Tag Archives: working class

Love Labour’s Lost

When it came to voting in an election for the very first time, I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, I would vote for Labour. Working class born and bred, nerdy Politics student who knew a Green vote would be wasted in our First Past the Post system, couldn’t bear the Tories, and saw the Lib Dems as an ‘also ran’. Yep, my X was definitely going in Labour’s box.

Much to my joy, Labour won the first election I voted in. I didn’t agree with all of their policies, or even like Blair all that much, but they represented my ideals and my background far more than any of the other parties. So I was happy; my little wonky X had helped them to victory.

Fast forward to last year’s election. I’d spent all day at the hospital, but it was a close run campaign, and I was determined to vote. Dad had to wheel my chair right up to the booth, but I hauled myself up, read the papers repeatedly for the sake of my easily confused tired out brain, and then made another wonky X for Labour.

When the Tories made a coalition with the Lib Dems, I was achingly disappointed; the idea of spending at least four years under their supposedly joint government was almost painful. I knew all too well how the Conservatives treated the working class and those in need like me, and it was plain to see, right from the start, that Nick Clegg and co. just filled the benches. They soon came to be known as the ConDems, and along with my ill and disabled friends, I quickly realised just how apt that moniker was.

It wasn’t long before the ConDems started targeting the sections of society that they perceived to be the easiest: people with disabilities and illnesses, their carers, the elderly, and those who are vulnerable. Cuts in services provided by councils were happening at an alarming rate, the cost of services for those who need them rose dramatically, carers were being put under even greater strain. And then the vicious, painful rhetoric started.

Disabled and ill people have long been treated with contempt and even cruelty, particularly those with invisible illnesses or mental disabilities, but now the government seemed to be encouraging it, fanning the fire of distrust with words, and turning it into hatred.

Making those of us with disabilities and illnesses synonymous with ‘scroungers’, ‘benefit cheats’, the work shy and irresponsible lay-about, draining society with our greed and idleness actively increased disablist content in the media and actions in society: people have been verbally abused, vile notes have been left on cars where Blue Badges are displayed, carers have been spat at, and even worse.

As this situation worsened, Labour supporters like myself were certain Ed Miliband would speak out, defend us, and make clear the distinction between those of us who cannot work – however desperately we want to – and those who won’t work and have no desire to. We hoped that he would support us, and tell the world how we loathe those people who are making careers by faking the pain, trauma and misery we often live with, through no choice of our own.

But Mr Miliband stayed silent, ignoring our plight, and eschewing any hint of Socialism Labour had left – society sharing what it has to ensure everyone is supported.
Then the unthinkable happened; Ed Miliband began to use the same kind of language as the opposition. Truly, I could’ve cried. I, and many others, had been waiting for Labour to oppose what their opponents were saying: to show the discrepancy between the percentage of benefit fraud rates and the percentage of the government cuts; to state that the ATOS tests are ridiculous and give false results, as a man declared “fit for work” died just two weeks later, of the illness he was deemed to be exaggerating; to support carers and explain the millions they are saving the country by not leaving their loved ones to be looked after in care homes or hospitals; to tell the country that we are not scroungers, and that every single healthy person is just an illness or injury away from being in our position.

When Ed Miliband announced Q&A sessions on Twitter, many of us hoped they would be the way to engage him, to garner his support, or just get a 140 character statement that we’re being treated unjustly. Disability campaigners, individuals and on behalf of groups, sent tweet after tweet, hoping one would be seen, as did our Twitter friends with physical or mental health problems. Amongst untold tweets from our “community”, only one garnered a response, which could have come from any ConDem – all tiers of society have to be responsible, from the bottom to the top. The implication that we are at the bottom cut like a surgical scalpel.

Throughout each Q&A, we waited for more responses, thinking that surely we would be acknowledged? But no, favourite muffin flavours and other trivial nonsense was more important than Labour supporters who were desperate for his help.

When I think of the next election, I feel completely lost. The ConDems are marching ever closer to being my worst political nightmare come true, but for the first time ever, I truly do not know if I can bring myself to vote Labour. The party I’ve always supported has no support for me, or my friends. Ed Miliband spends his time parroting whatever David Cameron has said the day before, leaving voters like me to be spat at, to be deprived of our basic daily needs of food, cleanliness, human contact, and to be so fearful for our futures that some become suicidal, or actually take their lives.

I’ve always been adamant that those who have the vote should use it. Especially women, for whom the Suffragettes fought so hard for, and when women around the world are still be kept away from the voting booth, like an underclass.

Now we, who have disabilities and illnesses, are becoming an underclass, and so our ability to vote is a treasure.

But who on earth do we vote for? Labour, Conservatives and Lib Dems have all merged together, creating a three-party system that strikes fear into anyone who cannot care for themselves or needs support. A vote for any other party is a wasted one. So do I not vote at all?

When I stand, wobbling, in the booth at the next election, I have no idea where my wonky X will go. Or if it will go anywhere at all.

Thanks to you, Mr Miliband, I’m another love Labour’s lost.

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Filed under Disability, People Power, Politics

Here comes the hurricane

It’s 6.04am, and I’ve been awake for about two hours. I’m laying here in my bed, listening to David Ford (“So close your eyes and sleep” – I wish) and writing this in the hope that I’ll suddenly overload my desperately tired brain until it gives in and switches to standby. My legs, thanks to twenty-five years of nerve damage in my feet and as much joint damage in my knees, and despite making me pump large doses of Gabapentin – supposedly meant to make my extremities behave – will not stay still. They jolt, shake, compel me to wave them around, pound them against the pile of pillows beneath them, cycle them in thin air and pace silently around my less than spacious bedroom. I once read some know-it-all stating that “Restless Leg Syndrome was invented by drug companies to encourage idiots to buy placebos”. Right now, I would like to aim one of my involuntary kicks at his bollocks.

Okay, maybe, as Mr Ford is quietly singing into my ear, I should “cheer up, you miserable fuck”, but some days – especially in the early hours – the frustrations of being ill and disabled are harder to bear.

As I lay here, yawning and fidgeting, I have Philip Davies MP on my mind. He and his ilk have been making women and men writhe and scream, cry out and sigh in their beds for years now. Purely out of disgust, fear, stress and desperation. We know that this government, and so many others, will “sell out our kids for a tank full of gas…let the economy crash”, to keep the working classes, the poor, the ill and the vulnerable in their places. Right at the very bottom of society.

Mr Davies thinks that, to give myself a chance of employment, I should agree to work for less than the minimum wage. Maybe he is right that, wrongly, a potential employer would choose a less experienced or skilled but able-bodied person over me. And to be honest, right now, I wouldn’t blame them; as I’ve written before, I’m hardly a desirable employee because of the way my body plays tricks. But there are so many ill and disabled people who are, and whose expertise and skills are going to waste. Why not give incentives, if that’s what it takes, to businesses who enable disabled people to work, whether in the office or at home? Over the course of a single year, that expenditure would surely be counter-balanced by a reduction in benefit claims. I have disabled and ill friends who could start their own business, to be run from home, if they were leant a start up grant, to be paid back over a fair period, with base rate or no interest. No bank will give a benefit claimant a loan, but they aren’t vilifying us. We might not function – physically and/or mentally – the way we want to, but we are people, and we deserve the same rights as the rest of the population. So, Mr Philips, “will you just laugh and say I’ve got it wrong? Will you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Every day we hear another story of another calamitous cock-up by ATOS. How hard is it to understand that putting people with serious health problems under a huge amount of pressure and stress will only make them worse? It’s easy to imagine them saying “heart problems? Let’s give you a cardiac arrest! Epilepsy? We want to see you fitting on the floor! Emphysema? Cough up half a lung for us! Then we’ll believe you”. Of course, we need to do what we can to ensure that the system isn’t abused; no truly ill or disabled person wants to see some idle cretin making a career out of the lives we never wanted, but not at the expense of the vast majority of people who do need help. How can these “tests” by ATOS be defended when people with late stage cancer are being told to return to work? It’s becoming clearer by the day that “‘This train was armed for collision” because “‘clever’ men know all that and all this and they will talk and they will talk, but they don’t fucking listen”.

Oh, Mr Cameron, “what a model of Christian behaviour, preach on with the message of ‘go fuck thy neighbour'”. Let’s be honest, we all expected this from the Tories, but having been kicked in the stomachs by the Lib Dems, Labour are coming to spit on us as we lay on the ground, coughing up blood. You see, “I believe lots of those calling the shots have no respect for the rights that we’re given….and I believe lies cost God knows how many lives, while some rich people made more money”.

Dear readers, “I wouldn’t have it all easy, so come on, let the hard times begin. Let’s kick through the hole in the wall of the mess that we’re in”.

“This is a call to arms”. Come and fight with us.

I’m off to get some sleep…if I’m lucky.

(Words in quotation marks are lyrics written by David Ford)

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Filed under Disability, People Power