Where do Britain's graduates move to – and why?

If you have a better way of illustrating this story I'd love to hear it. Image: Getty.

The graduate brain drain to London is something that has troubled cities in the North for many years. But as our recent report The Great British Brain Drain shows, there’s more to graduate movements than meets the eye.

It’s not surprising that the brain drain to the capital gets so much attention. London accounted for 19 per cent of all jobs in the UK in 2015, but attracted in 22 per cent of all graduates who chose to move after graduation. This pattern is even more acute for high achievers – of all the graduate movers who achieved a first or upper second class degree from a Russell Group university in 2014 and 2015, 37 per cent were working in London six months after graduation.

Share of all moving graduates by institution and class of degree, 2013-14 to 2014-15. Source: HESA destination of leavers survey.

But while these are headline-grabbing figures, they only tell part of the story. The migration patterns we see are driven by a group of graduates that we call the “bouncers” – people that move to a city to study, but subsequently leave again straight after graduation. These bouncers accounted for almost half of the total student population.

When we set aside this group, we see a different picture. As the chart below shows, most cities actually see a graduate gain: the number of working graduates they attract in (either because they came to study and stayed for work, or moved in after graduation) is greater than the number of graduates who grew up in that city but now work elsewhere (either because they left for university and never came back, or studied in their home town but left after graduating).

The balance between the loss of domiciled students against the gaining of graduates from elsewhere, 2013-14 to 2014-15: click to expand. Source: HESA destination of leavers survey.

In other words, the problem is not that cities outside London do not retain graduates – it is that they do not retain the majority of those students that move to their city to study.

However, what this doesn’t account for is that university cities also grow their own graduates by educating students who grew up in the city, and who then stay in their home town to work. When we factor in this cohort, just two cities – Wigan and Southend – had fewer graduates than students who went to university.

Graduates gained and graduates lost, 2013-14 to 2014-15: click to expand. Source: HESA destination of leavers survey.

The upshot of all this is that, as well as attracting graduates from other places and retaining students who move to a place to study, cities also need to focus on developing more home-grown talent: this will be just as important in increasing the supply of local high-skilled workers.

Paul Swinney is senior economist at the Centre for Cities. This article was originally published on the think tank’s blog.

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What is Europe? We’ve been arguing about it for 400 years

Well, it's here somewhere. Image: Google.

It is tempting to regard the history of Europe as a tale of gradually closer union, an evolution now imperilled by the forces of nationalistic populism that have brought Brexit and the growth of far-right political parties across the continent. In reality, the story is not such a neat one – and the meaning of Europe has always been up for debate. The Conversation

Take the 16th century as an example. Back then, Europe as an idea and a marker of identity was becoming more prominent; so much so that, by 1623, English philosopher Francis Bacon could refer to “we Europeans” and the continent was depicted as a queen.

Europe As A Queen, 1570. Image: Wikimedia commons.

The cultural movement of the Renaissance sparked an enthusiasm for all things classical – including the word “Europe”, which may have derived from the Greek name for the goddess Europa. At the same time, the voyages of discovery following Christopher Columbus’s landing in the Americas in 1492 led to a greater knowledge about the world at large. With this came a corresponding deepening of the sense of “us” versus “them”, of what supposedly made Europe and Europeans different.

This identification with people from across the continent had also been spurred by the westward advance of the Ottoman Empire following the fall of Constantinople in 1453. The Reformation and subsequent breakup of the church weakened the idea of Christianity as a unifying badge of identity, and so Europe was able to articulate this growing collective sentiment.

A little used word

Yet some of the major thinkers of the period rarely used the word “Europe”. The term appeared only ten times in the works of writer William Shakespeare, where it was used not with any specific geographical meaning but for rhetorical exaggeration. In the play Henry V the Constable of France assures the Duke of Orleans that his horse “is the best horse of Europe”. And in Henry VI, Part 1 the Duke of Bedford promises that his soldiers’ “bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake”.

It is telling that three of Shakespeare’s ten utterances belong to that master of comic overstatement, Falstaff. In Henry VI, Part II he says: “An I had but a belly of any indifference, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe.” These are not the stirrings of a sense of cultural unity, of Europe as a great civilisation. The word “Europe” as Shakespeare used it is empty of meaning beyond that of a vast expanse.

The French writer Michel de Montaigne. Image: Wikimedia commons.

The term popped up even less in the writing of French philosopher Michel de Montaigne – just once in the 107 chapters that make up his Essays. Montaigne used the word as a geographical marker: recalling the myth of Atlantis, he wrote of the kings of that island extending their “dominion as far into Europe as Tuscany”. Curiously, this sole instance of the term Europe appeared in an essay about the New World, On Cannibals, in which Montaigne wrote about the customs of the Tupinambà people of Brazil. Although he contrasted them with what he calls “us”, he did not use the word Europe in these comparisons.


A contested concept

But his contemporaries do. André Thevet, a Franciscan friar who had also journeyed to South America, wrote enthusiastically of the Spanish conquest of the New World: “You will find there towns, castles, cities, villages, houses, bishoprics, states, and all other ways of living that you think it was another Europe”. Thevet championed the superiority of what he called “our Europe”.

Montaigne was much more sceptical: “We may call these people barbarous in respect to the rules of reason, but not in respect to ourselves who in all sorts of barbarity exceed them.” Where Thevet regarded Europe as a cultural model to be exported, Montaigne condemned empire building in the New World. Montaigne articulated a sense of affinity with the Spanish and Portuguese by referring to “we”, “us” and “ourselves”, but – though like Thevet he could have done – he did not name this community Europe.

Some people continued to prefer the label “Christendom” to articulate a collective identity. But others were not wedded to such overarching notions of belonging. Jean de Léry, a Calvinist pastor who had travelled to Brazil, did not use the word “Christendom” and used “Europe” sparingly in a geographical, not a cultural, sense. Léry had suffered at the hands of Catholics during the French Wars of Religion and felt no affinity with them. His allegiances were much smaller – to Calvinism and to France.

Just like today, in the 16th century the meaning of Europe was not straightforward. It was contested between those who used the word as something more than a geographical area and those who did not – between those who saw the continent as a cultural idea of unity and those whose sense of community and belonging was much smaller.

Niall Oddy is a PhD candidate at Durham University.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.