Why Labour is right to consider a salary insurance scheme

A welfare system that provides greater support to people when they need it most offers an alternative to the divisive pose bring struck by the coalition.

On Sunday, the Observer reported that Labour are considering an IPPR proposal to establish a system of National Salary Insurance (NSI). This would offer working people who have contributed into the benefits system, but have lost their job, much greater income protection at the point they need it most. The twist on the proposal – which has provoked most reaction – is that to control the costs of the system, the extra money provided would be recouped once people are back in employment.

To clear up one thing straight away: this proposal is in addition to existing entitlements to Jobseeker's Allowance (we do not want to turn JSA into a loan). This means that, contrary to one claim, it wouldn’t mean people who hadn’t worked get more than those who had.

In our original proposal, we suggested that the additional amount available might be £132.50 a week for six months, providing people with £200 a week in total, including their £67.50 in JSA (which has actually now risen to £71.70 a week). These numbers could be altered, but the core rationale is three threefold.

First, for anyone earning much above minimum wage, the benefits system offers very weak protection of their income for short-term, temporary periods of unemployment. For instance, social security provides just 38 per cent of the previous average wage for a single person who also qualifies for help with rent. This compares to an EU average of 58 per cent. For those not eligible for housing support, such as the two-thirds of homeowners, the replacement rate for average earners is just 13 per cent. And it’s not that the private insurance market is filling the gap: a survey published last week by Scottish Widows found that only 5 per cent of people own an income protection policy, which would pay out if they lose their job.

The second rationale for NSI directly flows from the first: the popular legitimacy crisis facing the welfare system is not only about the sense that it pays out too much to people who have not worked, but also that it offers so little protection to those who have. A decade and a half of welfare reform has focused on increasing the conditions attached to the receipt of benefits, but has neglected the erosion of any meaningful reward for the contributions of those who have worked (outside of the state pension). Labour is right to alight on this issue as part of developing a strategic alternative to the populist and divisive pose bring struck by the current government on welfare.

However, the challenge in seeking to improve income protection and rebuild the contributory principle is that it costs money. This is where the third rationale comes in. Deploying the income-contingent loan principle in NSI means that greater security at the point of crisis can be improved without imposing considerable extra net costs. In other words, the social security system would add a new function: smoothing household income to help people to cope with the loss of a wage, keeping them out of the hands of payday lenders and loan sharks, while reclaiming the money once they are back on their feet.

Some have argued that repayment will create a disincentive for people to return to work. Clearly this risk should be monitored on implementation, and the point at which repayments began and the repayment rate could be amended to reduce this concern. But over half of people who claim JSA leave the benefit within three months; 80 per cent after a further three months. Conditionality would continue to apply, so people would be required to take up job offers (or lose access to NSI) and if they hadn’t found employment in six months they would revert to the much lower level of JSA (a strong incentive to find work within that period). Fundamentally, this policy is explicitly aimed at people who have a good work record and so are motivated and job ready.

Critics of this idea have questioned why the extra income protection provided by NSI cannot be attained simply by increasing the level of contributory JSA. The problem of course is where the money would come from (we estimated the upfront cost at somewhere between £1.8bn and £2.6bn, though it is hard to be precise). One option is redistributing money from within the existing social security budget, perhaps by lower disregards or sharper tapers on Universal Credit (or, of course, ending the protection of pensioner benefits). Alternatively, the costs could be met by extra departmental cuts, more borrowing or higher taxes. But it is highly unlikely that any party will cut public services or raise taxes to pay for a higher rate of JSA (especially with £21bn of welfare cuts that some want to see reversed potentially ahead of this in the queue).

Given all this, those of us interested in building up economic protection for working people should probably bank on having to be creative.

A National Salary Insurance system would provide people with £200 a week for six months after they become unemployed. Photograph: Getty Images.

Graeme Cooke is Associate Director at IPPR

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Brexit confusion is scuppering my show – what next?

My week, from spinning records with Baconface, Brexit block and visiting comedy graves.

I am a stand-up comedian, and I am in the process of previewing a new live show, which I hope to tour until early 2018. It was supposed to be about how the digital, free-market society is reshaping the idea of the individual, but we are in the pre-Brexit events whirlpool, and there has never been a worse time to try to assemble a show that will still mean anything in 18 months’ time.



A joke written six weeks ago about dep­orting eastern Europeans, intended to be an exaggeration for comic effect, suddenly just reads like an Amber Rudd speech – or, as James O’Brien pointed out on LBC, an extract from Mein Kampf.

A rude riff on Sarah Vine and 2 Girls 1 Cup runs aground because there are fewer people now who remember Vine than recall the briefly notorious Brazilian video clip. I realise that something that gets a cheer on a Tuesday in Harrogate, or Glasgow, or Oxford, could get me lynched the next night in Lincoln. Perhaps I’ll go into the fruit-picking business. I hear there’s about to be some vacancies.



I sit and stare at blocks of text, wondering how to knit them into a homogeneous whole. But it’s Sunday afternoon, a time for supervising homework and finding sports kit. My 11-year-old daughter has a school project on the Victorians and she has decided to do it on dead 19th-century comedians, as we had recently been on a Music Hall Guild tour of their graves at the local cemetery. I wonder if, secretly, she wished I would join them.

I have found living with the background noise of this project depressing. The headstones that she photographed show that most of the performers – even the well-known Champagne Charlie – barely made it past 40, while the owners of the halls outlived them. Herbert Campbell’s obelisk is vast and has the word “comedian” written on it in gold leaf, but it’s in the bushes and he is no longer remembered. Neither are many of the acts I loved in the 1980s – Johnny Immaterial, Paul Ramone, the Iceman.



I would have liked to do some more work on the live show but, one Monday a month, I go to the studios of the largely volunteer-run arts radio station Resonance FM in Borough, south London. Each Wednesday night at 11pm, the masked Canadian stand-up comedian Baconface presents selections from his late brother’s collection of 1950s, 1960s and 1970s jazz, psychedelia, folk, blues and experimental music. I go in to help him pre-record the programmes.

Baconface is a fascinating character, whom I first met at the Cantaloupes Comedy Club in Kamloops in British Columbia in 1994. He sees the radio show as an attempt to atone for his part in his brother’s death, which was the result of a prank gone wrong involving nudity and bacon, though he is often unable to conceal his contempt for the music that he is compelled to play.

The show is recorded in a small, hot room and Baconface doesn’t change the bacon that his mask is made of very often, so the experience can be quite claustrophobic. Whenever we lose tapes or the old vinyl is too warped to play, he just sits back and utters his resigned, philosophical catchphrase, “It’s all bacon!” – which I now find myself using, as I watch the news, with ­depressing regularity.



After the kids go to sleep, I sit up alone and finally watch The Lady in the Van. Last year, I walked along the street in Camden where it was being filmed, and Alan Bennett talked to me, which was amazing.

About a month later, on the same street, we saw Jonathan Miller skirting some dog’s mess and he told me and the kids how annoyed it made him. I tried to explain to them afterwards who Jonathan Miller was, but to the five-year-old the satire pioneer will always be the Shouting Dog’s Mess Man.



I have the second of the final three preview shows at the intimate Leicester Square Theatre in London before the new show, Content Provider, does a week in big rooms around the country. Today, I was supposed to do a BBC Radio 3 show about improvised music but both of the kids were off school with a bug and I had to stay home mopping up. In between the vomiting, in the psychic shadow of the improvisers, I had something of a breakthrough. The guitarist Derek Bailey, for example, would embrace his problems and make them part of the performance.



I drank half a bottle of wine before going on stage, to give me the guts to take some risks. It’s not a long-term strategy for creative problem-solving, and that way lies wandering around Southend with a pet chicken. But by binning the words that I’d written and trying to repoint them, in the moment, to be about how the Brexit confusion is blocking my route to the show I wanted to write, I can suddenly see a way forward. The designer is in, with samples of a nice coat that she is making for me, intended to replicate the clothing of the central figure in Caspar David Friedrich’s 1818 German masterpiece Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog.



Richard Branson is on the internet and, just as I’d problem-solved my way around writing about it, he’s suggesting that Brexit might not happen. I drop the kids off and sit in a café reading Alan Moore’s new novel, Jerusalem. I am interviewing him about it for the Guardian in two weeks’ time. It’s 1,174 pages long, but what with the show falling apart I have read only 293 pages. Next week is half-term. I’ll nail it. It’s great, by the way, and seems to be about the small lives of undocumented individuals, buffeted by the random events of their times.

Stewart Lee’s show “Content Provider” will be on in London from 8 November. For more details, visit: stewartlee.co.uk

This article first appeared in the 27 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, American Rage