What does Miliband mean by the "structural" welfare bill?

It doesn't even need capping.

Ed Miliband will cap "structural welfare spending" if he is elected in 2015, he announced today, saying that "such a cap will alert the next Labour government to problems coming down the track and ensure that we make policy to keep the social security budget in limits."

It's not entirely clear what Miliband means by "structural" welfare spending at this point. It could just be a political fudge, designed to mimic the Conservatives' similarly fudgy focus on the "structural" deficit. The structural deficit is a particularly difficult thing to actually measure, because it relies on three pieces of information all of which are themselves uncertain: the output gap, the relation of public spending to economic growth, and the response of tax revenues to both.

Get any of them wrong, and your estimate of the structural deficit is off; get all three wrong, and you can be billions of pounds off the mark. And look at just the variation in the estimates of the output gap, via Touchstone:

But whereas the structural deficit is at least a conventional economic concept, albeit one hugely prone to measurement error, it's not entirely clear what "structural" welfare spending is, and even less clear how to cap it.

The best guess is that the structural welfare bill is the bill which we would expect to see in normal times; in other words, Labour won't view a rise in housing benefit due to the recession as a problem, but would be more concerned if, during the recovery, it fails to drop down to lower levels.

If that is the definition, then it has an interesting outcome once Labour start to cap it, because, as Declan Gaffney showed last month, "there has been no structural increase in the level of aggregate working age welfare spending for a very long time". That's because welfare spending, properly construed, must take into account foregone revenue as well as public expenditure: the most prominent example of which is tax credits. Around £3bn of the cost of tax credits in 2012/13 came from an offset to income tax. Money wasn't being "spent", but it was certainly a cost of welfare.

And when you take into account other taxation expenditures – like the mortgage interest tax relief, which was abolished in 2000 – you find that structural welfare costs have stayed remarkably stable. This chart again from Declan Gaffney's piece:

 

The real question is what "structural" welfare means for people not of working age. Because, thanks to our ageing nation, the state pension liability is growing year-on-year, and even pushing back the pension age by a year from 2026 won't help too much. Of course, it would be possible for Labour to define that increase as something other than structural – "demographic", perhaps – and thereby dodge the question. But if they don't, the key effect of this promise could be that Labour has pledged to cut pensions, two years before a general election against a party which has pledged to keep them above inflation and wage rises indefinitely.

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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The UK press’s timid reaction to Brexit is in marked contrast to the satire unleashed on Trump

For the BBC, it seems, to question leaving the EU is to be unpatriotic.

Faced with arguably their biggest political-cum-constitutional ­crisis in half a century, the press on either side of the pond has reacted very differently. Confronting a president who, unlike many predecessors, does not merely covertly dislike the press but rages against its supposed mendacity as a purveyor of “fake news”, the fourth estate in the US has had a pretty successful first 150-odd days of the Trump era. The Washington Post has recovered its Watergate mojo – the bloodhound tenacity that brought down Richard Nixon. The Post’s investigations into links between the Kremlin and Donald Trump’s associates and appointees have yielded the scalp of the former security adviser Michael Flynn and led to Attorney General Jeff Sessions recusing himself from all inquiries into Trump-Russia contacts. Few imagine the story will end there.

Meanwhile, the New York Times has cast off its image as “the grey lady” and come out in sharper colours. Commenting on the James Comey memo in an editorial, the Times raised the possibility that Trump was trying to “obstruct justice”, and called on Washington lawmakers to “uphold the constitution”. Trump’s denunciations of the Times as “failing” have acted as commercial “rocket fuel” for the paper, according to its CEO, Mark Thompson: it gained an “astonishing” 308,000 net digital news subscriptions in the first quarter of 2017.

US-based broadcast organisations such as CNN and ABC, once considered slick or bland, have reacted to Trump’s bullying in forthright style. Political satire is thriving, led by Saturday Night Live, with its devastating impersonations of the president by Alec Baldwin and of his press secretary Sean Spicer by the brilliant Melissa McCarthy.

British press reaction to Brexit – an epic constitutional, political and economic mess-up that probably includes a mind-bogglingly destructive self-ejection from a single market and customs union that took decades to construct, a move pushed through by a far-right faction of the Tory party – has been much more muted. The situation is complicated by the cheerleading for Brexit by most of the British tabloids and the Daily Telegraph. There are stirrings of resistance, but even after an election in which Theresa May spectacularly failed to secure a mandate for her hard Brexit, there is a sense, though the criticism of her has been intense, of the media pussy-footing around a government in disarray – not properly interrogating those who still seem to promise that, in relation to Europe, we can have our cake and eat it.

This is especially the case with the BBC, a state broadcaster that proudly proclaims its independence from the government of the day, protected by the famous “arm’s-length” principle. In the case of Brexit, the BBC invoked its concept of “balance” to give equal airtime and weight to Leavers and Remainers. Fair enough, you might say, but according to the economist Simon Wren-Lewis, it ignored a “near-unanimous view among economists that Brexit would hurt the UK economy in the longer term”.

A similar view of “balance” in the past led the BBC to equate views of ­non-scientific climate contrarians, often linked to the fossil-fuel lobby, with those of leading climate scientists. Many BBC Remainer insiders still feel incensed by what they regard as BBC betrayal over Brexit. Although the referendum of 23 June 2016 said nothing about leaving the single market or the customs union, the Today presenter Justin Webb, in a recent interview with Stuart Rose, put it like this: “Staying in the single market, staying in the customs union – [Leave voters would say] you might as well not be leaving. That fundamental position is a matter of democracy.” For the BBC, it seems, to question Brexit is somehow to be unpatriotic.

You might think that an independent, pro-democratic press would question the attempted use of the arcane and archaic “royal prerogative” to enable the ­bypassing of parliament when it came to triggering Article 50, signalling the UK’s departure from the EU. But when the campaigner Gina Miller’s challenge to the government was upheld by the high court, the three ruling judges were attacked on the front page of the Daily Mail as “enemies of the people”. Thomas Jefferson wrote that he would rather have “newspapers without a government” than “a government without newspapers”. It’s a fair guess he wasn’t thinking of newspapers that would brand the judiciary as “enemies of the people”.

It does seem significant that the United States has a written constitution, encapsulating the separation and balance of powers, and explicitly designed by the Founding Fathers to protect the young republic against tyranny. When James Madison drafted the First Amendment he was clear that freedom of the press should be guaranteed to a much higher degree in the republic than it had been in the colonising power, where for centuries, after all, British monarchs and prime ministers have had no qualms about censoring an unruly media.

By contrast, the United Kingdom remains a hybrid of monarchy and democracy, with no explicit protection of press freedom other than the one provided by the common law. The national impulse to bend the knee before the sovereign, to obey and not question authority, remains strangely powerful in Britain, the land of Henry VIII as well as of George Orwell. That the United Kingdom has slipped 11 places in the World Press Freedom Index in the past four years, down to 40th, has rightly occasioned outrage. Yet, even more awkwardly, the United States is three places lower still, at 43rd. Freedom of the press may not be doing quite as well as we imagine in either country.

Harry Eyres is the author of Horace and Me: Life Lessons from an Ancient Poet (2013)

This article first appeared in the 20 July 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The new world disorder