Million Jobs: The group with links to IDS's think tank which is defending workfare

Is workfare actually supported by the young or just the young Conservatives?

Million Jobs, a campaign formed to "stand up for young people without work", has got a lot of attention. Its 23-year-old founder, Lottie Dexter, has been quoted in the Sun warning about long-term unemployment, and was invited on to BBC News to defend the government's work experience program after elements of it were found to be illegal.

The stated aims of Million Jobs are admirable, with its manifesto passionately calling out the government out on the "completely unacceptable" number of jobless young people, and arguing "we need to take action to foster the future". Dexter says that:

Young people up and down the country (many of which are my peers) are totally despairing and I wanted to start a campaign that speaks up for them — and gets people to help them. I’ve already traveled the country to listen to young unemployed people from all backgrounds, and continue to work with to make sure that their experiences are fed into the national debate.

But I am concerned that the ways in which Dexter wants to help young people are more pre-determined than the people turning to her for comment may expect.

Dexter was previously the communications co-ordinator of Iain Duncan Smith's right-wing think-tank the Centre for Social Justice, a role she left to launch Million Jobs. Her salary is now paid through donations from the site, but her political past sometimes shines through.

While Million Jobs tackles many aspects of youth-focused public policy, it's taken a particular shine to defending the Government's unpaid work programmes. Dexter has written that "Back to Work schemes are not 'Slavery'", and that the workfare ruling "undermines welfare reform", as well as appearing on BBC news to defend the programmes again.

Having a voice within the Conservatives fighting for the young is valuable. The party has a worrying tendency to trade the young for the old (witness, for example, the freezing of almost all benefits except pensions), and that needs to be pushed against. It is clear Dexter cares passionately about her work. Anyone my age quitting a secure job to campaign on an issue full-time must be committed to the cause. But if Million Jobs is pushing a Tory solution to youth unemployment, that ought to be made clear from the start. Presenting the views of the right as the voice of the youth is misleading.

British musicians Miss Dynamite and Charlie from Busted join unemployed young people as they stand in line outside a job centre. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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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