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The Guardian
14 hours ago
- Business
- The Guardian
A three-day working week or higher pay: what a more productive economy could buy Australians
Australians would have a three-day working week if we had collectively decided in 1980 to spend all the productivity gains of the following decades on leisure time instead of buying more stuff, according to the Productivity Commission. Jim Chalmers has kickstarted a national conversation about reforming the economy to make Australia more productive to underpin the next generation of prosperity. There are plenty of disagreements about how this can be done, but there is general consensus that we should try. But another question has been left unasked: if we are successful in lifting productivity, what should we do with the dividends of our success? Or more simply: do we want to work less and spend the same, or do we want to work more and spend more? Looking at history, the answer has been a combination of the two, according to Rusha Das, a research economist at the Productivity Commission. In a new paper, Das calculated that Australians used only 23% of the productivity 'dividend' from the past 40-plus years to work less, while we banked the remaining 77% as higher income. 'Rather than spending our productivity dividend on more spare time, we have largely traded it for higher incomes, and more and better stuff,' Das said. This choice of how to spend the fruits of higher productivity is rarely presented to us in such simple terms. A typical employer doesn't ask if their staff want to work 5% less or have a 5% pay rise, for example. Sign up for Guardian Australia's breaking news email 'Instead, the effects of productivity gains are more subtly embedded in our lives, granting us more agency over how we live and work,' Das said. 'It may be taking a half-day each fortnight, investing time in professional development rather than taking on additional clients, or deciding to expand the number of cattle on a dairy farm. 'All these are choices that reflect the underlying freedom that productivity growth makes possible.' The economist John Maynard Keynes in 1930 famously predicted that technological advances meant his grandchildren would be working just 15 hours a week without being any worse off materially. Das said that prediction was not necessarily wrong, it's just that we have made different choices. 'With the growth in labour productivity Australia has enjoyed since 1980, Australians could have reduced their average hours worked by 15 hours per week without lowering consumption levels,' she said. Or we could have used all of the productivity dividend on working more and spending more – in which case GDP per capita would be 11% higher now than in 1980. Das said the choice between leisure and consumption can be influenced by a number of factors. Sign up to Breaking News Australia Get the most important news as it breaks after newsletter promotion If we feel like the changes that are making us more productive are short term, then we'll work more to take advantage of it while we can, and vice versa. Government policy plays a part – whether it's higher tax rates that disincentivise working that extra hour, or workplace rules that allow people more flexibility. Cultural values also have a hand, Das said. In France there is a strong tendency to choose more leisure time, while in the US it is the opposite, her research showed. 'For example, there is a saying that in the UK the last one to leave the office is seen as the hardest working, whereas in Germany the last one to leave is seen as the least efficient.' And these values change through time. Next year will mark a century of working five days a week, after carmaker Henry Ford reduced it to five days from six. As we approach this milestone, more companies are implementing or trialling four-day working weeks, while the Greens before the May election launched a four-day work week policy. Das said keeping up our high levels of work 'could be a good thing if it reflects greater voluntary participation in the workforce': workers choosing to improve their living standards, or it's the result of removing historical barriers that have held some segments of society back. 'But it is concerning if Australians have been working more out of sheer necessity, sacrificing study, rest or time with loved ones just to maintain their standard of living. 'For example, people may need to work more just to keep up with rising house prices, which has outpaced wage growth over a long period of time.'
Telegraph
2 days ago
- Telegraph
I took my entire family on a canal boat holiday – and found the antidote to our hurried age
Ever since travel started speeding up, we've been trying to slow it down. It's usually a losing battle. Remember the 19th-century law that decreed motorists must drive no faster than 2mph and employ someone to walk in front waving a red warning flag? No? That's because it was doomed to failure. Cyclists, once the pin-ups of slow travel, are now vacuum-packed in Lycra to shave off every second. Take time to breathe, we're told, as we huff and puff back to the hotel for dinner; notice the little things, we're advised, as they pass in a blur outside the window of the train. Slow travel is all the rage, but so often it's not that slow. Fortunately, one mode of travel is as lazy as it's ever been: the canal boat. Sixty years ago, the Locomotives Act placed a 4mph speed limit on Britain's waterways and the rule remains unchanged. And the canal boat's slow credentials go beyond its dawdling pace. This is transport that comes with its own bed and breakfast, a snail-shell for the family in which there are no departure deadlines to meet or reservations to make. Truly, a canal boat holiday is the undisputed champion of slow travel breaks. That's what drew me back: the chance to put a drag on life's momentum for a few days. It wasn't only about the dawdling pace. There's something soothing in the tidy canal route maps, a mental freedom in the sheer limited choice of direction. Just follow the water. It promises gentle passage from rolling countryside to brick-chimney landscapes that immortalise a golden age of industry. A canal's very geometry lowers my pulse: the arc of its little bridges, the interlocking teeth of the cogs in the lock mechanisms, the horizontal timbers that lever the gates. And so, with life rushing by, I booked a week-long family trip to Worcester on the Worcester and Birmingham Canal. In truth, a canal doesn't bring entirely uninterrupted calm. It had been 30 years since I last went canal-boating and now, as I thumped the bow against the side of Astwood Top Lock, and howls rose from the galley as cans cartwheeled from shelves and red wine sloshed on the floor, it all came flooding back. That narrowboat break of 1994 has gone down in Phillips family folklore. Remember when the dog went overboard and dad fell in trying to pull him out, we'll say to each other at Christmas. Or the 'Titanic' incident, when my brother caught the rudder at the back of an emptying lock until the rudder ripped off and the stern came crashing down. All of which added up to one of the best family holidays ever, one we often swore to repeat. And here we were at last, mum mopping wine from the floor as we headed out from Stoke Prior. Same canal, same mopping, same season: springtime, the birds pairing up and buds adding flesh to the bony trees. There were some differences. Three decades on, that grey-haired man working the windlass to lift the paddles to drain the lock wasn't my father. We'd faced some choppy water when my parents divorced, but Colin had come along, and the way became smooth again. He's Grandpa Colin now; those nine-year-old twins were mine, lined up beside him to push open the gates, puff-cheeked with earnest endeavour. Yes, a big difference: this time I was father as well as son, with more life behind than ahead. A tight parade of tatty industrial buildings gave way to banks of rushes and hawthorns frothing white with early blossom. Six locks came in quick succession, testing our processes, but we fell into roles without debate. Grandpa Colin and Monika, my wife, were the gatekeepers, jumping off and on with windlasses in hand to bookend our passage through each lock. Mum despatched a steady supply of coffee and muffins from the galley, while deckhands Matty and Kitty clambered about on the roof and offered a running commentary on the mistakes made by the helmsman at the back. I was that helmsman, tight-browed with the burden of responsibility. So much for relaxation. Stretching ahead was a craft measuring 70ft – the length of two-and-a-half London buses, the kids informed me with a certain sadistic relish. There were three bedrooms, two toilets, a shower, a galley and dining area, four adults, the twins and two dogs, all to be threaded through narrow locks and nosed around blind bends. It was a beautiful boat too, dark blue and glossy, with red handrails running along the top and its name painted with a dainty flourish on the side: Eden. Not a scuff mark to be seen. Sorry, Eden. But the canal's balm soon settled my nerves. Olive-green water slipped beneath the banks, pirouetting around protruding stumps, toying lazily with a twig and a feather. I took pleasure in the robust functionality of this man-made waterway, iron and wood and brick working in harmony since the year Wellington won Waterloo. It seemed to slot into its landscape, like nature with neatened edges. We spent much of three days meandering the 11 miles down to Worcester. There would have been rather more urgency in the 19th century, when working men managed heavy horses to pull barges piled with salt from the works at Stoke Prior and chocolate from the Cadbury factory at Bournville. It must have taken some choreography, particularly when barges had to pass one another, horses rubbing shoulder to shoulder and towlines manoeuvred over or under the hulls in a three-way tango between man, boat and beast. Today you'll see a purposeful jogger panting up the towpath, perhaps, or a kayaker racing the clock, but otherwise the canal is a place of easy journeying and parallel existences. At Hanbury Junction, we chugged through a corridor of narrowboats moored bow to stern, some scruffy and others immaculately kept, but all permanent homes. Smoke curled from the chimneys of boats called Adventure Before Dementia, Seize the Day and Bob Along, the mission statements of people who had untethered from a hurrying world. We kept left at the junction and carried on, through the dripping darkness of Dunhampstead Tunnel and out into air full of barnyard smells. On the right was a cameo of idyllic yesteryear, with a foreground of skittish lambs and behind it a medieval church bowing with age. At Tibberton, we moored for the night outside The Bridge pub and rewarded ourselves with a beef carvery dinner and pints of Butty Bach. We became a pretty well-oiled outfit as we navigated locks with names straight from a Dickens novel: into Blackpole Lock and barely a nudge or scrape; through Bilford Bottom, slick as a bar of soap. Then warehouses started to appear, and a string of canal-side back gardens containing beach huts, hammocks and self-built outdoor bars. The bells of Worcester Cathedral were ringing as we tied up outside Sidbury Lock. We visited the Museum of Royal Worcester, tried and failed to crack the escape room at the Commandery, ate upmarket burgers for lunch (kids' choice) and Japanese food for dinner (our choice). And then we began the slow chug back the way we'd come. It was just a few weeks later that Grandpa Colin had his stroke. The choppiest of waters. But the way will become smooth again, and when his right arm is strong enough to wield a windlass, we'll book another narrowboat trip because 30 years is too long to wait to measure out some days in locks and bridges, cups of tea and games of cards. Seize the Day, Bob Along – the boat people have it right. It's good for the soul to float a little freer. Essentials Adrian Phillips was a guest of Black Prince Holidays (01527 575115) which has nine bases across the UK, offering modern narrowboats for two to 10 people (including pet-friendly boats). Choose from short breaks, seven- and 14-night holidays; coaching and route advice is provided before guests leave the base.
The Guardian
2 days ago
- Business
- The Guardian
Britons have just 23 hours of ‘genuinely free' time a week – so much for labour-saving technology
As the AI revolution heralds a new dawn – or living nightmare – in the world of work, I find my thoughts turning increasingly to Kellogg's. Yes, the cereal company, and not just because cereal is all I have time to eat in between my many jobs. The Kellogg's factory in Battle Creek, Michigan, was where, in the early 20th century, the dream of a world free of work and rich in recreation first took off – and even, for a few brief shining years, soared. In 1930, the 'managed work reduction' movement – seeking to take advantage of the productivity gains enabled by automation to usher in a golden age of leisure – found an influential champion in WK Kellogg. Intrigued by the utopian possibilities, Kellogg opted to shorten his factory's workday from eight hours to six, and increased daily shifts from three to four. The 30-hour working week was widely taken up by US business leaders as a smart and progressive strategy – not just protecting against the threat of mass unemployment caused by mechanisation, but also spreading the benefits. Forbes magazine reported the following year that 'thinking men in industry are saying … 'Shorter hours for men and longer hours for machines'.' By the 1932 US presidential election, the six-hour workday was the favoured solution to national unemployment, and hours were expected to continue to decline nationally. 'No one thought it would stop,' says historian Benjamin Kline Hunnicutt, the author of Kellogg's Six-Hour Day and Free Time: The Forgotten American Dream. 'For the most part, people were optimistic: the definition of progress was higher wages and shorter hours.' And yet what we wound up with, not just in the US but globally – as you will doubtless be aware – was not 'mass leisure' or even shorter days made possible by machines, but longer hours spent toiling on them. By 1940, support for managed work reduction had all but evaporated, reflecting missteps by government, labour and industry – and a breakdown in mutual commitment to the vision. Today the dream of 'work reduction' is long dead, even forgotten. OECD data shows that the average time spent on leisure has decreased since the 1980s, even in economies (such as the UK's) that have grown in that time. Official time-use statistics suggest that recreation has been declining even since 2020, particularly for women, younger people and those on lower incomes. Time is money, they say – but it seems many of us feel impoverished in both. Recent research by Lloyds Bank found that the average Briton has only 23 'genuinely free' hours a week (from a total of 168). And 86% of respondents said they needed more. But the Lloyds report had a sunny spin, proclaiming that 'emerging technology' could free up nearly two hours a day within the next two years. It casts a wide net, pointing to robot vacuum cleaners and driverless cars (and Lloyds's new banking tools!), along with further advances in automation and AI, as capable of creating more time in our day. These shifts are already under way. Many people in all lines of work are routinely using AI tools such as ChatGPT – and for more involved, consequential or sensitive tasks than you may imagine. ChatGPT can achieve in seconds work that could take a person hours, often to a passable degree. But are the time savings created going towards more free time or more work? Microsoft cofounder Bill Gates has predicted that AI will replace people 'for most things' within a decade, ushering in a two-day working week (and a five-day weekend). And yet, right now, even a four-day working week seems like a pipe dream, let alone the drastic measures (such as universal basic income) that will be necessary to absorb the shock of mass redundancy. Even we, the workers, are sleepwalking towards the future. From my reporting, it seems people are using ChatGPT not to clock off earlier, or even on time, but to get more done and keep on top of their seemingly endless workload. A century ago, there was a collective desire and will to use technology to manage work, underpinned by the belief that leisure was akin to freedom. It was assumed that people would make choices to free up more time to spend with family, or on their hobbies. But that vision was tested – and eventually crushed – by the emerging view of progress as more money with which to buy more things, and of work as 'the centre of life'. The Kellogg's workers eventually voted in 1983 to abandon the six-hour shift, swayed by the threat of redundancies – and the promise of pay rises. Overtime was widely seen as a fair trade-off for less leisure. As one dissenting employee put it: 'The work hogs won.' I first learned this in 2020 from an article by Hunnicutt. Reading of the flagging commitment of Kellogg's to the six-hour shift made me feel the same agonised paralysis as watching a character in a horror film drift towards a slow and painful death. 'Nooo!' I wanted to shout. 'It's a trap!' I fear we are at a similar crossroads now. New technologies really could give us more free time, shift the locus of life and meaning away from work, and even restructure society towards recreation and connection; they will replace vast numbers of us in our jobs. We already know that hard limits to growth exist, even if we fail to meaningfully acknowledge them. How we weather the change ahead will depend on our vision and daring, and how big we are prepared to dream. It's not enough to recognise the possibilities, though that's a start, says Hunnicutt. We need to believe in the merits of leisure, and 'non-material growth – something besides more money and more work, forever'. History shows that this 'respected, respectable, inspiring, historical alternative' is possible, even under capitalism. But if we don't fight for our free time, we'll just find more ways to waste it at work. Elle Hunt is a freelance journalist
Yahoo
5 days ago
- Business
- Yahoo
Swimming pool reopens after four years
A swimming pool in East Sussex has reopened after more than four years. The decision to bring Ringmer Pool back into use was made following a public consultation by East Sussex County Council, who then worked with Lewes District Council (LDC). Wave Active has been appointed to run the facility on behalf of the local authority, and the company's CEO, Duncan Kerr, said he was "delighted" the pool reopened on Saturday. The pool has been closed since March 2021. Mr Kerr said: "This facility is a wonderful community asset. We worked hard to get it ready and hope many residents visit regularly to support the pool, their health and enjoy swimming." Councillor Johnny Denis, cabinet member for tourism and leisure at LDC, said: "Ringmer Pool was initially built thanks to the hard work and fundraising of local people and it's really exciting to be bringing it back for the whole community. "I am delighted we got the pool up and running again." LDC invested £100,000 in Ringmer Pool as part of its £3m council investment programme to maintain local leisure services. Councillor Nick Bennett, deputy leader at ESCC, said it was "great" to see the facility reopened. He said: "We worked with Lewes District Council to secure funding to ensure the future of Ringmer Pool for the benefit of the wider community." Plans to be unveiled for new city swimming pool Adults with sight loss invited to open water swim Leisure centre to re-open under new operator Pool reopening 'within touching distance' East Sussex County Council Lewes District Council
BBC News
6 days ago
- Business
- BBC News
Ringmer Swimming Pool reopens after four years
A swimming pool in East Sussex has reopened after more than four decision to bring Ringmer Pool back into use was made following a public consultation by East Sussex County Council, who then worked with Lewes District Council (LDC).Wave Active has been appointed to run the facility on behalf of the local authority, and the company's CEO, Duncan Kerr, said he was "delighted" the pool reopened on pool has been closed since March 2021. Mr Kerr said: "This facility is a wonderful community asset. We worked hard to get it ready and hope many residents visit regularly to support the pool, their health and enjoy swimming."Councillor Johnny Denis, cabinet member for tourism and leisure at LDC, said: "Ringmer Pool was initially built thanks to the hard work and fundraising of local people and it's really exciting to be bringing it back for the whole community."I am delighted we got the pool up and running again."LDC invested £100,000 in Ringmer Pool as part of its £3m council investment programme to maintain local leisure Nick Bennett, deputy leader at ESCC, said it was "great" to see the facility said: "We worked with Lewes District Council to secure funding to ensure the future of Ringmer Pool for the benefit of the wider community."
