Sunday, July 14, 2002
But Does It Own the Means of Production?
THE RISE OF THE CREATIVE CLASS: And How It's Transforming Work, Leisure,
Community and Everyday Life; By Richard Florida; Basic Books: 416 pp.,
$27.50
By ROBERT J. SAMUELSON
I belong to what Richard Florida calls the "creative class." Every
week, I write articles on the economy, society and politics. The news
organizations that pay me aren't interested in how and when I do this as
long as I meet my deadlines and pass their tests for accuracy, clarity,
relevance and interest. Otherwise, I can fritter away my time doing almost
anything: walking the dog, playing tennis, committing adultery. They don't
care.
Except for walking the dog, I don't do any of these other things. I
usually go to an office every day, devote much time to reporting and--worst
of all--spend endless hours trying to find the right words to overcome my
natural incoherence. Although I am not permanently "stressed out," I do
worry that the forces of incoherence will someday triumph and render me
useless. Until that happens, I've got a good deal: I'm well-paid for work
that, at least after it's finished, I enjoy and that may even have modest
social value.
But whether all this makes me "creative" is a harder question. Almost
all social commentators hope to coin a phrase that, once uttered, will
ensure their intellectual reputations and popular celebrity. Many have
succeeded. Thorstein Veblen gave us "conspicuous consumption," John Kenneth
Galbraith the "affluent society" and Tom Wolfe the "me generation." The
"creative class" is Florida's entry into this derby. There are three
problems with it: The phrase isn't catchy, its meaning isn't automatically
obvious and "the creative class," when examined closely, may not be a class
at all.
To belong to a "class," people must have more than common
characteristics. These characteristics must also create common elements of
identity, values and behavior. If you and I make $50,000 but we don't have
anything else in common--not our consumption habits, personal values,
political beliefs, lifestyles or religious preferences--then we don't truly
belong to the same class. It will be said that we're in the same income
class, but here "class" signifies only category or statistical grouping.
Florida argues that what binds the "creative class" together are shared work
habits, cultural values and lifestyles.
The "creative class," according to Florida, refers to people involved
in problem-solving or "producing new forms and designs that are readily
transferable and widely useful"--software, movies, medicines, books and
industrial designs. The "creative class" had 38 million workers in 1999, he
says. That's about 30% of the labor force--up from 17% in 1950 and 10% in
1900. He splits the class in two. "The supercreative core," about two-fifths
of the total, consists of scientists, engineers, computer professionals,
architects, artists, entertainers, writers, professional athletes and
teachers (including university professors). The rest are executives,
managers, doctors, lawyers, "high-end" salespeople and other "creative
professionals." Almost everyone else belongs to the "working class"
(generally factory, construction and transportation workers) and the
"service class" (everyone from store clerks to health technicians to
security guards).
Of course, there has long been a class of creators, consisting of
writers, artists, scholars, financiers and inventors. But now, Florida
asserts, the class' expansion has reached critical mass, altering the nature
of economic development because ideas--new products, technologies and
management methods--increasingly form the basis for national wealth.
Prosperity depends on having a business system that can nurture, satisfy and
stimulate the class that cultivates the ideas. Large organizations are
"beset by the conflict between creativity and control." If they are too
controlling, they may suffocate creativity; if they are not controlling
enough, what passes for "creativity" may be waste.
Managing this sprawling class, Florida argues, is especially
treacherous because its members have become more loyal to their own work and
less loyal to their employers (though Florida dismisses as exaggerated the
idea of a "free agent society," where workers can flit from company to
company).
A professor of regional economic development at Carnegie Mellon
University, Florida finds that the "creative class" has also altered
economic geography. Localities can't attract high-paying businesses simply
by offering tax concessions and subsidies. The harder task is to foster a
social climate that lures the best and brightest. Companies will go where
good workers want to be--or already are. What's desired are not ballparks
and symphonies but exciting street life, rock concerts and opportunities for
outdoor recreation. Large gay populations are important, Florida says,
because they symbolize the tolerance and diversity that people in the
"creative class" value. On most counts, such places as Austin and Seattle do
better than Pittsburgh and Buffalo.
As a synthesis, "The Creative Class" is useful. It nicely summarizes
much current thinking on regional economic development and on managing
professional workers. The writing is chatty and clear, though not elegant.
Information abounds, though the book would be twice as good at half the
length. But what's interesting is not new, and what's new is not convincing.
The nature of work has certainly changed. Factory and farm automation have
reduced routine tasks and given many people more control and discretion over
their jobs. Businesses must motivate more and regiment less.
But these are old truths. Sociologist Daniel Bell long ago proclaimed
the advent of "post-industrial society." Similarly, the management
philosopher Peter Drucker long ago emphasized the importance of "the
knowledge worker." As taught in business schools, "organizational behavior"
aims to instruct managers (however imperfectly) to cope with these changes.
It's also true--but not new--that the forces shaping economic geography
have changed. They are based less on raw materials--iron ore deposits, oil
reservoirs, wheat fields--and more on "human capital." As communications and
transportation have improved, companies can more easily situate wherever
they please. Naturally, the most pleasing spots are usually where workers
prefer to live. In general, warm and beautiful have done better than cold
and ugly. As ideas have become more important, cities with colleges and
universities have become more attractive. Their graduates and faculties
often incubate new businesses; and college-town lifestyles appeal to a
youth-obsessed society.
If it existed, the discovery of the "creative class" would be a
genuinely important insight. But aside from its occupational definitions,
Florida's class is maddeningly vague. On average, people in the "creative
class" make about $50,000 a year. But is a 26-year-old $40,000 advertising
copywriter in New York City really in the same cultural class with a
$140,000 48-year-old aeronautical engineer in Long Beach? Or a 32-year-old
social studies teacher earning $29,000 in Toledo, Ohio? Florida's "creative
class" has a post-adolescent aura to it. All its members seem to have just
gotten out of graduate school. Florida hardly discusses families, children
and the conflicts between home and jobs. The members of his "creative class"
seem to live in only two spheres--work and play.
Then there's the harder question: Can "creativity" define a class?
Florida seems to equate "creativity" with "thinking for a living." This is
mighty loose. Good thinking and bad thinking, good ideas and bad coexist.
Some create; others destroy. What I do every week may be, depending on your
point of view, powerful social commentary or sheer drivel. Genuine
"creativity"--and its opposite--knows no class, as Florida unwittingly
acknowledges. In the factory where his father worked, the managers and
supervisors "had tremendous respect for the ideas of workers." But in the
1960s and 1970s, the factory's owners began hiring "college-educated
engineers and MBAs ... [who had] book knowledge but little experience in the
actual workings of the factory." They had lots of new ideas. Many were bad.
The company soon went bankrupt.
- - -
Robert J. Samuelson Is the Author of "Untruth: Why the Conventional Wisdom
Is (Almost Always) Wrong" and Writes a Column for Newsweek and the
Washington Post Writers Group.
Copyright 2002 Los Angeles Times