Is this the coalition's 10p tax moment?

Child benefit cuts come under attack from all sides.

It must count as some achievement to attract the simultaneous ire of the Daily Mail, the Daily Telegraph, the Institute for Fiscal Studies, the trade union movement and the Labour Party. That's the unusual position George Osborne finds himself in this morning as his raid on child benefit comes under attack.

It appears that the cabinet was given little, if any, advance warning of the move, with one minister describing it as "complete bombshell". The Mail and Telegraph both attack the measure as a blow against the family in their leaders this morning and the IFS warns of the perverse anti-work incentives that result from the move. The decision to abolish child benefit for all higher-rate taxpayers means that a one-earner couple with two children with a gross income of £43,876-£46,850 would be worse off than if their income were £43,875. A one-earner couple with an income of £43,875 would need a pay rise of at least £2,975 to ensure they were no worse off after paying tax and losing child benefit.

It's for reasons like this that, less than 24 hours after the measure was announced, the children's minister, Tim Loughton, has already floated the possibility of "compensating measures" for those who have lost out. Is this the coalition's 10p tax moment? It would be foolish to rule it out. The decision to simultaneously abolish tax credits for all those earning over £30,000 means that there will be howls of anguish from those set to lose thousands of pounds of benefits in a single stroke.

But far more significant is the fact that this marks the opening salvo in the coalition's war on the universal welfare state. The decision to make child benefit universal was never just about income, rather it was the means by which society collectively recognised and supported the decision of couples to start a family. Once the poison of means-testing is injected into the system, the principles on which the entire welfare state is built start to break down. And it is the poorest who will suffer the most from the abandonment of universality. As the great sociologist, Richard Titmuss phrased it: "services for the poor will always be poor services." Ed Miliband must live up to his campaign promises and resist the coalition all the way.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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“It was like a religious ceremony”: What happened at Big Ben’s final bong?

Both inside and outside Parliament, people gathered to hear the clock’s final midday chime before undergoing repairs.

“It’s just hacks everywhere,” a photographer sighs, jamming his lens through a gap in Parliament’s railings to try and get a closer look.

New Palace Yard, Parliament’s courtyard directly below Big Ben, is filling with amused-looking journalists, waiting for the MPs who have promised to hold a “silent vigil”, heads bowed, to mark Big Ben’s final chime before four years of silence while the tower’s repaired.

About four of them turn up. Two by accident.

It’s five minutes to twelve. Tourists are gathering outside Westminster Tube, as tourists do best. A bigger crowd fills Parliament Square. More people than expected congregate outside, even if it’s the opposite within the Palace. The world and his phone are gazing up at the sad, resigned clock face.


“It’s quite controversial, isn’t it?” one elderly woman in an anorak asks her friend. They shrug and walk off. “Do you know what is this?” an Italian tourist politely asks the tiny press pack, gesturing to the courtyard. No one replies. It’s a good question.

“This is the last time,” says another tourist, elated, Instagram-poised.

“DING DONG DING DONG,” the old bell begins.

Heads down, phones up.


It finishes the on-the-hour tune for the last time, and then gives its much-anticipated resignation statement:

“BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG. BONG.”

Applause, cheers, and even some tears.


But while the silly-seasoned journalists snigger, the crowd is enthusiastic.

“It’s quite emotional,” says David Lear, a 52-year-old carer from Essex, who came up to London today with his work and waited 45 minutes beneath Big Ben to hear it chime.

He feels “very, very sad” that the bell is falling silent, and finds the MPs’ vigil respectful. “I think lots of people feel quite strongly about it. I don’t know why they’re doing it. During the war it carries on, and then they turn it off for a health and safety reason.”

“I don’t know why they can’t have some speakers half way down it and just play the chime,” he adds. “So many tourists come especially to listen to the chime, they gather round here, getting ready for it to go – and they’re going to switch it off. It’s crazy.”

Indeed, most of the surrounding crowd appears to be made up of tourists. “I think that it was gorgeous, because I’ve never heard him,” smiles Cora, an 18-year-old German tourist. “It was a great experience.”

An Australian couple in their sixties called Jane and Gary are visiting London for a week. “It was like a religious ceremony, everybody went quiet,” laughs Gary. “I hope they don’t forget where they put the keys to start it again in four years’ time.”

“When we first got here, the first thing we did was come to see it,” adds Jane, who is also positive about the MPs who turned up to watch. “I think it’s good they showed a bit of respect. Because they don’t usually show much respect, do they?”

And, as MPs mouthing off about Big Ben are challenged on their contrasting reactions to Grenfell, that is precisely the problem with an otherwise innocent show of sentimentality.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.