found new occupations of one sort or another, we are conscious of losing a team that worked incredibly well. From my experience and others, that seems all too rare. It is also dispiriting that our projects will either cease or be transferred to another organisation with considerably less resources to devote to them. I hope to find an equally rewarding job with equally excellent colleagues one day. At the moment it seems like a long shot.

This was my desk at the end:



I now officially a redundant public servant and MPhil student. The transition from employment to studenthood was of necessity very quick, as I was made redundant on Friday and inducted into my course on Monday. Student life is different to working in local government in a number of notable ways. Most strikingly, I not only can think for myself but am strongly encouraged to. Since the Coalition government arrived on the scene, local government has been forced to bite its tongue about the cavalcade of admonishments, changes, and cuts that have been rapidly dished out. I have written briefing notes summarising new policies, without the freedom to point out their immense drawbacks (other than here, naturally). In some ways more significantly, as a student I no longer have to censor myself to avoid offending the sensibilities of local councillors. I quite understand why local government employees must do this to some extent, but after a while it rankles. Moreover, I got tired of having to dumb explanations down, reduce reports to three bullet points, and take out long words that councillors might not understand. I no longer need be entirely neutral about local issues on this blog and intend to take advantage of it.

The other graduate students I've encountered so far have gone straight from undergraduate to postgraduate study. I am apparently somewhat exotic by virtue of having real-world experience of a full time job. That makes me greatly appreciate something they take for granted - intellectual freedom. My MPhil work is largely independent and self-taught, my thesis topic entirely my own choice. Although I will doubtless become accustomed to this and somewhat blasé in time, at the moment it's intoxicating. However, the five year gap between degrees does leave me in the somewhat peculiar situation of being eight years older than the undergraduate first-years, and yet frequently mistaken for one.

Don't You Know There's A War On?

I know I should be used to it by now, but I still can't help getting enraged by the government's specious and hypocritical War on Town Hall Non-jobs (currently being enabled by The Telegraph). Quite apart from the fact that this is a 'war' on a largely low-paid, majority female workforce that are trying to make other people's lives better, it's the bare-faced idiocy of it that really gets to me. Quote:

This week Mr Cameron singled out Manchester city council for what he said were “politically-driven” cuts.

He said that, rather than closing help centres, libraries and swimming pools to save £110 million, the council should look closer to home at the chief executive’s pay, for example.

So the Manchester City Council Chief Executive is being paid more than £110 million a year? Somehow I doubt it. Moreover, David Cameron is hardly in a position to tell anyone else off for making 'politically driven cuts', is he?

You know, I wish this much-touted localism was actually genuine. Then maybe local councillors would be able to freely decide who councils employ to do what and, as long as the community were happy, it would be absolutely none of Eric Pickles' or David Cameron's damn business.

The Way We Live Now

When I started this blog in July, it seemed to me that those working outside the public sector hadn't yet realised that there were massive changes ahead. To be fair, I had only a hazy idea myself, but enough to feel alarmed at the prospect. There has definitely been a shift in recent weeks. I've noticed that conversations with colleagues, family, friends, in fact just about anyone, circle inexorably back to the telling phrase, 'We live in interesting times.' Everyone is saying this, and the required response is to nod sagely and murmur, 'Interesting times indeed.' This sequence confirms that you, like the other party in the conversation, are an observer of dramatic events beyond your control.

The next step, of course, is to shift from observer to participant, as the protesting students have done. I subscribe to the view that the protests are about a lot more than tuition fees. Young people are protesting now because they feel they have nothing to lose by doing so, because they feel that their opportunities are being taken away. Whatever the actual impacts of the complex new tuition fees scheme (which might be more progressive than the current system, I haven't examined it in sufficient detail to say), putting a price of £9,000 a year on a degree is an ideological statement. Whereas previous governments emphasised the value of higher education to society, the coalition is framing it as an asset to the individual, one that needs to be purchased. I don't think the government understand how much of a shift in the social contract this is, nor how hypocritical it looks in light of their fairness and social mobility rhetoric.

When I was a student, the times weren't especially interesting. I graduated prior to the introduction of top-up fees. During my degree there was a general election in which the incumbent Labour government faced no serious threat, and the economy remained boringly stable throughout. Despite this, as students do, I spent long hours sitting round a kitchen table putting the world to rights with my friends. There is a vast gap between those debates and the protests now. They are manifestations of the same student political awareness, altered by the seismic economic and political changes of the intervening years. The twentisomethings of my generation graduated with plenty of debt (£10-£25,000 for the most part), but we expected to and for the most part did find jobs. Our future looked stable.

It isn't anymore. Many of my university friends now work in the public sector; in education, the army, Whitehall, the NHS, quangos, or local government. I don't think any of us can say with confidence that our jobs aren't to some extent at risk. My whole team is now officially at risk of redundancy, although we've yet to receive the letter confirming this. Most importantly, we have little reason to believe that there will be other jobs available if/when we are kicked out of the public sector. In the mixture of positive and negative economic news, it remains a fact that there are already more job-seekers than there are vacancies in the UK. Unlike our older colleagues of many years experience, we twentisomethings will get minimal redundancy payouts, certainly not enough to start our own business or keep us off Job Seeker's Allowance. We have been basically priced out of the housing market, so are unlikely to have either the asset of a house or the burden of a mortgage.

Where does this leave us? Certainly in a better position than teenagers and students, which is why we've yet to take to the streets. In my opinion, it leaves us as prime brain drain material. I wonder if my generation will take a look at the lack of jobs, collapsing public services, and disgust with politics in the UK, and decide to go elsewhere? Being stuck in renting makes us mobile and our degrees apparently now command a great premium. Although many other countries are experiencing austerity, we are the only one to be saddled with the sickening spectacle of David Cameron and Nick Clegg telling us that we are all in this together. For those with languages, France and Germany beckon. For others, Australia is having an economic boom (unsustainably based on exporting raw materials to China, admittedly), or what about New Zealand, Canada, and the less Tea Party-ridden parts of America. In fact, there's a whole world out there, and it's looking increasingly appealing.

I can't understand why the government seems amazed that instability causes protest. Perhaps they're just feigning surprise that young people complain when their certainties and security are suddenly stripped away. During 'interesting times' you can either get involved or watch from a safe distance. A lot of people my age will soon be faced with that decision.

Meanwhile, Cambridgeshire County Council has announced that its budget is being cut by £160 million over the next five years. £50 million must be saved next year, and that front-loading will have an especially significant impact. An estimated 450 jobs will go. Suffolk-esque kamikaze outsourcing does not appear to be the preferred option, encouragingly. A consultation on where the cuts should be made can be found here.

Edited To Add: Having had a go at the consultation survey, I'd urge everyone who lives in the county to do the same. It's eye-opening - whatever distribution of cuts is decided, it's clear that support for the most vulnerable people (the elderly and at-risk children) will be cut. In addition, up to 19 libraries could be closed and up to 80 bus routes stopped.

Winter discontent

In addition to the major policy statements coming out on a weekly basis, promising radical change to avert a doomed debt-spiral, there are indications of the age of austerity closer to home.

Last week a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses handed me a leaflet about how Jesus can help you through unemployment. It contained an incongruous mixture of budgeting tips and bible quotes. My bank has ceased the barrage of letters begging me to take out a loan. I applaud the saving of paper, but assume that 25 year olds don't get loans anymore. My union dues have suddenly gone up. A recent update email from my alma mater dwelt at length on its financial position, relegating exam results and sports teams to short mentions at the end.

Students are protesting, rioting even, out of anger at the betrayal by the government of all that they held certain. I can well understand their rage. If tuition fees had been anything like £9,000 when I was a student, I would have been priced out of the better universities. Including the one I attended.

Conversations at work increasingly focus on what we plan to do after March 31st next year, when the funding for our jobs evaporates. We've been told that the redundancy 'consultation process' takes six months, and are therefore a little confused that it hasn't started yet. It's less than six months until the 31st March, after all. Be that as it may, we're all looking at our options. Some are considering teacher training, others opening a B&B, still others going over to the Dark Side (private sector consultancy). I am set on doing a Masters degree, and intend to bridge the gap between the end of my job and the start of a course with whatever work I can get, to keep me in rent and spaghetti. It seems clear that the longer I wait to go back to unversity, the more the cost will rise.

Everyone at work is reconsidering what they want from a career, what they enjoy, what they can afford, where they want their work-life balance to be. I'm very lucky to have no dependents or mortgage to support, and in any case would want to change jobs sooner or later in order to keep learning and climbing the ladder. It obviously concerns me how little work will be available before and after a Masters (during which I would rely on my savings, funding being non-existent). There just seems no point in worrying about it right now.

At the moment I'm young, well-educated, healthy, and living in an area of the country that's coped relatively well with the recession so far. Millions of people are going to be worse off when the cuts to tax credits, housing benefit, job seeker's allowance, and child benefit arrive. Never mind inflation on the rise, VAT rising to 20%, and public services being dismantled and sold off. When those millions start protesting, I'll be there too. Complete with a witty placard.