The problem with welfare reform? It's the market, not the benefits cap

Labour should focus on reforming the market to support the vulnerable without being labeled as profl

Labour should focus on reforming the market to support the vulnerable without being labeled as profligate.

Amanda Jacobs (not her real name) lives down the road from me in Peckham. It's a classic inner London location where deprivation soars as high as the rents. The state pays £900 a month to keep her and her daughter in a tiny, damp flat with failing heating. With 20,000 people on the waiting list, there's not much chance of a council house, and the jobs she's qualified to do would almost certainly leave her worse off.

"I want to work, and I've been looking," she says, "But there's no way I could afford the rent if I lost my benefit, and I have to think about her (my daughter) -- I don't want her changing schools again."

Talking to Amanda, you can't deny that some of the right's critique is spot on. It's true that the threat of losing benefit stops you working. It's true that paying £192bn a year in welfare is outrageous when you're trying to decrease debt. And it's true that the public is running out of sympathy for families like hers. Perhaps that's partly why in a week when the Tories have been talking about capping benefit, they have gained a five-point poll lead over Labour.

So what does the left do? It would fail people like Amanda to follow the coalition and suddenly limit their benefits. As Randeep Ramesh helpfully points out, the government itself acknowledges that this move is likely to increase child poverty and detrimentally affect some disabled groups and even those in work. But the left will also fail people if it leaves them in a position where work doesn't pay.

The answer is not to simply accept a watered down version of the government's proposals that allow a higher cap for higher rent areas like London, or even to just exclude child benefit from the equation. The answer is to change the market as well as the state.

First, we need to understand that the disincentive to work doesn't just come from high benefits from the public sector. It also comes from low wages in the private sector. For most people on benefits, the only jobs available are low skilled, badly paid, insecure and part time. If you had a living wage, regular hours and a chance of rising up through a company, you would be more likely to come off benefits, not because of the threat of eviction, but because of the rewards of employment.

Second, you need stricter regulation on the scandal that is the private rented sector. There is no way that Amanda's flat is worth £900 a month. In a world where housing is limited and ownership concentrated, we need much tighter regulation that so far we're failing to get. Otherwise we're just wasting our money and vulnerable people are still living in substandard housing.

Finally, we also need to promote alternative models of home ownership that give people a stake in where they live. Co-operatives, mutuals and community land trusts need to be much more accessible. What's happening in Rochdale -- where they have just created the largest housing mutual in the country -- is interesting. The left should remember its past and learn from it.

So the problem with welfare reform isn't so much the benefits cap, it's the failure to look at the problems of the market as well as the state. What I wanted to get across on the Sunday Politics this week but didn't have space to, is that the Tories have nothing to say about this. Reforming the market is fertile ground for Labour if the party wants to support the vulnerable without being labeled as profligate. And perhaps most importantly, such measures wouldn't just support Amanda, they'd also leave her more empowered.

Rowenna Davis is a journalist and author of Tangled up in Blue: Blue Labour and the Struggle for Labour's Soul, published by Ruskin Publishing at £8.99. She is also a Labour councillor.
 

Rowenna Davis is Labour PPC for Southampton Itchen and a councillor for Peckham

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What happens when a president refuses to step down?

An approaching constitutional crisis has triggered deep political unrest in the Congo.

Franck Diongo reached his party’s headquarters shortly after 10am and stepped out of a Range Rover. Staff and hangers-on rose from plastic chairs to greet the president of the Mouvement Lumumbiste Progressiste (MLP), named after the first elected leader of the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Diongo, a compact and powerfully built man, was so tightly wound that his teeth ground as he talked. When agitated, he slammed his palms on the table and his speech became shrill. “We live under a dictatorial regime, so it used the security forces to kill us with live rounds to prevent our demonstration,” he said.

The MLP is part of a coalition of opposition parties known as the Rassemblement. Its aim is to ensure that the Congolese president, Joseph Kabila, who has been president since 2001, leaves office on 19 December, at the end of his second and supposedly final term.

Yet the elections that were meant to take place late last month have not been organised. The government has blamed logistical and financial difficulties, but Kabila’s opponents claim that the president has hamstrung the electoral commission in the hope that he can use his extended mandate to change the rules. “Mr Kabila doesn’t want to quit power,” said Diongo, expressing a widespread belief here.

On 19 September, the Rassemblement planned a march in Kinshasa, the capital, to protest the failure to deliver elections and to remind the president that his departure from office was imminent. But the demonstration never took place. At sunrise, clashes broke out between police and protesters in opposition strongholds. The military was deployed. By the time peace was restored 36 hours later, dozens had died. Kabila’s interior minister, claiming that the government had faced down an insurrection, acknowledged the deaths of 32 people but said that they were killed by criminals during looting.

Subsequent inquiries by the United Nations and Human Rights Watch (HRW) told a different story. They recorded more fatalities – at least 53 and 56, respectively – and said that the state had been responsible for most of the deaths. They claimed that the Congolese authorities had obstructed the investigators, and the true number of casualties was likely higher. According to HRW, security forces had seized and removed bodies “in an apparent effort to hide the evidence”.

The UN found that the lethal response was directed from a “central command centre. . . jointly managed” by officials from the police, army, presidential bodyguard and intelligence agency that “authorised the use of force, including firearms”.

The reports validated claims made by the Rassemblement that it was soldiers who had set fire to several opposition parties’ headquarters on 20 September. Six men were killed when the compound of the UDPS party was attacked.

On 1 November, their funerals took place where they fell. White coffins, each draped in a UDPS flag, were shielded from the midday sun by a gazebo, while mourners found shade inside the charred building. Pierrot Tshibangu lost his younger sibling, Evariste, in the attack. “When we arrived, we found my brother’s body covered in stab marks and bullet wounds,” he recalled.

Once the government had suppressed the demonstration, the attorney general compiled a list of influential figures in the Rassemblement – including Diongo – and forbade them from leaving the capital. Kinshasa’s governor then outlawed all political protest.

It was easy to understand why Diongo felt embattled, even paranoid. Midway through our conversation, his staff apprehended a man loitering in the courtyard. Several minutes of mayhem ensued before he was restrained and confined under suspicion of spying for the government.

Kabila is seldom seen in public and almost never addresses the nation. His long-term intentions are unclear, but the president’s chief diplomatic adviser maintains that his boss has no designs on altering the constitution or securing a third term. He insists that Kabila will happily step down once the country is ready for the polls.

Most refuse to believe such assurances. On 18 October, Kabila’s ruling alliance struck a deal with a different, smaller opposition faction. It allows Kabila to stay in office until the next election, which has been postponed until April 2018. A rickety government of national unity is being put in place but discord is already rife.

Jean-Lucien Bussa of the CDER party helped to negotiate the deal and is now a front-runner for a ministerial portfolio. At a corner table in the national assembly’s restaurant, he told me that the Rassemblement was guilty of “a lack of realism”, and that its fears were misplaced because Kabila won’t be able to prolong his presidency any further.

“On 29 April 2018, the Congolese will go to the ballot box to vote for their next president,” he said. “There is no other alternative for democrats than to find a negotiated solution, and this accord has given us one.”

Diongo was scathing of the pact (he called it “a farce intended to deceive”) and he excommunicated its adherents from his faction. “They are Mr Kabila’s collaborators, who came to divide the opposition,” he told me. “What kind of oppositionist can give Mr Kabila the power to violate the constitution beyond 19 December?”

Diongo is convinced that the president has no intention of walking away from power in April 2018. “Kabila will never organise elections if he cannot change the constitution,” he warned.

Diongo’s anger peaked at the suggestion that it will be an uphill struggle to dislodge a head of state who has control of the security forces. “What you need to consider,” he said, “is that no army can defy a people determined to take control of their destiny . . . The Congolese people will have the last word!”

A recent poll suggested that the president would win less than 8 per cent of the vote if an election were held this year. One can only assume that Kabila is hoping that the population will have no say at all.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage