The poll that shows Labour can win the argument over benefits

The better educated people are about the benefits system, the less likely they are to support the coalition's reforms.

At first glance, the latest poll on the government's benefit cuts might appear discouraging for opponents of the coalition's approach. YouGov's survey for the TUC found that 48 per cent of people support George Osborne's plan to cap benefit increases at 1 per cent for the next three years, with 32 per cent opposed. However, their support is based on the false belief that the unemployed will be most affected by the move (64 per cent believed they would be). When informed that the cap will also affect low-paid workers receiving in-work benefits (60 per cent of the cut falls on working families), support for the policy falls to 30 per cent and opposition rises to 40 per cent.

Ahead of next Tuesday's vote on the government's Welfare Uprating Bill, which will enshrine in law Osborne's plan to raise benefits by 1 per cent, rather than in line with inflation (which currently stands at 2.7 per cent), the poll should stiffen the resolve of Labour, which has vowed to oppose the legislation. The clear evidence is that the better educated people are about the benefits system, the less likely they are to support the coalition's reforms. The moral and political duty for Labour is to raise the public's level of understanding. The poll reveals how widespread ignorance about the welfare system is:

  • On average, people think that 41 per cent of welfare spending goes on benefits to the unemployed. The actual figure is three per cent.
  • People believe that 27 per cent of benefits are claimed fraudulently. The goverment's own figure is 0.7 per cent.
  • On average, people think that almost half (48 per cent) of those who claim Jobseeker's Allowance do so for more than a year. The true figure is 27.8 per cent.
  • People guessed that an unemployed couple with two school-aged children would receive £147 a week in Jobseeker’s Allowance. They would actually receive £111.45.

Significantly, the poll found that while 53 per cent of those who gave the least accurate answers believe that benefits are too generous, less than a third (31 per cent) of those who gave the most accurate answers think that they are. As TUC general secretary Frances O'Grady says, it's not surprising that voters generally favour punitive welfare cuts - "They think the system is much more generous than it is in reality, is riddled with fraud and is heavily skewed towards helping the unemployed, who they think are far more likely to stay on the dole than is actually the case."

But as long as Labour continues to emphasise that the main victims of the real-terms cut will be the working poor, while also reminding the public that the majority of the unemployed have worked or will work again soon, there is good reason to believe that it can win the argument.

British musicians Miss Dynamite (5th L) and Charlie Simpson (6th L) join unemployed young people as they stand in line outside a job centre in central London. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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As the strangers approach the bed, I wonder if this could be a moment of great gentleness

I don’t know what to do. In my old T-shirt and M&S pants, I don’t know what to do.

It’s 1.13am on an autumn morning some time towards the end of the 20th century and I’m awake in a vast hotel bed in a small town in the east of England. The mysterious east, with its horizons that seem to stretch further than they should be allowed to stretch by law. I can’t sleep. My asthma is bad and I’m wheezing. The clock I bought for £3 many years earlier ticks my life away with its long, slow music. The street light outside makes the room glow and shimmer.

I can hear footsteps coming down the corridor – some returning drunks, I guess, wrecked on the reef of a night on the town. I gaze at the ceiling, waiting for the footsteps to pass.

They don’t pass. They stop outside my door. I can hear whispering and suppressed laughter. My clock ticks. I hear a key card being presented, then withdrawn. The door opens slowly, creaking like a door on a Radio 4 play might. The whispering susurrates like leaves on a tree.

It’s an odd intrusion, this, as though somebody is clambering into your shirt, taking their time. A hotel room is your space, your personal kingdom. I’ve thrown my socks on the floor and my toothbrush is almost bald in the bathroom even though there’s a new one in my bag because I thought I would be alone in my intimacy.

Two figures enter. A man and a woman make their way towards the bed. In the half-dark, I can recognise the man as the one who checked me in earlier. He says, “It’s all right, there’s nobody in here,” and the woman laughs like he has just told her a joke.

This is a moment. I feel like I’m in a film. It’s not like being burgled because this isn’t my house and I’m sure they don’t mean me any harm. In fact, they mean each other the opposite.

Surely they can hear my clock dripping seconds? Surely they can hear me wheezing?

They approach, closer and closer, towards the bed. The room isn’t huge but it seems to be taking them ages to cross it. I don’t know what to do. In my old T-shirt and M&S pants, I don’t know what to do. I should speak. I should say with authority, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” But I don’t.

I could just lie here, as still as a book, and let them get in. It could be a moment of great gentleness, a moment between strangers. I would be like a chubby, wheezing Yorkshire pillow between them. I could be a metaphor for something timeless and unspoken.

They get closer. The woman reaches her hand across the bed and she touches the man’s hand in a gesture of tenderness so fragile that it almost makes me sob.

I sit up and shout, “Bugger off!” and they turn and run, almost knocking my clock from the bedside table. The door crashes shut shakily and the room seems to reverberate.

This article first appeared in the 12 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's revenge