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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I dined behind the Houses of Parliament in my sexually connected foursome

My wife and I would sometimes dine out with another couple. We did not always check the significance of the date. 

I am self-employed and find that working from home, setting your own schedule, the days generally blur into each other, with weekends holding no significance, and public holidays, when those who are employed in factories, offices or shops get time off, meaning nothing. I am often surprised to go out and find the streets empty of traffic because it is some national day of observance, such as Christmas, that I wasn’t aware of. I find myself puzzled as to why the shops are suddenly full of Easter eggs or pancake batter.

Growing up in a Communist household, we had a distinct dislike for this kind of manufactured marketing opportunity anyway. I remember the time my mother tried to make me feel guilty because I’d done nothing for her on Mother’s Day and I pointed out that it was she who had told me that Mother’s Day was a cynical creation of the greetings card monopolies and the floral industrial complex.

Valentine’s Day is one of those I never see coming. It’s the one day of the year when even the worst restaurants are completely booked out by couples attempting to enjoy a romantic evening. Even those old-fashioned cafés you’ll find still lurking behind railway stations and serving spaghetti with bread and butter will tell you there’s a waiting list if you leave it late to reserve a table.

In the late 1980s my wife and I would sometimes dine out with another couple, he a writer and she a TV producer. One particular place we liked was a restaurant attached to a 1930s block of flats, near the Houses of Parliament, where the endless corridors were lined with blank doors, behind which you sensed awful things happened. The steel dining room dotted with potted palm trees overlooked a swimming pool, and this seemed terribly sophisticated to us even if it meant all your overpriced food had a vague taste of chlorine.

The four of us booked to eat there on 14 February, not realising the significance of the date. We found at every other table there was a single couple, either staring adoringly into each other’s eyes or squabbling.

As we sat down I noticed we were getting strange looks from our fellow diners. Some were sort of knowing, prompting smiles and winks; others seemed more outraged. The staff, too, were either simpering or frosty. After a while we realised what was going on: it was Valentine’s Day! All the other customers had assumed that we were a sexually connected foursome who had decided to celebrate our innovative relationship by having dinner together on this special date.

For the four of us, the smirking attention set up a strange dynamic: after that night it always felt like we were saying something seedy to each other. “Do you want to get together on Sunday?” I’d say to one of them on the phone, and then find myself blushing. “I’ll see if we can fit it in,” they’d reply, and we would both giggle nervously.

Things became increasingly awkward between us, until in the end we stopped seeing them completely. 

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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