Commons misled over impact of benefit cap on homelessness

Ministers repeatedly claimed that the risk was "not quantifiable" despite clear warning from Eric Pi

Ministers have been accused of repeatedly misleading the Commons about the impact of their £26,000 cap on welfare payments.

Yesterday, we noted the incongruence between David Cameron's claim that the cap would not lead to greater homelessness, and the warning in a leaked letter from the Communities Secretary, Eric Pickles (written by his private secretary Nico Heslop). The letter warns that welfare cuts could make an additional 20,000 families homeless (on top of 20,000 already anticipated because of other changes to housing benefit). It also warns that the plan will cost more than it saves because of the bill for temporary housing.

Now, Labour has highlighted several instances where ministers have acted disingenuously, given that this letter was sent in January. In February, the Department for Work and Pensions (DWP) published an impact assessment saying it was "not possible to quantify" the cost to local councils of the welfare cap, and the likelihood of greater homelessness. Grant Shapps, the Housing Minister, and others, quoted this assessment when asked about the impact on homelessness -- despite the fact that a specific estimate is included in Pickles' letter. Maria Miller, a welfare minister, told a Labour MP to "get real" when asked if the benefit cap would increase homelessness, while Chris Grayling said that it would not "exacerbate" the problem.

It is profoundly worrying that these concerns were not only ignored by government but repeatedly kept secret. The reason is easy enough to see - a dogged ideological commitment to encouraging work by punishing those on benefits. The Guardian quotes a governmental source pointing out that entering part time work exempts families from the cap, adding:

There might be some people who have to move to a less expensive area. But that doesn't mean they won't have anywhere to live. We are very optimistic about the behavioural change that this will bring about.

However, it is worth noting that the letter does not argue with the underlying principle that a family on benefits should be better off than a family that works. Rather, it suggests measures which would mitigate the negative effects while still retaining this fundamental aim. These include excluding child benefit from the cap, which would reduce the homelessness and child poverty risks, while still ensuring that most families with four children would not be able to live in "London or the south east" (Boris Johnson referred to this as "Kosovo style social cleansing" of poor people from cities).

Labour will try to force Pickles and the Welfare Minister, Iain Duncan Smith, to respond to an urgent question in the Commons today.

Unless it is modified, this policy risks failing on two counts: is not only inhumane but impractical and expensive too.

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

Getty
Show Hide image

The Nicholas Lezard guide to spending your book advance

It was quite wonderful, once again, to be able to do things such as go to restaurants, develop a fairly serious port habit and generally not scrounge.

Well, the good times had to end, as they always do, I suppose. I spent the last few months of 2016 experiencing the novel sensation of not being broke. You should try not being broke some time: it’s delightful. Then again, maybe you’re already not broke. We’ll come back to this later.

Anyway, the last time I had enough cash to be free of any kind of worry was back in, I think, 1989. I had an office job and was also getting regular work on the Sunday Correspondent. It wasn’t exactly two salaries but it was certainly at least one and a half.

One day, though, the good people at British Telecom – for that was where I was mostly employed – decided that I ought to be promoted. I didn’t like this idea, because it meant that I would have to start doing some actual work, rather than pottering around the place chatting to people and going for four-pint lunches. So I resigned. What could possibly go wrong? The Sunday Correspondent was a fine paper, and maybe one day I would be literary editor.

You may be wondering, if you are under 50, what the Sunday Correspondent is or was. Well, exactly. It was, as the keener among you will have worked out, a newspaper, a nice, liberal one, which appeared – the clue is in the name – on Sundays. And then one day it didn’t. So within a fairly short period of time I went from having two jobs to having none, and since then I have not troubled the bank by having more money than I know what to do with.

Oh, I get by. There are many, many others much, much worse off than I am. But it was quite wonderful, once again, to be able to do things such as go to restaurants, develop a fairly serious port habit and generally not scrounge.

My munificence to my children was lavish, for once. They’re not daft, though, and they knew it couldn’t and wouldn’t last, and when all those horrible bills that come at the beginning of the year came at the beginning of the year, the status quo ante reasserted itself, and I am going to have to rein things in once more. Rather fewer plates of eggs Benedict for breakfast at the posh eatery in Baker Street, and rather more bowls of Rice Krispies instead.

Or I could find a rich woman. This is the traditional lifeline for the indigent hack, or at least it used to be. Jeffrey Bernard, my sort-of predecessor, would just sit in the Coach and Horses, and sooner or later, after he had put out a distress call in his column, in would come another woman who saw romance in the life of the penniless barfly, and he would be OK again for a while. However, he was writing in the Spectator, which tends to circulate among people with money. I can’t pull the same trick off here, for obvious reasons.

I also wonder if something has changed in the nature of wealth. People who have the stuff these days generally don’t pass it on to people who don’t. The days of the patron are over. What they pass on instead is either impertinent and unwanted advice or simply a dirty look. (Naturally this does not include those kind souls who have been kind enough to help me out towards the end of awkward months in the past.)

But I had my time in the sun for a while, and very pleasant it was, too. I could have saved up the modest book advance for a rainy day but as far as I can see it’s always a rainy day around the Hovel, so what the heck, I thought. Also, it would be very much not in the spirit of the Prix Goncourt or the Jack Trevor Story Memorial Cup, the terms of which dictate that the prize money must be spent in two weeks with nothing to show for it.

I was awarded the Jack Trevor Story prize last year – or possibly the year before that, it’s all a bit hazy – and I like to think that I maintain a standard of fecklessness whether I’m being rewarded for it or not. And the sum involved, I should add, is not big, and two-thirds of it is being withheld until the book is written, and then published.

It’s a fair deal, though, and I’m not grumbling. I have made my bed, and I must lie in it, although I didn’t realise that it would have so many Rice Krispies in it. You try eating cereal in bed without spilling any. The only real problem with doing so, it occurs to me, is that I don’t think there are many women, rich or not, who would be attracted by the prospect of sharing a bed with me and my breakfast. And I can’t say I blame them.

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge