The benefit cap: what does it mean and why is it unfair?

Peers are to fight plans to cap benefits at £26,000, despite public support. Here is everything you

What is the benefit cap?

A cornerstone of Iain Duncan Smith's welfare reform, the principle behind the benefit cap is that unemployed people should not be paid more than working families. Under the proposals, working-age benefits would be capped at £500 per week, or £26,000 a year. This is equivalent to the average wage earned by working households after tax.

What do voters think?

The public are broadly with Duncan Smith on this one. A YouGov poll shows that 76 per cent of the public are in favour of the benefits cap, including 69 per cent of Labour voters. It also shows that 36 per cent would like to see even tougher measures, with no household getting more than £20,000 in welfare payments.

Why is it unfair?

There are several criticisms levelled against the cap, centering on the impact on children, and on the very families -- those in work and paying taxes -- who it is meant to defend.

It takes no account of children
The benefit cap is the same regardless of how many children a family has. Therefore a family with five children would receive the same amount as a family with just one or two. This has proved particularly problematic, with church leaders have called for child benefit to be exempted, while Nick Clegg conceded that government may need to look at "the place of children who were born, if you like, innocently into another set of rules".

Leaked government analysis showed that the move could push a further 100,000 children into poverty. Duncan Smith's team are scathing about an amendment that would exempt child benefit, saying it would encourage people on benefits to have more children. But what about families that already have many children? They should not be penalised for the fact of their existence.

It ignores employment history
A couple who have never worked will end up being less affected than families on a low to middle income who are suddenly affected by unemployment in the recession. This is because families with parents who have never worked will tend to live in social housing where rents are cheaper. However, low to middle earners are likely to rent privately: they are not poor enough to qualify for council accommodation but not well off enough to buy. There are 680,000 working households claiming housing benefit, making up 14 per cent of the total housing benefit caseload.

As the recession claims more and more jobs, many families who need short-term support could find themselves in an impossible position. Duncan Smith has criticised "people being placed in houses they cannot afford", but for these families, it is a case of rapidly changing circumstances rather than flagrantly living above their means.

It penalises those in the south-east
Rents are higher in the south-east, and cutting housing benefit to £100 a week makes it practically impossible for a family with children to rent privately. In the Guardian today, Tim Leunig says that after council tax, rent and utilities, a family with four children would be left with 62p per person per day to live on.

Critics have said that this will result in "social cleansing" from inner-city areas -- the percentage of privately rented properties in central London available to housing benefit claimants will fall from more than 50 per cent to just 7 per cent. Leunig predicts that many people will remain in these areas, where job prospects are better, but will have to "downsize", with siblings sharing bedrooms and parents sleeping on sofa-beds.

Who opposes it?

Lord Paddy Ashdown, the former Liberal Democrat leader, has said that he is unable to support the reform as it will unfairly penalise children in benefit dependent homes. He said:

I voted with the Government on everything until now. I see it as my job as an ex-leader to support my successor, but I will not support the benefit cap in its present form.

Church of England bishops, led by John Packer, the Bishop of Ripon and Leeds, will today table the key amendment around which rebel Lords plan to gather. It would exempt child benefit from the cap. As outlined above, the government is hostile to such a plan, though Clegg has suggested that there may be some scope for "transitional arrangements" to cushion the effect.

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

Getty Images
Show Hide image

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