Children grilling the Chancellor on television. Photo: Getty
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Autumn Statement: the prospect for children’s benefits looks no brighter

Since 2012, we haven’t seen a solitary reference to child poverty in any budget or Autumn Statement, and poverty rates are rising.

Today’s the day that speculation about the content of the Autumn Statement reaches its peak. Will the Chancellor announce new spending cuts in light of lower-than-expected tax receipts? Or conversely, be in the market for some pre-election giveaways? Trails apart, we don’t yet know for sure what will be in the speech at 12.30pm tomorrow. But we have a pretty good idea what won’t.

The Autumn Statement is conventionally when the government announces how it will maintain the value of benefits for the following fiscal year. But in 2014, there’s little to say on the topic. Sheltered by the terms of the triple lock, the basic state pension will automatically be uprated by average earnings, prices or a nominal 2.5 per cent, whichever is higher. This year it is the last, which gives a happy uplift to the value of pensions over and above the cost of living. In stark contrast, the value of children’s benefits is locked down, this time by a decision at Autumn Statement 2012 to uprate them at a sub-inflation 1 per cent for the following three years.

Actually, it’s even worse than that. Child benefit has suffered over the course of this parliament not just from the 2012 decision to increase it slower than inflation, but also by a three-year freeze instituted when the coalition took power. The benefit has lost over 13 per cent of its real value as a result of uprating decisions taken since 2010. But those with good memories will recall that the government provided a reason for cutting this vital and popular benefit.

As the government said at the time, “We will freeze child benefit to help fund significant above indexation increases in the child tax credit . . . This means that support will be better targeted at low-income families with children and that this budget will have no measurable impact on child poverty”.

So how has that worked in practice? In 2011, low income families did do well when the children’s element of child tax credit (CTC) was increased in line with prices, and given a further healthy boost of £180 a year. Child poverty actually went down that year. By 2012, the commitment to help low-income families was weakened: CTC was increased by inflation, but the Chancellor then reneged on his promise of a further significant increase above prices. That year, child poverty rates stayed the same. But by 2013, any idea of protecting poorer children from austerity had left the Treasury and shut the door: CTC could languish with 1 per cent uprating for the following three years along with the rest of them. Surprise, surprise: child poverty rates are now on the rise.

Academics have long pointed out that the extent to which we protect the value of children’s benefits is intimately linked with the rate of child poverty. This was something the Chancellor acknowledged in 2010, but has remained tight-lipped about ever since. In fact, since 2012 we haven’t seen a solitary reference to child poverty in any budget or Autumn Statement, nor any analysis in Treasury documents as to the poverty effects of spending decisions.  This goes beyond being simply depressing. When the government has an enduring legal duty to take action to reduce child poverty to negligible levels by 2020, it begins to look more like an act of avoidance.

Whatever next May brings, the prospect for children’s benefits looks no brighter. The Conservatives plan to freeze all support to families for another two years if returned to power; a Labour government would uprate child benefit at only 1 per cent for the same time period; and the Lib Dems have intimated that uprating decisions will be taken on an ad hoc basis as finances allow. The stable and poverty-reducing settlement the triple lock provides pensioners may be an unimaginable dream for children in the foreseeable future.

Uprating may seem tedious, but in truth it matters a lot. When children’s benefits are properly uprated, families don’t drift away from the mainstream; if their value withers away, we cut our children loose. When the Chancellor steps up to the despatch box tomorrow, we will all listen hard to every word he has to say. But spare a thought, too, for the issue on which he stays silent.

Lindsay Judge is Senior Policy and Research officer at the Child Poverty Action Group

Lindsay Judge is senior policy and research officer for the Child Poverty Action Group.

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MP Michelle Thomson's full speech on rape at 14: "I am a survivor"

The MP was attacked as a teenager. 

On Thursday, the independent MP for Edinburgh West Michelle Thomson used a debate marking the UN’s International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women to describe her own experience of rape. Thomson, 51, said she wanted to break the taboo among her generation about speaking about the subject.

MPs listening were visibly moved by the speech, and afterwards Thomson tweeted she was "overwhelmed" by the response. 

Here is her speech in full:

I am going to relay an event that happened to me many years ago. I want to give a very personal perspective to help people, both in this place and outside, understand one element of sexual violence against women.

When I was 14, I was raped. As is common, it was by somebody who was known to me. He had offered to walk me home from a youth event. In those days, everybody walked everywhere - it was quite common. It was early evening. It was not dark. I was wearing— I am imagining and guessing—jeans and a sweatshirt. I knew my way around where I lived - I was very comfortable - and we went a slightly differently way, but I did not think anything of it. He told me that he wanted to show me something in a wooded area. At that point, I must admit that I was alarmed. I did have a warning bell, but I overrode that warning bell because I knew him and, therefore, there was a level of trust in place. To be honest, looking back at that point, I do not think I knew what rape was. It was not something that was talked about. My mother never talked to me about it, and I did not hear other girls or women talking about it.

It was mercifully quick and I remember first of all feeling surprise, then fear, then horror as I realised that I quite simply could not escape, because obviously he was stronger than me. There was no sense, even initially, of any sexual desire from him, which, looking back again, I suppose I find odd. My senses were absolutely numbed, and thinking about it now, 37 years later, I cannot remember hearing anything when I replay it in my mind. As a former professional musician who is very auditory, I find that quite telling. I now understand that your subconscious brain—not your conscious brain—decides on your behalf how you should respond: whether you take flight, whether you fight or whether you freeze. And I froze, I must be honest.

Afterwards I walked home alone. I was crying, I was cold and I was shivering. I now realise, of course, that that was the shock response. I did not tell my mother. I did not tell my father. I did not tell my friends. And I did not tell the police. I bottled it all up inside me. I hoped briefly—and appallingly—that I might be pregnant so that that would force a situation to help me control it. Of course, without support, the capacity and resources that I had within me to process it were very limited.

I was very ashamed. I was ashamed that I had “allowed this to happen to me”. I had a whole range of internal conversations: “I should have known. Why did I go that way? Why did I walk home with him? Why didn’t I understand the danger? I deserved it because I was too this, too that.” I felt that I was spoiled and impure, and I really felt revulsion towards myself.

Of course, I detached from the child that I had been up until then. Although in reality, at the age of 14, that was probably the start of my sexual awakening, at that time, remembering back, sex was “something that men did to women”, and perhaps this incident reinforced that early belief.​
I briefly sought favour elsewhere and I now understand that even a brief period of hypersexuality is about trying to make sense of an incident and reframing the most intimate of acts. My oldest friends, with whom I am still friends, must have sensed a change in me, but because I never told them they did not know of the cause. I allowed myself to drift away from them for quite a few years. Indeed, I found myself taking time off school and staying at home on my own, listening to music and reading and so on.

I did have a boyfriend in the later years of school and he was very supportive when I told him about it, but I could not make sense of my response - and it is my response that gives weight to the event. I carried that guilt, anger, fear, sadness and bitterness for years.

When I got married 12 years later, I felt that I had a duty tell my husband. I wanted him to understand why there was this swaddled kernel of extreme emotion at the very heart of me, which I knew he could sense. But for many years I simply could not say the words without crying—I could not say the words. It was only in my mid-40s that I took some steps to go and get help.

It had a huge effect on me and it fundamentally - and fatally - undermined my self-esteem, my confidence and my sense of self-worth. Despite this, I am blessed in my life: I have been happily married for 25 years. But if this was the effect of one small, albeit significant, event in my life stage, how must it be for those women who are carrying it on a day-by-day basis?

I thought carefully about whether I should speak about this today, and it was people’s intake of breath and the comment, “What? You’re going to talk about this?”, that motivated me to do it, because there is still a taboo about sharing this kind of information. Certainly for people of my generation, it is truly shocking to talk in public about this sort of thing.

As has been said, rape does not just affect the woman; it affects the family as well. Before my mother died early of cancer, I really wanted to tell her, but I could not bring myself to do it. I have a daughter and if something happened to her and she could not share it with me, I would be appalled. It was possibly cowardly, but it was an act of love that meant that I protected my mother.

As an adult, of course I now know that rape is not about sex at all - it is all about power and control, and it is a crime of violence. I still pick up on when the myths of rape are perpetuated form a male perspective: “Surely you could have fought him off. Did you scream loudly enough?” And the suggestion by some men that a woman is giving subtle hints or is making it up is outrageous. Those assumptions put the woman at the heart of cause, when she should be at the heart of effect. A rape happens when a man makes a decision to hurt someone he feels he can control. Rapes happen because of the rapist, not because of the victim.

We women in our society have to stand up for each other. We have to be courageous. We have to call things out and say where things are wrong. We have to support and nurture our sisters as we do with our sons. Like many women of my age, I have on occasion encountered other aggressive actions towards me, both in business and in politics. But one thing that I realise now is that I am not scared and he was. I am not scared. I am not a victim. I am a survivor.

Julia Rampen is the editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog. She was previously deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines.