The bar chart compares the average annual working hours of employees in six countries at three points between 1990 and 2020.
Overall, working time fell in every country over the thirty years, although the extent of the decline varied considerably. South Korea saw by far the steepest reduction, whereas hours in Mexico and the United States changed very little, and German employees consistently worked the least.
In 1990, South Koreans worked an average of 2,680 hours a year, almost 500 more than any other nationality. This figure then dropped sharply, to 2,350 in 2005 and 1,910 in 2020, a fall of almost 800 hours. Japan followed a similar but less dramatic path, declining from 2,030 to 1,600 hours. Mexico, by contrast, rose slightly to 2,280 in 2005 before easing to 2,120, which made it the country with the longest working year by 2020.
Among the remaining countries, the United States remained almost unchanged at around 1,800 hours, while the United Kingdom slipped to 1,680 by 2005 before falling steeply to 1,370. Germany recorded the lowest figure at every point, with hours shrinking from 1,580 to 1,330, just 40 below Britain by 2020.
Banks and employers now routinely use software to screen applications and predict how people will behave. Although this technology offers genuine efficiencies, I believe that, in its present largely unregulated form, it is a negative development rather than a positive one.
The case in favour rests on speed, consistency and scale. A program can assess thousands of applications in the time a human officer takes to read a handful, which lowers costs and shortens waiting times for applicants. Supporters also point out that human decision-makers are far from neutral: they may be influenced by tiredness, mood or personal prejudice, whereas a carefully designed system applies the same criteria to everyone.
However, these advantages depend on the system being carefully designed, and that is where the problems begin. Such programs learn from historical data, so if past decisions were biased against women or ethnic minorities, the software is likely to reproduce that bias while giving it an appearance of scientific objectivity. In one widely reported case, a recruitment tool marked down CVs that contained the word “women’s” because it had been trained on the records of a male-dominated workforce. Furthermore, many of these programs are so complex, or so commercially secret, that rejected applicants cannot discover why they were turned down, let alone challenge the outcome. Responsibility becomes blurred: the bank blames the software, and the developer blames the data.
For these reasons, the shift towards automated judgement seems to me harmful unless strict conditions are met. Organisations should be legally required to explain the main reasons for any decision, to test their systems regularly for unfair results, and to allow a person to review a case on request.
In conclusion, technology can usefully assist human judgement, but when it replaces that judgement without transparency or accountability, it represents a step backwards rather than progress.