Article
Digital
Work
4 min read

Back to the office! The suspect motives behind the bosses calling for it

Working From Home isn’t the end of the world.

George is a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics and an Anglican priest.

An office wall displays a huge motto reading 'punch today in the face'
Really?
Johnson Wang on Unsplash.

If we’d been working from home in 1980, I wouldn’t have met my wife (as she, of course, then wasn’t). The slow demise of the office romance may not exclusively be driven by WFH, when a clumsy or unwanted speculative pass will likely precipitate a visit from the HR police. But it’s sure harder (I’m told) to chat someone up over Zoom than a water-cooler. 

There are some things you just, well, have to be there for. And it’s not just a matter of curating the gene pool for the future of the human race, which is hardly the top priority for most employers. Much more immediate commercial demands are served by employees being bodily present at work. They can check colleagues’ body language, be mentored more spontaneously, gossip about work, read the room and go outside for a fag with a friend. None of that works on a laptop at the kitchen table. 

And yet these aren’t aspects of working life that are much, if ever, cited by opponents of WFH. Yup, for these bosses, it’s always about productivity, which allegedly slumps like the shoulders of a college-leaver told to re-write their CV, when staff work from home. So companies as diverse as Amazon, Boots and JP Morgan are demanding that their workers work five-day weeks at the office again.  

Except, two things: One, that productivity point isn’t true. Professor Nicholas Bloom, an economist at Stanford University, has demonstrated empirically that a hybrid working model of three days at the office, plus two at home, is every bit as productive as fully office-based work overall. And, two, bosses may be shocked to learn that it’s their job to manage productivity, which is just as measurable at home as in the office. But then you don’t get to shout as much. 

And there I think is the real point. Bosses might not be shouty, but their motives for office work are more than suspect. They may be obsessed with control. They need to see their staff working for them for proof of productivity. They want to sit in a big glass-walled office watching them. And, perhaps most of all, if staff aren’t in the office then what’s the point of being a boss? It might bring their own productivity management and role into sharper focus. 

People who are privileged to manage their own time, or lack of it, in an office really shouldn’t be in the business of lecturing people who are not.

Furthermore, it’s been a long time, if ever, since some of those with the loudest voices calling for a return to the office have ever worked an ordinary job themselves. Lord Rose, formerly CEO of Marks & Spencer and chairman of Asda, told BBC’s Panorama that home working was part of the UK economy’s “general decline” (not true – see above). 

And Sir Jacob Rees-Mogg, formerly business secretary (remind me, how did that go?), continues in opposition to fight the bad fight to get civil servants as well as the private sector permanently back at the office. Hilariously, he most recently did so in a video from the drawing room of his mansion in Somerset. Though, to be fair, having lost his seat at the last general election and seeing his investment company sliding down the pan, he’s not so much working from home as just... at home.   

The serious point is that people who are privileged to manage their own time, or lack of it, in an office really shouldn’t be in the business of lecturing people who are not. They really don’t know – or have forgotten - what it is to have your life demanded of you from 9am-6pm from Monday to Friday in a location that is less than comfortable to work in. Is that so complicated to take aboard? 

And there’s another very big thing here. To demand office slaves is to commoditise people, to make them chattels (and, if some of these bosses were honest with themselves, that’s what they want). Staff become just another asset, not unlike the freehold of the office building in which you put them and watch as they make you money every day. 

To put it bluntly, that is a sin. To treat human beings as tradeable commodities is to debase their dignity. And for those of faith, that dignity is vested in each unique one of them bearing the image of God. As a good Catholic, Rees-Mogg should be familiar with the doctrine of Imago Dei.     

So there’s a holy, as well as secular, work-ethic at play here. The worker is worthy of his/her wage. That scriptural phrase usually focuses on the material value of the wage. But it’s also worth registering that the worker is “worthy”. 

To treat staff like they have an inherent worth, rather than simply a productive asset, has a value way beyond the money they are paid. And the dividends on that investment will be immense. Respect them. Let them work from home. 

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Article
Comment
Identity
Nationalism
5 min read

Which nation are you flying the flag for?

Flag raisings, Ed Sheeran, and my split national identity

Juila is a writer and social justice advocate. 

A Union Jack is draped over a railing, next to a red flag saying Jesus.
A flag demonstration, Portsmouth.
TikTok.

Flags are flying from lamp posts around England. It’s newsworthy here – and yet reports barely note that for those of us from Northern Ireland, we know something of this. A couple of weeks ago, the backlash was loud when Ed Sheeran declared himself ‘culturally Irish’, attributing greater significance to his family’s heritage than being born and raised in England. When it comes to signs of identity, things can quickly get personal. 

In my family – Northern Irish mother, English father, two daughters born in London but most of our childhood spent living just outside Belfast – we’ve been known to debate points to tot up our national identities over the dinner table. Does a place of birth outweigh the school years? When does formation finish – on turning 18 or do the months away at university count for anything? Does it matter how our mixed DNA actually expresses in our hair, our eyes, our stature?  

It’s a game and it’s our deeply felt reality. It’s the years spent with my schoolmates teaching me to correctly say ‘how now brown cow’ – and the arrival in England to find people couldn’t understand me saying my own name. It’s the stomach churn I still feel when I see flags flying, having grown up in a country where banners signal who is in – and therefore who is out. It touches on the questions of belonging and home.  

Irishness seems to travel well. The popularity of the island’s artists and art (from Paul Mescal to Derry Girls) are all signifiers of this cultural moment. But being Irish has always carried more cachet when I’ve been abroad, and I confess that when it has suited, I have led with my more ‘palatable’ half (or quarter or… the family maths is still up for debate). It’s convenient – but there’s also a discomfort in the enduring appeal of ‘Irishness’ outside of the island. It’s an ‘otherness’ that evokes intrigue and warmth, rather than fear. Difference that is more than acceptable, sometimes desirable. Distinct enough to be interesting but unthreatening for often being associated with white skin. 

Underneath the light-hearted arguments of our dinner table is a question of formation. Ed Sheeran attributes his sense of being Irish to the things that he feels have shaped him. It’s in being away from Belfast, living in England, that that I have seen more clearly the ways that Irishness has formed me. Watching Derry Girls with my English husband I freely laughed at what I assumed were universal jokes, only to have to hit pause and explain them. The show unearthed memories – not bad, just not often recalled – of Bill Clinton’s historic visit and the ‘across the barricades’ style gathering of primary schools from different sides of the community. 

Signs and symbols matter. I recently rewatched an episode of tv show, The West Wing, in which the US flag may – or may not – have been burned as part of a trick by magicians Penn and Teller. A media maelstrom follows. Whether or not the flag burned matters, as does the symbolism of this act taking place in the White House, itself an emblem of national identity and power. 

Reflecting on the news, I find myself thinking about the signs of a different kind of kingdom, one that transgresses national borders. In the Bible there's the story of one man who died once for all the world. And in dying, he brought forth his kingdom – one that crosses boundary lines to be truly global. The signs of this kingdom are not division or disconnection but peace and justice, joy and comfort, healing and presence. 

This is not about homogenisation. It’s not about the erosion of cultures, but about the beauty of all represented. As Harvey Kwiyani, a theologian from Malawi, puts it: “We are all welcome to God’s kingdom with our unique cultures. Being in the kingdom of God does not erase our cultural differences… The kingdom of God finds its fullest expression in intercultural mutuality. It is a multicultural kingdom.” The kingdom of God in all its richness – that’s a tempting proposition.  

It’s easy to see that we aren’t living in the fullness of this yet. But the world is not a static place. One metaphor used to describe the kingdom of God is yeast; living cultures filling the dough, making it rise. This is an image that is expansive, generous. The kingdom isn’t wholly realised yet, but we can see more and more of it. 

And like the yeast, we have a role to play in culture changing. As Graham Tomlin wrote following debates about ‘Englishness’, belonging to the kingdom of God means we have an identity not defined by where we live. Being part of this kingdom, we also become active participants in it. Formation is not just about us; we get to play an intentional role in the formation of a kinder world, in the coming of God’s kingdom. In the midst of fear and uncertainty, our ability to engage in such life-giving action offers a concrete hope.   

This is not a defensive position, but a brokering one. The kingdom is bigger than our individual lives, churches or communities; recognising this helps us to break out of a fortress mentality. So far, this century has been marked by fortification. As well as the raising of flags, there have also been walls. At the end of the second world war there were fewer than five border walls; there are now more than 70, most of them built in the last two decades. But the kingdom of God offers a view of home that is not about defence, not about perimeters, or even places. It’s a relationship with God, who made and sustains this world, who crosses the divide to meet each of us. In meeting him, we can partner together in seeing more of his kingdom on this earth.  

Anthropologist Andrew Shyrock defines sovereignty as “manifest in the ability to act as host”. Or to ground it in the day to day: to be able to offer a cup of tea. Perhaps some of the anger about Ed Sheeran’s claim is because of what it seems to either take or reject, pulling towards one nation while turning a back to another. Belonging to the kingdom of God invites us to think beyond what we can have to how we can intentionally serve. It has room to honour heritage and at the same time, it bends forward towards eternity. In the day to day, I find this a comfort: to see formation as not just about the past, but also the power of creative act after creative act in shaping the world that’s coming. 

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