Withdrawing benefits when there are no jobs to find is just cruel

A doctor writes first hand of the repercussions of Whitehall hyperbole on benefits.

The government knows exactly what it's doing. When the Prime Minister broadcast his intention to substantially shrink the benefits system, it wasn't because he's blissfully unaware of the consequences. He knows this will remove a crucial lifeline that could condemn millions to an inescapable cycle of poverty.

A pattern is developing with this government. Policies are announced that seem so clearly detrimental, those enacting them are declared by detractors as either oblivious to the ramifications or utterly callous. But rather than dismiss their decisions as the immoral acts of ignorant elitists, I want to understand their politics. Instead of blustering and chastising, I'm willing to consider that Cameron's cabinet are neither naive nor malicious. I'd like to know how they justify their actions, and why they think what they're proposing is right.

As an NHS doctor I can't agree with sweeping cuts to welfare. We need a social security safety net because the unexpected is precisely that. You cannot predict the personal disasters that drive the need for benefits, in the same way that no-one sets out to require emergency medical treatment. It's not a culture of entitlement, and it's not a lifestyle choice. It's a last resort. Doctors see first hand the repercussions of Whitehall hyperbole. Half a million people will lose their disability living allowance by 2016. They won't lose their disability. Accident and Emergency departments face the overwhelming challenge of a newly homeless generation when housing benefit for under the twenty-fives is withdrawn. When government aid is withheld from the people who need it  the most, the NHS feels the impact.

Nonetheless, the Conservative's idea is perfectly valid: switch the emphasis from benefits to employment. Make it more profitable to work than to rely on the state. Enable all people from every part of society to determine their own existence, instead of being reliant on the whims of government funded charity. It's a well known argument:give a man a fish, and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, he feasts for a lifetime.

Even when judged by their own standards, this government falls short. So far they've taken away the fish. This is the easy half, the half that abdicates state responsibility for the most vulnerable in society. Truly compassionate conservatism would be to ensure a reliable alternative income for each and every person who has their benefits withdrawn. Otherwise those previously trapped on handouts will be just as trapped, but without any financial support at all.

Unicef has already warned the UK government that their spending cuts will reverse the progress made on tackling child poverty. A recent joint report from Action for Children, the NSPCC and The Children's Society has concluded that depression, poor quality housing and poverty are far more prevalent than government figures suggest. Children's charity Kids Company has seen a two hundred percent increase in families relying on them to avoid starvation over the past twelve months. Further cuts to basic social securities will do little to help this sobering trend.

Reducing housing benefit, capping the numbers eligible for council houses and asking the jobless to do full time community work for free does nothing to address the fundamental flaw in Cameron's argument. Focusing on jobs not handouts conveniently forgets that employment is the part you need to get right first. It relies on a buoyant jobs market where employers are willing to risk their business on a previously unemployed and potentially unskilled workforce. The UK is fast approaching three million unemployed. In today's calamitous economic situation, even the most qualified and most experienced remain out of work.

Giving people no choice but to find a job is a great way to get them off benefits. Unless there are no jobs. There is no plan to address the fallout of Cameron's rhetoric. The new homeless, impoverished disabled and jobless millions don't factor into his equation, where you're either productive and employed or a work-shy fraudster. The least appropriate action for the government is precisely what they're promoting: withdrawing the only means of survival for someone powerless to change their circumstances without help. No matter how you cut it, that's cruel.

Tom Riddington is a NHS hosptial doctor with a special interest in medical ethics and healthcare politics. You can find him on twitter @drtomriddington.

 

Job seekers need jobs to find. Photograph: Getty Images
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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war