Does the Makerfield Test Really Work?

When Local Justice Meets National Responsibility

One of the most attractive political ideas to emerge in Britain this year is also one of the simplest.

Andy Burnham calls it the Makerfield Test.

His argument is straightforward: government should judge its success not merely by economic growth, favourable statistics or the approval of financial markets, but by whether life genuinely improves for ordinary people in communities such as Makerfield and thousands of places like it.

At first glance, it is difficult to disagree, isn’t it?

Continue reading “Does the Makerfield Test Really Work?”

When I Lost God, I Found the Universe

God declares his glory at the rising of the sun.
Photo taken with Oppo X9 on 7th July 2026 at 06:37 am, f2, 15 mm.

“The heavens declare the glory of God.”

For almost ten years, belief in God shaped the way I looked at the night sky.

This morning, at six o’clock, I realised how completely that has changed.

Continue reading “When I Lost God, I Found the Universe”

When a Country Gets Richer, Who Owns the Wealth?

Wealth. A man reading a financial newspaper about who owns Spain's wealth in the background.A newspaper headline over breakfast in Spain made me question something I’d never really considered before. When a country’s economy is booming, who actually owns the wealth that’s being created?

One of the unexpected pleasures of moving to Spain has been rediscovering the lost art of breakfast.

Most mornings I walk to my favourite café, order a café con leche and toasted bread rubbed with fresh tomato and olive oil, then spend half an hour simply watching the town wake up. The same waiter greets familiar faces with effortless warmth. Elderly couples linger over coffee. Shopkeepers raise their shutters. Sunburnt tourists wobble by. There is something reassuring about the rhythm of ordinary life here.

A few mornings ago, however, it wasn’t the people who caught my attention. It was a newspaper.

The gentleman at the next table was reading Expansión, Spain’s financial newspaper. Across the front page was a headline that immediately made me stop.

The real owners of the IBEX 35.

The real owners?

Surely Spain’s largest companies belong to Spain.

I finished my breakfast, but the question followed me home.


The Assumption

Like most people, I have spent much of my life assuming that when a country’s economy grows, its people become wealthier. I’ve lived in Germany for 16 years, which always provided me with the perfect example.

And that is how the news is usually presented.

The economy is booming.

Corporate profits are rising.

The stock market reaches another record.

We instinctively hear those as different ways of saying the same thing.

But they are not.

Companies create wealth where they operate.

Ownership determines where much of that wealth ultimately accumulates.

The distinction sounds almost trivial.

It isn’t.

It changes the way we think about almost everything.


Creating and Owning Wealth

Imagine two people.

One spends forty years working.

The other spends forty years owning.

The first helps create prosperity.

The second receives part of the return from that prosperity.

Sometimes, of course, they are the same person.

Often they are not.

That morning, as I watched the waiter carrying coffees from table to table, it occurred to me that he was helping to create Spain’s prosperity every bit as much as a hotel owner, a banker or a company director. Every tourist welcomed, every breakfast served and every day’s work honestly completed contributes, however modestly, to a nation’s success.

Yet if one of Spain’s largest companies doubles its profits this year, a significant share of those profits may eventually belong to people who have never set foot in Spain.

The wealth is created here.

The ownership may be somewhere else.

For some reason, that simple distinction had never really occurred to me before.


A Global Story

The more I reflected on it, the more I realised that Spain was merely the setting.

This is the story of the modern world.

Capital crosses borders far more easily than people do.

That freedom has transformed our lives. It has financed innovation, built industries, connected economies and lifted hundreds of millions of people out of poverty. Few of us would seriously wish to reverse it.

Yet every system has consequences.

Perhaps the least discussed consequence of global capitalism is that it increasingly separates the place where wealth is created from the place where much of it is ultimately owned.

The two are no longer the same thing.


Britain Taught Me the Lesson Before Spain Did

Ironically, Britain had been teaching me this lesson for decades without my noticing.

Successive governments sold companies, utilities, railways, airports, property and infrastructure into private and often international ownership. We were told that this was modernisation, efficiency and the price of attracting investment. In many respects, it was.

Investment creates jobs.

Investment raises productivity.

Investment helps economies grow.

But every sale also carried another consequence.

A little more of tomorrow’s income would belong to someone else. And if the quality of a service such as buses and railways deteriorates in Manchester when the company owners sit in an office along the Champs Elysées, we should not be too surprised.

At the same time, Britain itself became a major owner of overseas assets. Pension funds, investment companies and multinational businesses accumulated wealth around the world. Perhaps that is one reason Britain has continued to generate considerable income despite producing far fewer of the manufactured goods that once defined its economy.

I had simply never connected those two facts before.

The newspaper in Spain finally joined the dots for me.


The Conversation We Rarely Have About Wealth

Political arguments usually revolve around wages, taxation or redistribution.

The left asks how wealth should be shared.

The right asks how more wealth can be created.

Both debates matter.

But perhaps they both overlook an earlier question.

Who owns the wealth before anyone starts arguing about how to redistribute it?

That seems to me to be one of the defining questions of our age.

Not because ownership should be concentrated within national borders.

Nor because global investment is somehow undesirable.

But because ownership itself has become strangely invisible.

Millions of people spend entire careers helping to create wealth while accumulating very little ownership of the economy they are helping to build.

They earn incomes.

But wages and ownership are not the same thing.

One pays today’s bills.

The other builds tomorrow’s security.


A Fairer Form of Globalisation

I have no desire to retreat into economic nationalism.

The extraordinary prosperity of the modern world owes much to capital flowing freely across borders. The challenge, surely, is not to make investment less global but ownership less exclusive.

Economic growth should not become a spectator sport in which millions of people spend their lives creating wealth they will never meaningfully own.

A healthy economy should produce not only better wages but broader ownership, because ownership is what allows one generation’s work to become the next generation’s security.

That does not require abandoning global markets.

It requires asking whether ordinary citizens have enough opportunities to become long-term owners of the prosperity they spend their lives creating.

What if governments devoted as much energy to widening ownership as they currently devote to encouraging growth?

What if employee share ownership became the norm rather than the exception?

What if ordinary citizens found it easier to build long-term stakes in productive businesses through pension funds, savings schemes and investment accounts?

What if the people whose daily work creates prosperity gradually came to own a larger share of that prosperity?

That strikes me as a far more constructive ambition than trying to turn back the clock on globalisation.


I still remember folding that newspaper and taking one last sip of coffee before walking home.

The headline had answered one question.

But it had raised another.

When we say that a country’s economy is booming, we usually ask how much wealth has been created.

Perhaps the more important question is one we almost never ask.

Who really owns the wealth that a nation’s workforce is creating?

“The political problem of mankind is to combine three things: economic efficiency, social justice and individual liberty.”
— John Maynard Keynes

 

I studied for four years at Oxford and Nobody Taught Me How Money Works

The British government has this week announced plans to ban social media access for under-16s. Ministers describe it as a historic intervention to protect children. Newspapers are full of discussion about algorithms, screen addiction and online harms. Yet as I watched the announcement unfold, I found myself asking a different question entirely. Why are we once again arguing about what children should be prevented from doing rather than what they should be taught?

The discussion is presented as a matter of national importance. Ministers speak gravely about online harms. Newspapers speculate about restrictions and enforcement. Experts are summoned to television studios. Committees are established. Reports are commissioned.

But all of my experience as a student and teacher tells me that we are arguing passionately about the wrong problem. At sixty-five years of age, having attended good schools, won a scholarship to Oxford, taught for decades and worked in several countries, I have reached an uncomfortable conclusion: almost nobody ever taught me how money works.

Nobody explained investing. Nobody explained compound interest. Nobody explained pensions. Nobody explained the long-term consequences of inflation. Nobody explained the relationship between taxation and public services. Nobody explained mortgages beyond the most superficial level. Nobody explained the astonishing difference between acquiring assets and merely consuming income.

Yet these are not specialist concerns. They are among the most important forces shaping the lives of ordinary citizens.

They influence where people live, when they retire, whether they accumulate wealth, how vulnerable they are to economic shocks and, ultimately, the degree of freedom they enjoy throughout their lives.

The strange thing is that this educational failure is almost invisible. Some parents complain if their children leave school unable to read Shakespeare. Politicians worry if socially constructed examination results fall.

Universities debate decolonisation, inclusion, safe spaces and artificial intelligence.

Meanwhile, millions of young adults enter the world with little understanding of debt, investment, taxation, pensions or wealth creation.

Nobody seems particularly alarmed. But as a teacher, I find this extraordinary. And as a citizen, I find it deeply disturbing.

As someone who grew up in a working-class family, I find it difficult to avoid an even more uncomfortable observation.

Those who grow up in affluent families often learn these things anyway.

They hear conversations around the dinner table. They observe parents discussing property, investments, inheritance and taxation. They absorb financial knowledge almost by osmosis.

Those from less privileged backgrounds are often far less fortunate.

The result is that schools, which are supposed to reduce inequality of opportunity, usually end up reinforcing it.

I studied languages, theology, literature and philosophy. I do not regret a moment of it. Education transformed my life and broadened my horizons in ways I shall always be grateful for.

Yet if I am completely honest, my grandfather, a builder with far less formal education, may well have understood practical wealth creation better than I did. He understood property. He understood value. He understood patience. Most importantly, he understood that money is not primarily about income. It is about what income becomes over time. That lesson alone may be worth more than half the curriculum I studied. Unfortunately, he passed away when I was five years old, so he could never pass on his wisdom.

The question therefore is not whether children should be protected from harmful content online. Of course they should.

The question is why governments find it easier to regulate TikTok than to ask whether the curriculum itself is preparing young people for adult life.

Why is there endless discussion about screen time but comparatively little discussion about economic literacy?

Why do we devote thousands of classroom hours to subjects that many pupils will never use again while allocating almost no serious time to understanding mortgages, pensions, inflation, taxation, investing and economic reasoning?

And why, after decades of educational reform, do so many intelligent, capable and highly educated adults still feel financially illiterate?

These are not merely personal questions. They are political questions. They are social questions.

And they are ultimately questions about power.

A population that cannot critically evaluate economic arguments is easier to persuade, easier to frighten and easier to divide. It becomes dependent upon experts, commentators and politicians to interpret reality on its behalf.

A population that understands economics is harder to manipulate.

Perhaps that is why the seven economic myths I recently encountered fascinated me so much. I will share them here next week.

These seven myths didn’t just reveal something about economics, but they revealed something about education.

And perhaps, more importantly, about what education still fails to teach.

“Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.”

— W. B. Yeats

If Yeats was right, then perhaps we need to ask whether we are lighting the wrong fires.