Miliband's offer of austerity in a red rosette is failing voters

If austerity is wrong and counter-productive when the Tories do it, it will be wrong and counter-productive whoever does it.

On Saturday, days before the wildly out-of-touch George Osborne stands up in parliament to deliver another message of gloom and despair, thousands gathered in London for the People’s Assembly. We came together knowing we are facing a huge crisis in the UK today – both an economic and a human crisis – and there was passion and anger. There is a lot to be angry about.

We are angry that this government is inflicting the longest and deepest economic slump since the 1870s; angry that more than £50bn has been cut from workers' wages every year since the start of the recession in 2008; that almost £30bn is being slashed from social security for the poorest and most vulnerable; and that half a million of our friends and neighbours are having to rely on food banks to get by.

We are angry that as executive pay continues to soar and millionaires enjoy even more disposable income thanks to a tax cut from their friendly millionaire Chancellor, many others face the threat of losing their homes as a result of the bedroom tax. And we are angry because we recognise that, in doing all this, the Tories and Lib Dems are attempting to privatise even more of our public services and roll back decades of gains we have made in terms of our welfare state, and in education and health.

Anger is inevitable and entirely justified under these circumstances. But as Owen Jones noted in his opening address, anger is meaningless if we do not believe we can do anything about it. So the People's Assembly is a necessary attempt to provide hope and inspiration, with some real alternatives to these vicious policies.

Because there is also a political crisis. The sickening demonisation of people who are having to rely on benefits continues, with one odious commentator suggesting at the weekend that the government should publish the names and addresses of all benefits claimants in a bid to deter them from claiming what they are legally entitled to claim.

The political space being created on the right by these so called "think" tank ideologues, and a right-wing press all too eager to print their bile, is being exploited by the Tories to drive through policies many of them could only ever have dreamed of in the past. That there has been far too little pressure from the left to counter this onslaught is the tragedy of our age. The joint pensions strike on 30 November 2011 – more than 18 months ago – was the high water mark that we have so far failed to regain. And Labour, well. The party appears to be in a state of complete confusion.

As we gathered on Saturday, people were talking – in less than polite terms – about Ed Miliband's statement that morning that a future Labour government would stick to Tory spending limits. By Sunday, Ed Balls was calling for Osborne to inject more money into the economy. Labour spokespeople still wearily trot out the "too far, too fast" mantra. But the party's core message is that there is simply less money around and we all need to get used to it.

This is not only economically stupid, it is politically inept. If austerity is wrong and counter-productive when the Tories do it, it will be wrong and counter-productive whoever does it. Austerity in a red rosette is no less brutal and damaging than in a blue one. In failing to articulate a clear economic alternative, or to challenge the pernicious myths about our social security system, Labour is not only failing to offer hope and inspiration, it is failing to offer voters a choice.

This is why harnessing the unity and sense of purpose at the People's Assembly is so important. The assembly brought together dissatisfied Labour party members with trades unionists and campaigners from a broad spectrum of political and community groups, as well as members of the public fed up with being told there is nothing that can be done. How we organise ourselves now is crucial.

Since March, not a week has gone by without some members of my union being on strike in a determined attempt to defend their pay and conditions. Working people have no more powerful weapon than the withdrawal of their labour. And the more of us there are taking co-ordinated strike action together the stronger we become and the more pressure we can exert. But union members also need to make alliances with others who are bearing the brunt of austerity.

On Saturday, we agreed to build for a day of resistance on 5 November, of civil disobedience where all of us – students, workers, the unemployed, disabled people, families, pensioners – unite to cause as much disruption as possible through marches, protests and direct action. And then we need to set the date for the next, and the next after that.

We met out of necessity to provide hope where, at the moment, there is only anger. We cannot afford to let this opportunity slip, we need to build a movement that will hound this government from office and send the clearest message there is to Miliband and Balls that they are mistaken if they think they can just waltz into Downing Street and pick up where the Tories left off.

Mark Serwotka is general secretary of the PCS

Ed Miliband has pledged to stick to George Osborne's spending limits for 2015-16. Photograph: Getty Images.
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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