Ed Miliband won't be able to defeat the Greens on green policy. Photo: Getty
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Why Labour can't counter the Greens' popularity with green policies

A difficult climate.

This week, we have learnt that the Greens are now a bigger party than Ukip. Their membership rocketed up 2,000 overnight to reach 43,829. We already know that Labour, in response to the surge in support and membership of the small left-wing party over the past few months, has set up an anti-Green unit under shadow justice secretary Sadiq Khan in an attempt to counter the threat to its votes from Natalie Bennett's troops.

What we've also learnt this week is that the Prime Minister sees the Greens as such an important potential threat to his rivals that he has refused to take part in the leaders' televised debates unless Bennett is also included.

And news has broken today of Tory MPs' plans to split Labour's vote by encouraging left-wing voters in their constituencies to support the Greens, who are aiming to run in 75 per cent of seats this election.

However, one thing that has fallen under the radar, under all this political greenery, is Ed Miliband's launch of something called "action/2015" yesterday at a London school. There, he commited the next Labour government to seeking to "raise global ambitions for combating extreme poverty, inequality and climate change".

Here's what he promised on the latter subject:

In 2015, after the General Election here, the countries of the world will come together to agree two plans.

The first plan aims to eradicate poverty over the next fifteen years. And the second will tackle climate change.

These two plans affect all of us: everyone in this room, everyone across the world, and especially, everyone in your generation because they will help determine the world you will live in.

They matter. And what the British government does at these conferences – what it does in your name - matters too.

I know tackling climate change, global poverty and inequality are not as fashionable as they once were. But I also know they are more important than ever.

For me, they are not luxury items in our programme for change. They are not part of a branding exercise. They go to the heart of my beliefs and the reason why I entered politics.

This is about ensuring the next generation can do better than the last in this country and around the world . . . 

The progress of the last 15 years in the tackling poverty, improving health, on food security and access to sanitation could all be eroded if global temperatures are allowed to soar. I believe tackling climate change is the most important thing I can do in politics for my children’s generation. It demands leadership and resolve.

So in Paris next year, a Labour government would be pushing for global targets for reducing carbon emissions that rise every five years with regular reviews towards the long-term goal of what the science now tells us is necessary – zero net global emissions in the latter half of this century.

All admirable promises, and from a man who was the first ever Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change. However, his green policy proposals will not help him counter the threat to his party's support from the Greens. This is due to three reasons:
 

It's not as "fashionable"

Miliband's own acknowledgement that climate change is not a "fashionable" subject is truer than maybe even he realises. The Labour leader was referring to David Cameron's 2005 rebrand of the Tories – hugging huskies and generally making his green credentials central to his image as Tory leader – and how it was all really a hollow "branding exercise".

However, green policy is no longer top of the agenda due to a number of reasons. Chiefly, economic realities have pushed it down the list of spending priorities. And it seems even the Greens have accepted this. They are no longer supported simply because they are the party of eco-friendly policies. Like the other parties, the Greens have been concentrating far more on economic policies in this parliament. However, their economic policies are formulated to tackle inequality and challenge austerity – free education, scrapping the welfare cap, reducing the pay gap, and turning the minimum wage into a living wage, for example. People are voting Green because the party provides a radical alternative to the economic policies, and consensus on the need for further austerity, of the Conservatives and Labour.
 

Playing on enemy turf

A little like the Tory leadership having to speak more than they'd like about EU membership and immigration, in an ill-advised attempt to shoot Ukip's fox, Labour talking about the environment is playing on the Greens' turf. Voters whose main priorities concern the environment are unlikely to vote for Miliband's handful of green proposals, emphasised almost as an afterthought a few months before the general election, when there is another party that historically has dedicated itself to environmentally-friendly policies.
 

Picking the wrong battle

There is a way for Labour to combat the Greens' popularity, but the environment isn't it. As I have reported before, the best rhetoric Labour can use is to emphasise the costly, predominantly middle-class nature of the "green lifestyle". Key figures in the Green Party admit that this is an area where it needs to improve, trying to broaden the appeal of living sustainably beyond the narrow section of society that can afford to do so. One of Miliband's aides revealed to my colleague, Tim, that this is Labour's best bet against the Greens, commenting: “We’ve found the best line of attack is to attack the Greens as an upper-middle class lifestyle choice.” There hasn't been much evidence of the party publicly using this attack line, but it would serve it well, and would be more effective than hoping a few green pledges will do the trick.

Anoosh Chakelian is deputy web editor at the New Statesman.

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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