To win in 2015, Labour must reject Conservative austerity

Arguing that the party will be "tougher than the Tories" risks letting the Conservatives back into the game.

If the old maxim that whoever sets the agenda wins is true, then David Cameron is in even greater trouble than the polls suggest. Ed Miliband has led on numerous issues from Leveson to Syria and is defining the terms of debate again with his defence of living standards. His call for an energy price freeze has succeeded in reviving Labour's fortunes, with the Tories responding with their own pale imitation on water bills.

But if Labour has won the battle, how can it win the war? With wages down by an average of £1,500 a year since David Cameron became Prime Minister and prices outstripping earnings in 39 of the last 40 months, a clear break with austerity is needed. Yet the Tories intend the next parliament to be marked by the toughest years of cuts yet. A taste of just how bad things are going to get was provided by an unlikely source. The Conservative chair of the Local Government Association predicted councils will go bust after the next round of severe budget cuts in 2015-16.

Alternatives are needed and that’s why the Labour Assembly Against Austerity has been established. Its launch conference this Saturday will look at the further policies needed to develop the agenda around defending living standards as an alternative to the Tory plan to deepen austerity. Its launch statement has already won the support over 20 MPs and over 500 councillors and activists.

While Ed Miliband is reflecting the public mood, those in our party arguing that Labour needs to reject policies such as a Living Wage are out of touch with the majority. After years of rip-off energy policies and crowded and expensive trains, the public wants more action against these companies who abuse their monopoly position to win super-profits for the few. From soaring payday loan use to growing NHS waiting lists, millions have a story to tell on how austerity is making life tougher.

Labour has everything to gain by promoting more polices that take on vested interests and the failed cuts agenda. Conversely, arguing that Labour will be "tougher than the Tories", as some shadow cabinet ministers recently have, will let the Conservatives back into the game.

Polls show that Labour has a strong lead over the Conservatives on being best able to provide jobs, keep prices down and improve living standards. It’s by offering a progressive economic alternative to austerity that it can best reach out to a broad coalition of voters left worse off by the coalition.

Cat Smith is Labour PPC for Lancaster and Fleetwood

Ed Miliband with David Cameron during the service to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II at Westminster Abbey. Photograph: Getty Images.

Cat Smith is Labour PPC for Lancaster and Fleetwood

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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