Why Iain Duncan Smith needs to get his facts straight

The Work and Pensions Secretary insists that “almost everyone” can find work. The statistics tell a

Iain Duncan Smith, the Work and Pensions Secretary, is interviewed by Mary Riddell and Andrew Porter in the Daily Telegraph today.

Discussing the much-feted universal credit welfare reform, the article notes that there will be a "marked shift" away from Britain's generous welfare system to a "more punitive, American-style one" that punishes "those who refuse to work".

This is the passage that caught my attention:

"The message will go across; play ball or it's going to be difficult," he says.

Pressed on the penalty regime and the gradual taking away of benefits from the most recalcitrant, Mr Duncan Smith first offers lengthy and detailed explanations about why almost all people will get back into work if they can.

But some, he acknowledges, will refuse. What will happen to these people and how will the system come after them?

"I think most of the public think that progressively you send them signals. They have a bit withdrawn, then a bit more, then eventually [you] have to say you will eventually lose all your benefit.

"The signal will get round very quickly that you are serious about this. We may have to do it initially to some of the more recalcitrant people. But I have a view about human nature: most people, once you start to show them the right way out, I think most people move.

"Those who won't play get lost in the system at present and they infect everyone else."

Let's just recap on the facts here. There are currently just under 2.5 million people claiming Jobseekers' Allowance in the UK. Analysis by the TUC in the summer found that dole claimants outnumber job vacancies by five to one. In London, it's more like seven to one, and in some boroughs even higher – in Hackney, it's 24 to one.

The number of job vacancies across the country has fallen consistently over the past 12 months. It is unlikely this will change. The government itself estimates that about 490,000 public-sector jobs will be lost as a result of the cuts set out in the Spending Review.

While ministers suggest that this will be offset by growth in the private sector, there is no indication of why this would be the case. A report by PwC last month argued that cuts would hurt the private sector, too, and forecast a further 500,000 job losses here – bringing the total to one million. Another estimate this week put the figure as high as 1.6 million.

Sadly, the interview does not elaborate on the "lengthy and detailed explanations" that Duncan Smith gave as to why everyone can get back into work. Given these figures, I would certainly be interested to know: getting "on your bike" to find work is irrelevant if there are five people for every job – if not dramatically more, once the cuts hit.

If the new system is going to be, as the article says, more akin to the punitive American system, one need only look across the Atlantic to see that this is difficult to maintain in such straitened times. President Obama has had to extend the 99-week limit on claiming benefits several times because of the dearth of jobs in some states.

A simpler benefits system that doesn't trap people in a dependency cycle is a commendable aim. Yet the continued suggestion that people are "choosing" not to work in the present economic climate is not only unreasonable; it indicates a worrying view of the poor. It also shows a wilful misunderstanding of current times, given that many, many more people will soon be forced to claim state support, whether they want to or not.

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

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In defence of orientalism, the case against Twenty20, and why Ken should watch Son of Saul

My week, from Age Concern to anti-semitism.

Returning late from a party I never much wanted to go to, I leap up and down in the middle of the Harrow Road in the hope of flagging down a taxi, but the drivers don’t notice me. Either they’re haring down the fast lane or they’re too preoccupied cursing Uber to one another on their mobile phones. My father drove a black cab, so I have a deep loyalty to them. But there’s nothing like being left stranded in NW10 in the dead of night to make one reconsider one’s options. I just wish Uber wasn’t called Uber.

Just not cricket

Tired and irritable, I spend the next day watching sport on television – snooker, darts, cricket, anything I can find. But I won’t be following the Indian Premier League’s Twenty20 cricket again. It’s greedy, cynical, over-sponsored and naff. Whenever somebody hits a boundary, cheerleaders in cast-off gym kit previously worn by fourth-form Roedean girls wave tinsel mops.

Matches go to the final over where they’re decided in a thrashathon of sixes hit by mercenaries wielding bats as wide as shovels. Why, in that case, don’t both teams just play a final over each and dispense with the previous 19? I can’t wait for the elegant ennui of a five-day Test match.

Stop! Culture police!

I go to the Delacroix exhibition at the National Gallery to shake off the sensation of all-consuming kitsch. Immediately I realise I have always confused Delacroix with someone else but I can’t decide who. Maybe Jacques-Louis David. The show convincingly argues that Delacroix influenced every artist who came after him except Jeff Koons, who in that case must have been influenced by David. It’s turbulent, moody work, some of the best of it, again to my surprise, being religious painting with the religion taken out. Christ’s followers lamenting his death don’t appear to be expecting miracles. This is a man they loved, cruelly executed. The colours are the colours of insupportable grief.

I love the show but wish the curators hadn’t felt they must apologise for Delacroix finding the North Africans he painted “exotic”. Cultural studies jargon screams from the wall. You can hear the lecturer inveighing against the “appropriating colonial gaze” – John Berger and Edward Said taking all the fun out of marvelling at what’s foreign and desirable. I find myself wondering where they’d stand on the Roedean cheer-leaders of Mumbai.

Taking leave of the senses

My wife drags me to a play at Age Concern’s headquarters in Bloomsbury. When I see where she’s taking me I wonder if she plans to leave me there. The play is called Don’t Leave Me Now and is written by Brian Daniels. It is, to keep it simple, about the effects of dementia on the families and lovers of sufferers. I am not, in all honesty, expecting a good time. It is a reading only, the actors sitting in a long line like a board of examiners, and the audience hunched forward in the attitude of the professionally caring.  My wife is a therapist so this is her world.

Here, unlike in my study, an educated empathy prevails and no one is furious. I fear that art is going to get lost in good intention. But the play turns out to be subtly powerful, sympathetic and sharp, sad and funny; and hearing it read engages me as seeing it performed might not have done. Spared the spectacle of actors throwing their bodies around and singing about their dreams against a backdrop painted by a lesser, Les Mis version of Delacroix, you can concentrate on the words. And where dementia is the villain, words are priceless.

Mixing with the proles

In Bloomsbury again the next day for a bank holiday design and craft fair at Mary Ward House. I have a soft spot for craft fairs, having helped run a craft shop once, and I feel a kinship with the designers sitting bored behind their stalls, answering inane questions about kilns and receiving empty compliments. But it’s the venue that steals the show, a lovely Arts and Crafts house, founded in the 1890s by the novelist Mary Ward with the intention of enabling the wealthy and educated to live among the poor and introduce them to the consolations of beauty and knowledge. We’d call that patronising. We’re wrong. It’s a high ideal, to ease the burden of poverty and ignorance and, in Ward’s words, save us from “the darker, coarser temptations of our human road”.

An Oscar-winning argument for Zionism

Speaking of which, I am unable to empty my mind of Ken Livingstone and his apologists as I sit in the cinema and watch the just-released Academy Award-winning Son of Saul, a devastating film about one prisoner’s attempt to hold on to a vestige of humanity in a Nazi death camp. If you think you know of hell from Dante or Michelangelo, think again. The inferno bodied forth in Son of Saul is no theological apportioning of justice or deserts. It is the evisceration of meaning, the negation of every grand illusion about itself mankind has ever harboured. There has been a fashion, lately, to invoke Gaza as proof that the Holocaust is a lesson that Jews failed to learn – as though one cruelty drives out another, as though suffering is forfeit, and as though we, the observers, must choose between horrors.

I defy even Livingstone to watch this film, in which the Jews, once gassed, become “pieces” – Stücke – and not grasp the overwhelming case for a Jewish place of refuge. Zionism pre-dated the camps, and its fulfilment, if we can call it that, came too late for those millions reduced to the grey powder mountains the Sonderkommandos were tasked with sweeping away. It diminishes one’s sympathy for the Palestinian cause not a jot to recognise the arguments, in a world of dehumanising hate, for Zionism. Indeed, not to recognise those arguments is to embrace the moral insentience whose murderous consequence Son of Saul confronts with numbed horror. 

This article first appeared in the 05 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The longest hatred