Labour tries to avoid falling into Osborne's welfare trap

Balls signals that he is willing to support the Chancellor's new curbs on claimants, including a seven-day wait for benefits.

Every time that George Osborne announces new restrictions on benefits it has as much to do with tripping up Labour as it does with saving money. Aware of how much support the party's perceived softness on claimants cost it in 2010, he aims to paint it as "the welfare party". 

Having opposed most of the £18bn of cuts previously announced by the coalition, it is a trap Ed Miliband and Ed Balls are now keen to avoid. After Osborne announced in the Budget that he would unveil plans to cap Annually Managed Expenditure (AME) in the Spending Review, (the area of public spending that includes volatile and demand-led items such as welfare, debt interest and EU contributions), Labour pre-empted him by outlining its own cap on "structural" welfare spending and announced that it would remove Winter Fuel Payments from the wealthiest 5 per cent of pensioners, a (rather successful) attempt to redirect attention on to the main driver of higher social spending: an ageing population. 

In today's review, Osborne announced a series of tougher rules for claimants, including a seven-day wait before they can claim benefits, a duty to learn English (with benefits docked if they fail to attend language classes), the introduction of weekly, rather than fortnightly, visits to the jobcentre for half of all jobseekers, a requirement for all single parents of children aged three or over to prepare for work and a duty for individuals to prepare a CV and register for an online job search before they can receive benefits. 

In response, it was notable that Balls avoided opposing any of the measures outright. He told BBC News: 

We need to look at the detail, obviously. On the welfare things, English language for incoming migrants - definitely. For the seven-day - is it going to be a blank cheque for Wonga? Let's look at the detail. If it saves money and it works, fine.

So, while expressing some scepticism, Balls has essentially accepted the principle of a seven-day wait for benefits provided that it "saves money" (it will, but at a terrible cost to claimants forced to turn to foodbanks) and that it "works" (again, based on Osborne's definition, it will). Nor, the party signalled, will it oppose the requirement for single parents to look for work. 

In his statement, Osborne also served notice of the biggest welfare trap of all. He announced that his new cap on total benefit spending would be set in next year's Budget and would apply from April 2015. Expect him to adopt the toughest limit possible and then challenge Labour to match it. Should it do so, it will be accused of signing up to an unconscionable attack on the poorest. Should it not, it will be accused of failing to control runaway spending. Having signalled that it will not borrow more to reverse cuts to current spending (only to invest in capital projects such as housing), any difference will need to be funded through tax rises. 

Ed Miliband and Ed Balls at the Labour conference in Manchester last year. Photograph: Getty Images.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

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Why do the words “soup, swoop, loop de loop” come to mind every time I lift a spoon to my lips?

It’s all thanks to Barry and Anita.

A while ago I was lending a friend the keys to our house. We keep spare keys in a ceramic pot I was given years ago by someone who made it while on an art-school pottery course. “That’s er . . . quite challenging,” the friend said of the pot.

“Is it?” I replied. “I’d stopped noticing how ugly it is.”

“Then it’s a grunty,” she said.

“A what?” I asked.

“A grunty. It’s something you have in your house that’s hideous and useless but you’ve stopped noticing it completely, so it’s effectively invisible.”

I was much taken with this idea and realised that as well as “grunties” there are also “gruntyisms”: things you say or do, though the reason why you say or do them has long since been forgotten. For example, every time we drink soup my wife and I say the same thing, uttered in a strange monotone: we say, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop.” How we came to say “soup, swoop, loop de loop” came about like this.

For a married couple, the years between your mid-thirties and your late forties might be seen as the decade of the bad dinner party. You’re no longer looking for a partner, so the hormonal urge to visit crowded bars has receded, but you are still full of energy so you don’t want to stay in at night, either. Instead, you go to dinner parties attended by other couples you don’t necessarily like that much.

One such couple were called Barry and Anita. Every time we ate at their house Barry would make soup, and when serving it he would invariably say, “There we are: soup, swoop, loop de loop.” After the dinner party, as soon as we were in the minicab going home, me and Linda would start drunkenly talking about what an arse Barry was, saying to each other, in a high-pitched, mocking imitation of his voice: “Please do have some more of this delicious soup, swoop, loop de loop.” Then we’d collapse against each other laughing, convincing the Algerian or Bengali taxi driver once again of the impenetrability and corruption of Western society.

Pretty soon whenever we had soup at home, Linda and I would say to each other, “Soup, swoop, loop de loop,” at first still ridiculing Barry, but eventually we forgot why we were saying it and it became part of the private language every couple develop, employed long after we’d gratefully ceased having soupy dinners with Barry and Anita.

In the early Nineties we had an exchange student staying with us for a year, a Maori girl from the Cook Islands in the southern Pacific. When she returned home she took the expression “soup, swoop, loop de loop” with her and spread it among her extended family, until finally the phrase appeared in an anthropological dissertation: “ ‘Soup swoop, loop de loop.’ Shamanistic Incantations in Rarotongan Food Preparation Rituals” – University of Topeka, 2001. 

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt