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Education
18 July 2017

“The absolute dogs in office skills”: why aren't millennials queuing up for this amazing job?

Did no one teach you that the end of your studies is the beginning of your education?

The millenials (sic) have been at it again. The most disappointing generation in history has gone too far this time – not only do they dare complain about spending half their salary on paying someone else’s mortgage, having to pay for the education their elders got for free, or about the threat of incineration in the climate-changed hell world of tomorrow: now their ruddy ENTITLEMENT is getting in the way of the dreams of local theatre entrepreneurs.

According to a job advert (since pulled), Tea House Theatre, a small arts venue in a former strip club in south London, has spent three months generously offering millenials (sic) the chance to become an Office Administrator, and yet, mysteriously, they’ve not managed to fill the role. Instead of knuckling down for some serious filing, millenials (sic) are playing on their Nintendo Game Boys, saying “cowabunga”, doing sick tricks on their skateboards etc, and the Tea House Theatre is sick of it.

“Are you not taught anything about existing in the real world, where every penny counts. Did no one teach you that the end of your studies is the beginning of your education?” reads an actual real advert that someone typed into their computer while thinking “this is a good idea”, before going on to describe the huge amount of hard work they want you to do for as little as £15,000, in London, in the year two-thousand-and-seventeen.

“The absolute dogs in office skills, the ability to run a paper filing system as well as a computerised one, the ability to complete and keep track of a huge to-do list, to make our office work, create and develop business management systems that help the business to grow, giving space for more creative work to go ahead.” Is that all? You should be paying them!

Self-reflection is a tough business, but maybe, just maybe if every single millennial candidate you’ve seen during a three-month hiring process has disappointed you, maybe the problem isn’t with them. Maybe you’ve set yourself unrealistic expectations about how much office-based “bang” your limited salary-based “buck” is going to attract. Or maybe you can’t get anyone to work for you because you are an absolute nightmare who couldn’t even stop yourself flipping out when typing a job advert.

It would be unfair to speculate which of these is true, but one Twitter user claimed that when they replied to a less “excitable” version of the ad, the interviewer for the position “was eating breakfast”, “emphasised that he would shout at me a lot”, referred to her as a “diversity hire”, and wanted candidates to complete two to three days of unpaid trial work. Still, probably just one of those vile online trolls we read so much about these days.

Artsjobs.org.uk, which hosted the ad, has since removed it – hilariously, by “generously” targeting millennials with this “appealing” opportunity, the venue actually breached a rule about advertising to specific age groups. After all, they could have just hired “one old lady” with an “IBM computer” – like the one who used to run a drama school single-handedly, according to a definitely relevant and not exaggerated anecdote that’s in the middle of a job advert for some reason? They used to send children up chimneys, you know, aren’t policeman getting younger, bring back National Service.

Ideally, this whole thing will turn out to have been viral marketing for a bold new show about intergenerational relations, but on the off-chance that it is real...

Dear the Tea House Theatre,

As a professional millenial who sometimes works in the arts industry, I am sad to report that I *was* only ever taught to exist in the cyber world, where we don’t have pennies, because of bitcoins and such. I *didn’t* know that the end of my studies was the beginning of my education: I guess I was too busy catching Pokemons :(. Please can I have a job so I can pay for more apps?

Not sure about creating and developing business management systems, but I can do two fidget spinners at once. Also I didn’t even need the funny paperclip to help me type this letter and my mum says I am so good at the internet. (What’s an “IBM” computer LOL?)

Looking forward to impressing you.

Cowabunga,

EH Jefferson

Professional Millenial

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UK
21 July 2017

Murder by numbers: the legacy of the Grenfell Tower fire

It is difficult to refute the reality of suffering when the death toll is still being reckoned.

How do we measure human malice? Sometimes it’s all too easy. This summer, British cities are struggling through the aftermath of successive terrorist attacks and hate crimes. The Manchester bombing. The Westminster Bridge murders. The London Bridge atrocity. The attack on people outside the Finsbury Park Mosque in north London and on other mosques. The unidentified young men who are still at large in the capital after spraying acid in the faces of passers-by, mutilating them.

In Britain, we are commendably resilient about these things. Returning to London after some time away, I found my spirits lifted by an issue of the London Evening Standard magazine that celebrated the ordinary people who stepped in to help after these atrocities. The paramedics who worked through the night. The Romanian chef who offered shelter in his bakery. The football fan who took on the London Bridge terrorists, screaming, “Fuck you, I’m Millwall!” The student housing co-ordinator who rushed to organise board for the victims of the inferno at the Grenfell Tower and their families.

Wait. Hold on a second. One of these things is not like the others. The Grenfell Tower disaster, in which at least 80 people died, was not a terrorist or malicious attack. It was the result of years of callous council decisions and underinvestment in social housing. On 14 June, entire families burned alive in their homes partly because, it is alleged, the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea would not pay the extra £5,000 or so for fire-resistant cladding. Nor could it find the cash, despite a budget surplus, to instal proper sprinkler systems on the rotting interior of the building.

Kensington and Chelsea is a Tory borough that, in cash terms, cares very little for poorer citizens who are unlikely to vote the right way. In 2014, while the Grenfell Tower residents were refused basic maintenance, the council handed out £100 rebates to its top-rate taxpayers, boasting of its record of “consistently delivering greater efficiencies while improving services”. Some of those efficiencies had names, and parents, and children.

This is a different sort of depravity altogether. It’s depravity with plausible deniability, right up until the point at which deniability goes up in flames. Borrowing from Friedrich Engels, John McDonnell described the Grenfell Tower disaster as “social murder”. The shadow chancellor and sometime Jack Russell of the parliamentary left has never been known for his delicate phrasing.

Naturally, the Tory press queued up to condemn McDonnell – not because he was wrong but because he was indiscreet. “There’s a long history in this country of the concept of social murder,” he said, “where decisions are made with no regard to the consequences… and as a result of that people have suffered.”

It is difficult to refute the reality of that suffering when the death toll is still being reckoned from the towering tombstone that now blights the west London skyline.” As the philosopher Hannah Arendt wrote, “The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil.”

Market austerity is no less brutal for being bloodless, calculating, an ideology of measuring human worth in pennies and making cuts that only indirectly slice into skin and bone. Redistributing large sums of money from the poor to the rich is not simply an abstract moral infraction: it kills. It shortens lives and blights millions more. Usually, it does so in a monstrously phlegmatic manner: the pensioners who die early of preventable diseases, the teenagers who drop out of education, the disabled people left to suffer the symptoms of physical and mental illness with nobody to care for them, the thousands who have died on the waiting lists for state benefits that they are perfectly entitled to, the parents whose pride disintegrates as they watch their children go to school hungry.

We are not encouraged to measure the human cost of austerity in this way, even though there are many people in back offices making exactly these sorts of calculations. This year, when researchers from the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine claimed that “relentless cuts” to the health service could explain as many as 30,000 “excess deaths” in England and Wales in 2015, the government denounced this as “a triumph of personal bias over research”, which, however you slice it, is a callous prep school debater’s response to the reality of 30,000 fresh graves.

There is a species of evil in which an individual allows the dark and yammering corners of his mind to direct him to put a blade in a bystander’s belly, or a bomb in a bustling crowd of teenage girls. That sort of monstrosity is as easy to identify as it is mercifully rare, though frighteningly less rare than it was in less febrile times. But there is another sort of evil that seldom makes the headlines. This comes about when someone sits down with a calculator and works out how much it will cost to protect and nurture human life, deducts that from the cost of a tax rebate for local landowners or a nice night at the opera, then comes up with a figure. It’s an ordinary sort of evil, and it has become routine and automated in the austerity years. It is a sort of evil, in the words of Terry Pratchett, that “begins when you begin to treat people as things”. 

The Grenfell Tower disaster was the hellish evidence of the consequences of fiscal ruthlessness that nobody could look away from. Claims that it could not have been predicted were shot down by the victims. The residents’ association wrote on its campaign website after years of begging the council to improve living conditions: “It is a truly terrifying thought but the Grenfell Action Group firmly believe that only a catastrophic event will expose the ineptitude and incompetence of our landlord.”

That catastrophic event has happened, and the ordinary British response to tragedy – brave, mannered dignity – is inappropriate. When the Grenfell inquiry launches next month, it is incumbent on every citizen to call for answers and to call this kind of travesty by its name: murder by numbers.

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder

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