PMQs review: Cameron falls into Labour's "bedroom tax" trap

By repeatedly insisting that the "bedroom tax" was not a tax, the Prime Minister gave the phrase new life.

One of Ed Miliband's boldest decisions since becoming Labour leader has been to target the coalition's welfare cuts and today's PMQs saw an all-out assault on the "bedroom tax". For those unfamiliar with the term, it refers to the government's plan to cut housing benefit for those deemed to have more living space than they need, such as a spare bedroom. Social housing tenants with one extra room will lose 14 per cent of their benefit, while those with two or more will lose 25 per cent.  

The government argues that this is another necessary measure to reduce the ballooning housing benefit bill (which is largely due to extortionate rents and substandard wages) but Miliband highlighted the case of a mother with two sons in the army who would lose out while they were away "serving their country". He went on to warn that two-thirds of those affected are disabled (many of whom require an extra room due to their disability) and that it would encourage social housing tenants, "the most vulnerable", to move to the more expensive private sector, wiping out any savings from the policy as the housing benefit bill rises. Miliband also smartly contrasted the Tories' "bedroom tax" with their opposition to a "mansion tax", brandishing a letter from the party to Conservative donors asking them to contribute to a fighting fund against a "homes tax". 

Cameron gave little ground in response, pointing out that there was a £50m fund to deal with "difficullt cases" and bluntly asking why it was fair for social housing tenants to receive money for an extra room when private tenants did not. For a self-described "compassionate Conservative", it was a rather compassionless reply. As Cameron's answers became increasingly ill-tempered, Miliband deftly weaved in a reference to last night's vote on equal marriage: "He shouldn't get so het up. After all, he's got almost half his parliamentary party behind him." Unsurprisingly, the line went down well with both sides of the House. 

The PM's best moment came when he remarked of Miliband: "we know all the things he's against, we are beginning to wonder what on earth he's for?" If Labour is opposed to the "bedroom tax", the "strivers' tax", the "granny tax", the "toddler tax", how would it reduce public spending? Would it introduce a "mansion tax"? Miliband gave the stock reply that "the clue's in the title - Prime Minister's Questions - he's supposed to try and answer them". But this riposte, while acceptable in 2010, is less impressive halfway through the parliament, with Labour MPs increasingly troubled by the perceived lack of policy detail from their leader.

After Miliband had used up his six questions, Labour MPs continued to challenge Cameron over the "bedroom tax" in a well coordinated assault. An increasingly exasperated Cameron repeated that the "bedroom tax" was not a tax but, in doing so, he unwittingly repeated Labour's attack line. Whether the PM likes it or not, when voters hear him refer to the "bedroom tax" that is what they will call it. Across the floor, Miliband and Ed Balls smiled contentedly in response. Their work for the day was done. 

David Cameron leaves 10 Downing Street in London, on February 06, 2013. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Photo: Getty
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Jess Phillips's Diary: Lazy attacks on “lazy MPs”, and how to tackle the trolls

The Labour MP for Birmingham Yardley takes us through her week.

As parliament kicked us out for the conference recess season on 14 September, several tabloids run the predictable story: “MPs go back on holiday today only NINE days after returning to parliament from a six-week summer break.” I imagine the journalist who churns it out hates doing the same tired “all MPs are lazy baddies” shtick as much as we hate having to rebut the nonsense idea that we are on holiday when we are working full-time in our constituencies.

Legislation is on holiday, not legislators. I have still yet to find an MP who thinks it reasonable that parliament shuts for three weeks for conference season. Why can we not have these conferences at the weekend? Or during the summer recess? Hell, why do we have to have them so regularly at all?

Is the nation screaming out for the politically minded to spend hundreds of pounds sleeping on the floor of an overcrowded Airbnb in a seaside town after a heavy night on warm wine and small food? I’ll wager that you cannot find me a person on the Clapham omnibus – or frankly any omnibus, whatever an omnibus even is – who thinks we should have a week off making laws so that the Lib Dems can do karaoke.

Her Maj

As well as time off for conference, it seems that the Tories will be scurrying home early every Wednesday as well. They appear to be on strike from voting on any opposition day motions as their governing partners, Northern Ireland’s Democratic Unionist Party, play fast and loose with their allegiances. (The DUP backed a Labour motion against raising tuition fees, which the government says is non-binding.)

I and other Labour MPs sat in parliament and watched ministerial cars speed off on 13 September as the whips told the great and good to go home. Her Majesty’s Most Loyal Opposition is a pretty important part of our democracy. If I were Her Maj I might be more than a little peeved that Mrs May cannot be arsed to turn up to fight for what she believes in, whatever that is. Presumably whatever Boris Johnson and his gang say it is this week.

Leave the kids alone

I spent the weekend at a local Labour Party fundraiser, at my surgery, and handing out certificates to hundreds of young people graduating from the National Citizen Service. I sat in front of a lively, wildly diverse group of young people and thought we should hand over managing geopolitics to them for a while. Even the naughty kid at the back (whom I had to scold) gave me more faith than what I see on the news.

Family life

At a debate about the abuse of MPs, the traditional Tory colonel Bob Stewart told the house that his son had been targeted and isolated by his schoolteacher because his father was a Conservative MP.

Now, I’ve had my run-in ins with the colonel in the past, but I was horrified by this – one of my sons is the same age as his. As a parent and an MP I dread the idea that my choices will cause my sons’ grief. I’ve got enough guilt about leaving them half the week without their being targeted and bullied. I once found my son and his mates watching videos about me on YouTube that had been made by men’s rights activists. The vicious content was unsettling enough, but the thought of his teacher joining in the hate is harrowing (and, I’m pleased to say, completely unthinkable at his school). Our families are conscripts to this life – some are conscientious objectors.

Troll detection

So, should we ban internet trolls who abuse MPs online from voting? This is the suggestion floated by the Electoral Commission. I can see the argument for trying to make people treat the electoral system with respect. I also think we have got to have a hard line and a punishment. I’m just not sure how we will decide what is abuse. People say sexist stuff to me all the time. Would a negative comment about my appearance count, or are we talking rape and death threats? (What a time to be alive, when I can give a traffic light system to my sexist online abuse.) To some, the idea of having your vote taken away would only provoke a shrug; but to me it seems too much.

Climb every mountain

I have nearly finished More in Common by my friend Brendan Cox. It is about his late wife, my friend Jo, and is brilliant, but I dip in and out because I want it to last. Reading it makes me feel so tired: maybe because I read it in bed, but also because Jo’s energy and adventures seem exhausting. I like mountains on a screen saver, but I wouldn’t climb one, especially not with a tropical disease or a baby in my belly.

I’m also exhausted because of the ridiculous late nights we seem to be adopting in parliament. Jo’s distaste for the silly hours is covered in the book. She couldn’t understand why we couldn’t start earlier than 11.30am and finish in time for people to see their kids. As I put down the story of her life (and, my god, what a life) I’ll gladly trek for her to the seemingly impassable peak of reforming the voting hours in parliament. 

This article first appeared in the 21 September 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The revenge of the left