Cameron's indulgence of Tory fantasies is weakening his hand in Europe

The PM's Ukip-style positioning on immigration is viewed as weakness or blackmail by the rest of the EU.

The best part of a year has passed since David Cameron’s speech promising to renegotiate the terms of Britain’s European Union membership and to put the ensuing deal to the country in a referendum. Since then, there hasn’t been much clarity about the kind of reforms that would persuade the Prime Minister to campaign for the "in" side.

We have learned something about what he doesn’t like. Or rather, we know that he has located the feature of current EU membership that seems most to inflame public hostility – free movement of workers between member states – and wants to be seen to be doing something about it.

On 1 January 2014, transitional controls that have limited the rights of Romanians and Bulgarians to live and work in the UK will be lifted. Nigel Farage is terribly excited by this prospect since it effectively launches Ukip’s campaign for May’s European parliamentary elections without him having to lift a finger. The Tories are putting in all the groundwork, ramping up the issue, reinforcing the impression that a horde of welfare-snaffling foreigners is massing on the border. Voters who are most animated by fear of a migrant tsunami will not believe the Conservatives can hold back the tide.

And they can’t. Cameron understands that free movement is an integral part of the single market. He has given private assurances to the European Commission that Britain will do nothing unilaterally that would breach existing rules. What he hopes to do is persuade other member states that those rules can, in time, be amended. In all likelihood that would mean adjustments to the accession arrangements for any future candidates for EU membership. Retrospectively clawing back rights from existing members or rewriting the very basis on which workers move around the bloc would require treaty revision on a scale that no other country wants to consider.

In other words, when Cameron says he is getting tough over the arrival of Bulgarians and Romanians in two weeks time, what he actually means is that he intends to start a conversation about a possible negotiation about what might theoretically happen with some Croatians at an unspecified point in the future.

Making announcements that sound like Ukip propaganda but without the policy of EU exit to support them is ultimately just an incitement to vote Ukip. Meanwhile, briefings from the Home Office that something drastic will be done serve only to nurture in Tory eurosceptic hardliners the hope that, if they push hard enough, Conservative policy will merge with Farage’s. (The government’s Immigration Bill has already been blown off course by a Tory backbench amendment calling for Britain to renege on its treaty obligations to Romania and Bulgaria.)

This situation is a source of bafflement and rising alarm in other European capitals. Most EU leaders and Brussels officials are prepared to engage with Cameron’s renegotiation ambitions to some extent because, by and large, they want Britain to stay in and they recognise that institutional reform is needed. It helps that the Prime Minister now talks more about pan-European changes than about unilateral "repatriation" of powers. When Cameron goes to Brussels, the carving out of custom-made exceptions for the UK – enjoying all the trading perks of open borders without any of the accompanying social and employment protections – is not seriously on the agenda. Yet that is the only kind of deal that many Tory sceptics would consider acceptable.

When Cameron allows his party to dwell on fantasies of a bespoke British EU package, the rest of Europe starts to lose patience. It is seen as either weakness – a failure to confront the Tory party with a realistic account of what is available in "renegotiation" – or it is viewed as a cynical game, ramping up euroscepticism, making the threat of exit seem ever more likely in the (mistaken) belief that this strengthens Britain’s hand. "We don’t like to use the word blackmail, but sometimes it is the word that comes naturally to your lips," one Commission official tells me.

Perhaps the most surprising element in all this is the Tory party’s willingness to indulge the pretence that Cameron has even embarked on a process of giving them what they want. There is really no evidence that he has. There will be a referendum in 2017, if the Tories form a government after the next election – and that is far from certain. Meanwhile, it remains the Prime Minister’s stated policy to support continued EU membership in that vote. When does he suppose he will fit in the negotiations to secure a deal that doesn’t tear his party in half? He shows no intention of starting soon. Is such a deal even possible? The rest of Europe – led by Germany – is eager to find some accommodation, but they can’t help if they don’t really know what it is that Cameron wants. (And there are divergent views between the parties in Germany’s ruling coalition and within them of how far Berlin should go to accommodate Britain.)

Cameron’s European strategy as it currently stands is to ramp up domestic expectations of a deal that fundamentally changes the basic principles on which the EU operates, while doing none of the diplomacy abroad to make such an outcome even remotely plausible. It is the approach a Prime Minister would take if he didn’t really care one way or the other if Britain stayed in the EU or drifted towards the exit. It is the course that might be expected from a Prime Minister who would rather not engage with the arguments if doing so conflicts with the task of appeasing habitually disloyal backbenchers and fomenting Ukip-friendly, anti-EU hysteria in the process. As a plan for leading the Conservative party that is short-sighted enough. As a way to lead the country it is desperately irresponsible.

David Cameron speaks during a press conference at an EU Council meeting on October 25, 2013. Photograph: Getty Images.

Rafael Behr is political columnist at the Guardian and former political editor of the New Statesman

Getty Images
Show Hide image

Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war