George Osborne thinks he can win by appealing to mean-spiritedness

Here's why he's wrong.

During his pre-budget statement last week, the Chancellor George Osborne set out his intent to ensure that many benefits only rise by one per cent for the next three years.

This has been hailed by some on the right of politics as a fiscally responsible thing to do and a way of ensuring that benefits do not rise by more than many people's wages have in the last few years. There have been others who have claimed that it is regressive and unfair to heap such a burden of real-terms cuts on those in society least able to afford it.

But what many think, regardless of what they consider the rights and wrongs of the decision, is that Osborne has set a clever trap for Eds Miliband and Balls to fall into. The theory goes that public opinion is on the side of those who want to "control" the benefits bill and that anyone arguing against this will essentially be putting themselves on the side of the "skivers" as opposed to the "strivers".

As it happens it is beginning to look like Osborne has actually got this calculation wrong with 69 per cent of people in a recent poll saying they thought benefits should rise in line with inflation or higher. However, even without polling evidence, this move just feels wrong. The idea that the poorest in society should suffer a real terms cut in their income when many of those people are already close to the edge financially (witness the huge rise of payday lenders in recent years for example) sits very ill with me.

Part of the problem that was identified almost straight away by opponents of the measure is that 60 per cent of those affected by the cuts are actually in work. But really, that shouldn't matter either. Trying to pitch those who are working against those who are not is the worst kind of politics. The vast majority of those out of work would love to have a job and although unemployment is falling it is still far too high. Many of those who Osborne seems to be painting as skivers currently have no choice.

He has made a serious political mistake here. Ten years ago Theresa May made a speech where she described how the Conservatives had the unwelcome mantle of "The Nasty Party". This resonated because it rang true. David Cameron has spent years trying to detoxify his party with trips to the Arctic, endless speeches on the NHS and all sorts of other measures to attempt to reassure voters that they have changed.

With measures like this one per cent rise Osborne is retoxifying his party. He is punishing the poorest in society for an economic situation that they had nothing to do with creating and doing it in such a way as to try and pitch different sections of society against each other. He seems to be hoping that envy will win the day.

I hope and expect he is wrong about this. Not because opinion polls tell us so. But because I do not recognise the mean-spirited picture of Britain that he seems determined to paint. We're better than that.

The trap he thought he had set has sprung shut on the Chancellor as he tried to tip-toe away from it.

He and his party will ultimately pay a heavy price for this.

Mark Thompson is a political blogger and commentator who edits the award winning Mark Thompson's Blog and is on Twitter @MarkReckons.

George Osborne.
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Grandpa was ill and wasn’t keen on climbing the volcano – but we forced him up all the same

I squinted. Apart from a gleam of turquoise, the view was of one big cloud. Slowly the words started to form in my head. Just. Like. Scotland.

At first, Grandpa was sceptical about the volcano. “I used to be into that kind of thing,” he said, “but not now.” He did not mention that he was 88.

The guidebook to Indonesia – which he disdained – described how, once you got to the crater, the mist would rise to reveal a shimmering lake. His fellow travellers, my sister and I, often joked about our family’s tendency to declare everything to be “just like Scotland”. This was a living, breathing volcano. It would be nothing like Scotland.

But as Grandpa reminisced about his childhood in the Dutch East Indies, he began to warm to the idea. We set off at 7am and drove past villages with muddled terracotta roofs and rice paddies spread across the valleys like glimmering tables. We talked excitedly about our adventure. Then it began to rain. “Perhaps it will blow over,” I said to my sister, as the view from the windows turned into smears.

Our driver stopped at a car park. With remarkable efficiency, he opened the doors for us and drove away. The rain was like gunfire.

To get to the crater, we had to climb into an open-sided minibus where we sat shivering in our wet summer clothes. Grandpa coughed. It was a nasty cough, which seemed to be getting worse; we had been trying to persuade him to go to a pharmacy for days. Instead, we had persuaded him up a cold and wet mountain.

Five minutes passed, and the minibus didn’t budge. Then another bedraggled family squeezed in. I thought of all the would-be volcano tourists curled up in their hotels.

“Look,” I said to the attendant. “My grandfather is not well. Can we please start?”

He shook his head. “Not till all seats are full.” We exchanged a glance with the other family and paid for the empty seats. The driver set off immediately.

The minibus charged up a road through the jungle, bouncing from puddle to puddle. Grandpa pulled out his iPhone and took a selfie.

The summit was even colder, wetter, rainier and more unpleasant. We paid a small fortune to borrow an umbrella and splashed towards the lake. My sister stopped by a fence.

“Where is it?” I said.

“I think . . . this is it,” she replied.

I squinted. Apart from a gleam of turquoise, the view was of one big cloud. Slowly the words started to form in my head. Just. Like. Scotland.

I thought remorsefully of the guidebook, how I’d put my sightseeing greed before my grandfather’s health. Then I noticed the sign: “Danger! Do not approach the sulphur if you have breathing problems.”

Grandpa, still coughing, was holding the umbrella. He beckoned me to join him. I didn’t know it then, but when we made it back to the car, he would be the first to warm up and spend the journey back telling us stories of surviving the war.

But at that moment, in the dreich rain, he gave me some advice I won’t forget.

“If anyone tells you to go and see a volcano,” he said, “you can tell them to fuck off.” 

Julia Rampen is the editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog. She was previously deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines. 

This article first appeared in the 23 March 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump's permanent revolution