Young voters know Britain's future lies in the EU

New polling by the Fabian Society shows that 18-34 year olds are significantly more pro-European than the previous generation.

Oftentimes, the greatest strength of opposition is to say little and commit to nothing. But so too can there be huge political advantage in a government decisively using the bully-pulpit of power. Thus it was last week when David Cameron committed his party to hold an in-out referendum on the EU after the next election. In so doing, he left the Labour party in a bit of a pickle.

Stewart Wood, Ed Miliband’s chief consigliere, said recently, "we've found being courageous works for us …We err on the side of boldness much more nowadays." But boldness can work for Cameron too and Labour finds itself caught between supporting a referendum it doesn’t want or going into an election on a platform of ‘denying the people their say’. Neither position holds obvious appeal. Ed Miliband tried to get on the front foot at PMQs, but it was hardly his ‘no, no, no’ moment, and post-match briefings suggest we could be in for a drawn out period of nuancing before Labour arrives at its final destination.

But as right-wing Tories celebrate and the left prevaricates, is Cameron’s referendum necessarily the first step on the road to a British exit?

New polling by the Fabian Society and Friedrich Ebert Stiftung shows a fascinating – and stark – generational divide on the question. Two-thirds (67 per cent) of voters aged 18-34 say they would vote 'yes' to EU membership in a referendum. While nationally there is a 12-point lead for those who wish to leave the EU, among those aged 18-34, there is 32-point lead in favour of remaining part of the EU. In contrast, among the over 60s, leaving the EU has a 23-point lead.

Young people are also far more likely to identify personal benefits from Britain’s membership of the EU. Only 19 per cent of 18-34 year olds said they did not personally benefit from Britain’s membership compared to 51 per cent of people over 60. Forty six per cent of 18-34s cited freedom to travel in Europe as a benefit and 18 per cent mentioned social and employment rights.

Young people also see the benefits of the EU on the global stage. Fifty nine per cent of 18-34 year-olds who expressed a view found the argument that "co-operation between EU countries is the best way to tackle the big issues of our time, like climate change, the global financial crisis and international terrorism" convincing, compared to 43 per cent of people over 60.

Many young people also expressed concern about Britain’s standing on the international stage if the UK were to leave the EU. Forty per cent of those aged 18-34 agree that if the country were to withdraw, "Britain may become isolated in a world of big power blocs such as the United States, the European Union and China", compared to 34 per cent who believe that "Britain could use its own historic international links to punch above its weight in the world". Among over-60s the split was 29 per cent to 47 per cent in the opposite direction.

Europe, we are repeatedly told, is in crisis: economic, political and existential. This era of crisis has hit the left particularly hard, with the economic turmoil – originally heralded as the opportunity for a ‘progressive moment’ which would tame the ravages of capitalism – morphing into a crisis of debt and fiscal imbalance. 

 

This presents a profound challenge for the pro-European left which Cameron’s announcement has made much more urgent. What is clear is that the positive case for the EU would be easier to make if the EU was better. The left risks further setbacks in Europe without a compelling explanation of what is wrong with the Europe we have and what is better about the Europe we want.

The EU was founded on a 'never again' spirit following the second world war, yet the arguments the first generation of European leaders made for closer integration resonate less and less as time goes by. A growing proportion of the electorate are too young to remember the fall of the Berlin wall, let alone the despair of post-war Europe. For a new generation, the EU is a way of life rather than a political project. It’s not necessarily a cause to fight for. But it is clear that young people are culturally and instinctively comfortable with the European project, and see clear benefits of membership. The task for EU advocates is to harden this soft support.

For New Labour, explicit pro-Europeanism was a core part of creating a modern progressive party, which looked to Europe to deliver on its promise of economic efficiency intertwined with social justice. But Europe is far from integral to Labour’s rethink in opposition, despite the current vogue for the German economic model in Labour policy circles, not to mention Fabian polling which shows the public understand all too well that the major political challenges of the day – climate change, financial reform, fighting terrorism – can only be solved through closer European co-operation.

Miliband needs to remember he’s best when he’s boldest and should not shy away from making a stand against Cameron’s politically motivated and economically disruptive act. Our polling shows that should a referendum become a reality, the state of public opinion is more subtle than many surveys suggest. There is a wide coalition of support that could be constructed, from younger people to business leaders; pro-Europeans should approach any campaign guided by a sense of hope, rather than fear.

Ed Wallis is the editor of Fabian Review

The European Union flag is seen next to flags of members of the EU on January 15, 2013 at the European Parliament in Strasbourg. Photograph: Getty Images.

Ed Wallis is the editor of Fabian Review

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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