Cameron's EU speech: the questions he will need to answer

The questions the PM will face on renegotiation, the referendum and withdrawal.

Barring any unforseen hitches (and one wouldn't bet against it), David Cameron will finally deliver his long-delayed speech on the EU at 8am tomorrow at Bloomberg's London HQ. (The venue for Ed Balls's famous demolition of austerity in August 2010.) Here are some of the questions he'll need to answer. 

Which powers would a Conservative government seek to repatriate from the EU?

Cameron has promised to use the negotiations over the future shape of the eurozone to secure a "fresh settlement" for Britain, leaving open the question of which specific powers he wants to repatriate from Brussels. One guide to the Prime Minister's intentions is the last Conservative general election manifesto, which declared, "a Conservative government will negotiate for three specific guarantees – on the Charter of fundamental rights, on criminal justice, and on social and employment legislation – with our european partners to return powers that we believe should reside with the UK, not the EU." It was the Tories' failure to win a majority and the formation of the coalition that meant they were unable to fulfil this pledge. 

More recently, the eurosceptic Fresh Start group of Conservative MPs made the following demands in its Manifesto for Change

1. An emergency brake for any member state in financial services.
 
2. Repatriation to member states of the competence in social and employment law. Failing that a UK opt-out and emergency brake.
 
3. A UK opt-out from policing and criminal justice measures not already covered by block opt-out.
 
4. A new legal safeguard for the single market.
 
5. The abolition of the Strasbourg seat of the European parliament, the economic and social committee, and the committee of the regions
In his foreword to the manifesto, William Hague wrote: "Many of the proposals are already government policy, some could well become future government or Conservative party policy and some may require further thought."
 
Tory MPs will be watching closely tomorrow to see how many make it into Cameron's speech. 
 
What form would a referendum take?
 
We already know that Cameron, who has pledged to seek "fresh consent" for any new settlement, will use his speech to outline plans to hold a referendum at some point in the next parliament. But the Prime Minister will need to make it clear whether this will be a vote on Britain's EU membership in general or on the renegotiation. If the latter, as seems likely, Cameron will need to say whether a 'no' vote would amount to a vote for withdrawal or rather a rejection of the "new settlement". The Prime Minister's warning that the British people could "drift towards the exit", included in the pre-released extracts of his speech, suggests that a 'no' vote will mean Britain leaving the EU. 
 
When would a referendum be held?
 
With any renegotiation likely to take several years, the assumption in Westminster is that the referendum would be held in the middle of the next parliament. Cameron will need to offer some indication of the expected timeframe tomorrow. 
 
Will the referendum pledge be enshrined in legislation?
 
Conservative MPs, some of whom have never forgiven Cameron for breaking his "cast-iron" promise to hold a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty, are demanding that any referendum pledge is enshrined in law. This, they hope, would eliminate any risk of backsliding by the PM.  
 
A Commons vote on a bill authorising an EU referendum would also force Labour and the Liberal Democrats to either vote with the Conservatives or stand accused of denying the British people a say. For this reason, it is a tactic that may appeal to Cameron and George Osborne, who performed a similar trick with his Welfare Uprating Bill. 
 
What happens if the renegotiations are unsuccessful?
 
Cameron's strategy is premised on the belief that Britain will prove successful in seeking the return of powers from the EU. "I am confident we will get the changes that we want," he said during a recent appearance on the Today programme. Cameron believes that Germany, fearful of handing greater influence to protectionist France, is prepared to make concessions to the UK, rather than risk it walking out. 
 
But the Prime Minister, who is expected to take questions from the media after his speech, will be challenged to say how he would respond if his efforts at repatriation proved largely or totally unsuccessful. Rather than holding a referendum on the "new settlement", would a simple in/out vote be held? 
 
Are there any circumstances in which you would support EU withdrawal?
 
Some Conservatives, most notably Michael Gove, argue that any renegotiation will prove unsuccessful unless Cameron makes it clear that he is prepared to support withdrawal if the EU refuses to pay ball. In a concession to such figures, Cameron has conceded that Britain would not "collapse" if it left the union. But the PM, who has said repeatedly that he does not want the UK to adopt a Norwegian-style "associate membership", is unlikely to go any further tomorrow.
 
Would you allow Conservative cabinet ministers to campaign for withdrawal?
 
If Cameron's attempt to repatriate powers is largely unsuccessful, a significant minority of cabinet ministers are likely to support withdrawal. Eric Pickles, for instance, recently commented, "If it's in our firm national interest that we should remain in the EU – and I sincerely hope that is the case – then we should stay. But we shouldn't stay at any price." The Spectator's James Forsyth has reported that there are "at least nine Cabinet members" who would be inclined to vote "out" in a referendum if Cameron only proves able to secure minor concessions such as the exemption of the NHS from the Working Time Directive and restrictions on immigration from the EU. 
 
Confronted by a cabinet split in 1975, Harold Wilson took the unusual step of suspending collective ministerial responsibility in order to allow his ministers to support either side in the Europe referendum campaign. Seven Labour cabinet ministers - Tony Benn, Barbara Castle, Michael Foot, William Ross, Peter Shore John Silkin, Eric Varley - went on to unsuccessfully argue for withdrawal from the EEC (the vote was 67-33 in favour of membership).
 
Will Cameron follow this precedent? When Ed Miliband asked him at last week's Prime Minister's Questions whether he would allow Tory cabinet ministers to support withdrawal, he simply ignored the question. He will find it harder to do so tomorrow. 
 
David Cameron speaks during a press conference at the EU Headquarters on December 14, 2012 in Brussels. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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The Tinder dating app isn't just about sex – it's about friendship, too. And sex

The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, as I found out quickly while using the app.

The first time I met someone using Tinder, the free dating app that requires users to swipe left for “no” and right for “yes” before enabling new “matches” to chat, it was an unqualified success. I should probably qualify that. I was newly single after five years in a committed relationship and wasn’t looking for anything more than fun, friendship and, well, who knows. A few weeks earlier I had tried to give my number to a girl in a cinema café in Brixton. I wrote it on a postcard I’d been using as a bookmark. She said she had a boyfriend, but wanted to keep the postcard. I had no date and I lost my page.

My Tinder date was a master’s student from Valencia called Anna (her name wasn’t really Anna, of course, I’m not a sociopath). When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, she told me I was far more handsome IRL (“in real life”) than my pictures suggested. I was flattered and full of praise for the directness of continental Europeans but also thought sadly to myself: “If only the same could be said about you.”

Anna and I became friends, at least for a while. The date wasn’t a success in the traditional sense of leading us into a contract based on exclusivity, an accumulating cache of resentments and a mortgage, but it had put me back in the game (an appropriate metaphor – people speak regularly of “playing” with the app).

According to Sean Rad, the co-founder who launched Tinder in late 2012, the service was invented for people like me. “It was really a way to overcome my own problems,” he told the editor of Cosmopolitan at an event in London last month. “It was weird to me, to start a conversation [with a stranger]. Once I had an introduction I was fine, but it’s that first step. It’s difficult for a lot of people.” After just one outing, I’d learned two fundamental lessons about the world of online dating: pretty much everyone has at least one decent picture of themselves, and meeting women using a so-called hook-up app is seldom straightforwardly about sex.

Although sometimes it is. My second Tinder date took place in Vienna. I met Louisa (ditto, name) outside some notable church or other one evening while visiting on holiday (Tinder tourism being, in my view, a far more compelling way to get to know a place than a cumbersome Lonely Planet guide). We drank cocktails by the Danube and rambled across the city before making the romantic decision to stay awake all night, as she had to leave early the next day to go hiking with friends. It was just like the Richard Linklater movie Before Sunrise – something I said out loud more than a few times as the Aperol Spritzes took their toll.

When we met up in London a few months later, Louisa and I decided to skip the second part of Linklater’s beautiful triptych and fast-track our relationship straight to the third, Before Midnight, which takes place 18 years after the protagonists’ first meet in Vienna, and have begun to discover that they hate each others’ guts.

Which is one of the many hazards of the swiping life: unlike with older, web-based platforms such as Match.com or OkCupid, which require a substantial written profile, Tinder users know relatively little about their prospective mates. All that’s necessary is a Facebook account and a single photograph. University, occupation, a short bio and mutual Facebook “likes” are optional (my bio is made up entirely of emojis: the pizza slice, the dancing lady, the stack of books).

Worse still, you will see people you know on Tinder – that includes colleagues, neighbours and exes – and they will see you. Far more people swipe out of boredom or curiosity than are ever likely to want to meet up, in part because swiping is so brain-corrosively addictive.

While the company is cagey about its user data, we know that Tinder has been downloaded over 100 million times and has produced upwards of 11 billion matches – though the number of people who have made contact will be far lower. It may sound like a lot but the Tinder user-base remains stuck at around the 50 million mark: a self-selecting coterie of mainly urban, reasonably affluent, generally white men and women, mostly aged between 18 and 34.

A new generation of apps – such as Hey! Vina and Skout – is seeking to capitalise on Tinder’s reputation as a portal for sleaze, a charge Sean Rad was keen to deny at the London event. Tinder is working on a new iteration, Tinder Social, for groups of friends who want to hang out with other groups on a night out, rather than dating. This makes sense for a relatively fresh business determined to keep on growing: more people are in relationships than out of them, after all.

After two years of using Tinder, off and on, last weekend I deleted the app. I had been visiting a friend in Sweden, and took it pretty badly when a Tinder date invited me to a terrible nightclub, only to take a few looks at me and bolt without even bothering to fabricate an excuse. But on the plane back to London the next day, a strange thing happened. Before takeoff, the woman sitting beside me started crying. I assumed something bad had happened but she explained that she was terrified of flying. Almost as terrified, it turned out, as I am. We wound up holding hands through a horrific patch of mid-air turbulence, exchanged anecdotes to distract ourselves and even, when we were safely in sight of the ground, a kiss.

She’s in my phone, but as a contact on Facebook rather than an avatar on a dating app. I’ll probably never see her again but who knows. People connect in strange new ways all the time. The lines between sex, love and friendship are blurrier than ever, but you can be sure that if you look closely at the lines, you’ll almost certainly notice the pixels.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad