Reblogged from Kate Belgrave:
Because nasty, biased rubbish like On Benefits and Proud continues, I’m posting
more interviews with people who are on JSA and/or who are dealing with street
homelessness below. The aim is to give more examples of reality and to outline
some of the real reasons why people need benefits from time to time.
And because I’m all for the balance that is missing from tripe like OBAP,
I’ve also posted – after each of the three interviews below – a few words about
people from the monied classes who’ve fallen on hard times at one point or
another, but who were either paid handsomely to leave their places of
employment, or, in the case of the one and only Chris Huhne (whose
miraculous and miraculously fast rehabilitation continues to annoy me
badly), were welcomed back after their self-inflicted “misfortunes” and
handed high-profile gigs like shit never happened. Some of the people I’ve
written about below also had unfortunate experiences – they lost a business, or
a job and/or started drinking heavily to cope with those things. The
difficulties that they are in now would be viewed as self-inflicted by the
political class and thus
deserving of no sympathy whatsoever. Unlike Huhne, though, they’re expected
to pay with everything, forever. They’re from the wrong class.
I’ve
said this many times before. It’s not just the fact that people are being
forced into poverty that I find upsetting, although I do find that upsetting
(I’m pretty sure that most people do). It’s the fact that people who having
nothing are being targeted so viciously, while charlatans who have everything
are allowed to carry on and even enjoy themselves and are paid to do it. If the
wheels come off, the people who have the least are made to suffer the most,
while people who have the most suffer the least.
Anyway. I’ll keep finding people to speak with and posting their stories –
and posting comparative stories about the evil rich.
——-
Let’s start with (I’ll bet some people will say she shouldn’t have a
TV):
Susan Roberts, aged 60, Stroud. On JSA. Interview and recording made
at lunch at the Marah drop-in centre in Stroud:
“I’m 60. My job is – I used to do cleaning work, so [the jobecentre wants me
looking for] cleaning work, or shop work or kitchen work. That’s the jobs that
I’m supposed to be getting – but when you tell them your age, that’s it. They
say that you’re too old.
“I think I’ll be nearly 63 when I retire, because my retirement age is March
the 6th and I’ll be nearly 63. They’ve stopped me (my benefits) three
times [through sanctions]. It’s all because I’m not good enough looking for work
at my age. They say I haven’t filled in the sheets and that I could have it
stopped again. A month ago, they threatened me again and it’s still going on,
but every time I go in [to sign on], once a fortnight. I get worried. I only get
about £65 a week and I got to pay all my bills. By the time I get my shopping, I
got about £20 left- for the TV licence, water rates, electric. [And people have
to pay] gas if you got it, but I’m on electric. Some people have got both,
haven’t they. When my budget loan finishes, [Susan is paying off a loan],
that’ll go back up again.
“They stopped mine [JSA] for a month. They left me alone for a while, but I’m
dreading [my jobcentre meeting on Friday]. If my paperwork is not good enough,
they will try and stop my money. You have to take a sheet in stating your name,
your national insurance number and then stating what kind of work you’re doing
and what kind of work you’re looking for. If there’s no work to look for, they
still put it down that you’re not looking for work. It’s ridiculous. All these
school- leavers can’t even get a job. There’s people like us trying to look for
work and then all these youngsters coming out of school. To me, I’m getting
depressed, because they’re on your back all the time. They haven’t left me alone
since I’ve been back on it for a year.
“In the job centre now, you can’t look for work, because they got these
machines. You can’t look for work, because they’ve got these machines to do it
and I don’t like that. The last time I went in there, they didn’t have no
newspapers, so where do you look? It’s a bit ridiculous isn’t it?”
So.
Let’s put that story next to the story of….Emma Harrison, pisstaker
extraordinaire:
Emma Harrison was the founder of the ironically-named and notoriously
poor-performing DWP work programme provider Action For Employment (A4e).
From
Emma’s wikipaedia page:
“In February 2012, it was revealed that Harrison was paid an £8.6 million
dividend on her A4e shares in 2011, in addition to her £365,000 annual salary.
The majority of the turnover of A4E is funded by the taxpayer… MP Stephen
Barclay said the payment’s size was of concern with regard to the DWP receiving
value for money. He questioned the justification of paying management fees not
linked to performance, adding that “It’s not A4e’s fault if they get paid for
poor delivery.” The payment was criticised by former Secretary of State for Work
and Pensions and current Chair of the Public Accounts Committee Margaret Hodge
as “ripping off the State”.
Emma stepped down as chairperson, but, you know – if you’ve got to go, this
is the way to do it.
——-
Next, I talk to:
Karl [name changed], 48. Spent an hour recording a talk with him on
Wednesday morning in Camberwell Green.
The hour I spent talking with Karl on the Green this week was one of the most
uncomfortable I’ve had – simply because it was raining. It was raining when we
started talking and the rain just got heavier and heavier as the hour went on.
At the end of it, we were both soaked and I was also freezing cold (Karl said he
was okay, as you’ll see below). All that water weighing down your jacket and
seeping through to your skin just gets colder and heavier as more and more rain
arrives.
The truth is that nobody would sit out on a park bench in that kind of
weather if they didn’t have to. Certainly, we were the only ones doing it on
Wednesday. Everyone else who turned up at the green that morning was under an
umbrella, or had a jacket pulled over their head. Without exception, people were
hurrying across the park to get to wherever they were going as fast as
possible.
So. We got talking. Karl told me that moved to the UK from the West Indies in
1976. He said that he used to be a self-employed carpenter and did Youth
Training Scheme courses when he was young, but that at some point, things
changed and those changes meant that he couldn’t work any more. He didn’t want
to talk about whatever it was that happened. Maybe he will as we get to know
each other better. He hinted at breakdown and often referred to a time “before
this” – at which point he would indicate the collection of differently-sized
bags of clothes and belongings that he had with him on the bench in the green.
He said that he was “not illegal in the country. I’ve got documents, but they
keep blocking me.” He said that he was not on benefits because of that. “When
they took me off the system, they just took me off. They want to know if I am
who I say I am.”
So. I don’t know very much about Karl at the moment, but I know one thing for
sure. I know that whatever Karl “did” to get into this situation, he’s sure as
hell paying for it now (and that’s presuming that he did anything. Something may
well have been done to him). Certainly, he’s paying for it
in a way that the better-placed don’t. He’s wearing layers and layers of
clothes which are all soaking wet and he’s sitting on a park bench with his
belongings, which are also wet. That’s what he’s doing. That’s how he pays.
He said that learning to deal with the weather was a matter of getting
control of your mind. I found it hard to believe that I’d ever do it. “My body
has changed its pace,” he told me. “When it’s warm, I take the heat into my
body, so the cold doesn’t affect me. I only sleep when it is necessary. I become
one with nature, innit. Even when it’s cold. I come from the sunshine, I’ve got
the internal heat in me from when I was young. I might be cold outside, but
inside, it’s okay.”
He said that he “used to be more stable. I’m not stable now. I don’t have a
fixed abode. I travel a lot now. During the day, I never be in the same places.
You will never see me in the same place. I move away. I might go to the library,
read two books, catch up on some writing, or some form of artwork, or go
visiting people. I usually like visiting people, but everybody is like in their
own world at the moment. I never put up no barriers, but barriers are being put
up. It might have to be that way now because people don’t trust each other. Some
don’t trust themselves, so the barrier has to be up because it’s like a form of
defence.”
He told me that he saw his situation at the moment as a test. “When I set up
on this road, I find out who I am. I can find out who I am, because nobody tell
me who I was. I’ve got no former record and I’ve never been to prison.
I asked him where he’d go that night. People don’t always like to talk about
that, though, and Karl was no exception. Having to talk about hostels and
shelters can be difficult and demeaning and nobody likes it. People often move
onto other subjects when I ask about that one. “I never really plan,” Karl said,
“because I already slept already, so I’m not really in a hurry to go to sleep. I
just look at the birds and I just look at nature… I am just used to my own
independence. I’ve lived many lives. I’ve lived in the best life – the best of
the best life – and I’ve lived the tough life.”
It is tough indeed. After an hour spent sitting right the rain, I was so wet
and so cold that I had to make an excuse and leave. And it wasn’t even winter
yet. Temperature-wise, Wednesday was mild in London – it was wet, but fairly
mild. Just sitting in the rain is enough to freeze you, though.
But anyway – let’s sit Karl’s story next to the story of Francois
Barrault – a man who made some very big mistakes in his time and who
also had to pack his stuff up and move on – but who was sent on his way with a
very large cheque. To
say the least. I’ve decided to put Francois here, because he stands as
glowing testimony to the private sector’s inclination to shell out spectacularly
for non-delivery.
When
Francois was boss of BT’s corporate IT division, the division’s dire
performance:
“forced the telecoms company to axe 15,000 jobs and slash its dividend.
Barrault was ousted in October (2008) as the dreadful performance of his
business led to a monumental profit warning by BT.”
But – “Barrault received £1.25m in salary and benefits such as his company
car, home security, dental cover for his family and even his own financial
counsellor. It also included a housing allowance, school and social club fees.
There was a £1.6m termination payment and he also collected £283,000 worth of
shares under the company’s long-term incentive plan, £264,000 worth of shares
under its deferred bonus plan and had £135,000 worth of unrealised gains on his
share options.”
“The award for François Barrault was branded as “outrageous” by union leaders
and has forced BT to introduce a clawback scheme designed to prevent any
director collecting a huge payout, despite the poor performance of their
business, in the future.
On
the take and proud.
—–
Next, I talk with –
Jim, 56, Stroud. On JSA. Recording
made at lunch at the Marah drop-in centre in Stroud.
“It’s been hard. I used to have my own signmaking company and I lost it
because of the [change in the economic] climate. Then, I went into freefall. I
started drinking too much. I tried to get a job for two years. I’m 56 now, but I
tell people I’m 44 and I lie about my age. It’s quite hard for someone at my
age.
“Trying to pay food bills out of benefit – there’s always a shortfall in your
benefits. There’s far too many people like me unemployed. My children are grown
up. One is in the army – my daughter. She is in Afghanistan. Two and a half
years she’s been there – she’s come back and gone back out again. This
government has not moved on the war. They are supposed to be coming out next
year, but it depends what happens. She’s all right. She’s not on the front line,
so she’s safe, which is a relief.
“My drinking was about getting down about the job scenario. That happened
about three years ago. I got into the credit crunch and finding jobs has been
difficult. Well – it is impossible. They will not give you any money whatsoever.
About four months ago, I went to a job about running a pub and I had to pay to
go there, because the jobcentre said No, we can’t pay your expenses. So all
that’s been cut back. At the end of the day, if you’re only getting 68 quid a
week – then how can you afford £14 to go to Wester-super-mere and back and have
to pay £20 a week and then food about of that – about £40 a week. I find the
jobcentre hard. But it’s really hard to get a loan to start a business
again.
“The government at the end of the day – they haven’t done themselves any
favours. They’ve cut all the benefit. They have made this country a lot less
wealthier. There are a lot of young guys here [at the drop-in having lunch] as
well. They’re not stupid. They want to work. It grinds you down a bit. At the
end of the day, one government goes out and another one comes in and nothing
changes – but places like this [the drop-in] really help. I used to come here
twice a week here, but now I’m here on a Wednesday. I probably come once every
two weeks, because if I can feed myself, which I can most of the time, I don’t
like putting a strain on these people.”
Okay.
I’m putting Jim’s story next to the story of Chris Huhne – a
man who also had a midlife misfortune, but has gone from strength to strength
and has scored a Guardian column, because he “is
in a good position to write well-informed and insightful pieces about coalition
policy.” I would have thought a lot of people who are on the receiving end
of coalition government policies were in a good position to write insightful
pieces about that as well, but there you go. You
can read more of my views on Huhne here. Or you can read Huhne’s own views
of the world in his Guardian column. That fact that he has that column at all
and that it doesn’t appear to be a parody pretty much speaks for itself.
