How the coalition is failing to stand up for consumers

The government has consistently resisted measures which would tackle the living standards crisis.

Last month, David Cameron tweeted that "we are on the right track - building an economy for hardworking people". But people across the UK won’t feel that at all – they only thing they can feel is their pockets being hit. Average earnings are £1,477 a year lower than they were at the time of the last general election. This means that, in real terms, workers are on average earning today the same as they were in 2001.

And the promises were so big. Before the 2010 general election, the Tories said: "We want to see an economy where not just our standard of living, but everyone’s quality of life, rises steadily and sustainably."

It has done anything but. Working families are worse off with energy bills having risen by £300, while the profits of the energy companies have soared. It is yet another year of inflation-busting fare rises will just add to the pressure on household budgets. Instead of standing up for hard-pressed commuters, this government is siding with the private train companies and helping them to increase their profits at the expense of passengers.

Consumers are a key driver of the economy, creating the demand for goods and services which provide jobs, stimulate innovation, create wealth and tax take. In a functioning economy, knowledgeable, informed and empowered consumers can drive up standards, supply and value for money as well.

In government, Labour recognised this and strived to be the party of consumers for the benefit of the economy. We built consumer interests into regulation, supported Trading Standards and created Consumer Focus which was respected by all stakeholders. We got a fairer deal for purchasers of energy and other basic necessities, and ensured an ever increasing standard of living - something this government has failed to emulate, as prices rise higher than incomes.

So what are ministers doing for consumers? Despite the rhetoric, the government’s recently published Draft Consumer Rights Bill, is little more than window dressing. Whilst steps to cover areas such digital downloads are welcome, reflecting arguments which we have been making on the need for protections for consumers in new markets, the Bill is a huge missed opportunity to help hard-pressed consumers by ensuring a fair deal on energy prices, tackling high rail fares and challenging the cost of living crisis engulfing Britain.

On top of this, ministers are ignoring the other pieces of the jigsaw such as enforcement, advice and funding. Their changes to consumer protection since 2010 have been muddled and have created uncertainty and confusion: They’ve abolished Consumer Focus and then set-up a new body – Consumer Futures – to do the same job. This is alongside a slashing of funding to local authorities which has significantly impacted Trading Standards, making it harder for consumers to uphold their rights and seek redress. Aggregate trading standards funding has dropped from £245m to £142m since 2010, with hundreds of jobs being lost estimated to amount to around 15% of the total workforce upholding and enforcing consumer rights. And through the Bill, the government now want to remove the ability of Trading Standards officers to make inspections unannounced. In response, the Trading Standards Institute has said it "would urge the government to refrain from removing the power of trading standards officers to enter premises unannounced. It is an essential tool for them to use and it is vital that when complaints are made, councils can investigate and tackle the problem immediately."

Ministers’ rejection of our calls for better standards in the private rented housing sector and their refusal to adopt a Code of Conduct for the banking and insurance industry reflect how they are standing up for the wrong people and their lack of concern for helping hard-pressed families. Similarly, the limited collective redress measures proposed in the Bill fall short of what groups of consumers across the UK need to obtain effective consumer redress when they have been wronged.

Simply, this government has resisted measures which would tackle the real living standards crisis which people are facing.

However, Labour is clear – if in government we would be taking action to implement a One Nation programme to boost people’s living standards. We need a tough new energy watchdog to force suppliers to pass price cuts onto consumers, and to ensure the over-75s automatically get the cheapest tariff.

Likewise, we’ve seen rail fares up 9% a year, after the government allowed train operators to increase some fares by up 5% above the supposed ‘cap’. We would be put passengers first by banning train companies from increasing fares above the cap set by ministers so that fares would be rising by no more than 1 per cent above inflation under Labour in each year of this parliament

And we are already examining plans to bolster collective action, empowering consumers so they can club together more easily to seek redress, as part of our policy review, led by consumer champion Ed Mayo last year. During the passage of the Bill, we will be pressing ministers for a strong, accessible collective redress mechanism, one which mirrors the Portuguese and Australian models that remove the legal excesses and is not a US-style class action, where litigation is dominant.

We know that David Cameron and his government won’t stand up for consumers. It’s time for him to wake up and adopt Labour’s plan to help working people – not keep filling the pockets of those at the top that exacerbates the cost of living crisis.

David Cameron speaks during a press conference at the end of the G20 Leaders' Summit on September 6, 2013 in St. Petersburg, Russia. Photograph: Getty Images.

Ian Murray is shadow minister for employment relations, consumer and postal affairs, and Labour MP for Edinburgh South

 

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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