Remploy and “loss making”

I’m in favour of inclusive work places. Of course I am. But in terms of inclusive work practices developing in the UK, I’d say we were at a similar stage really (ignoring the unsustainable fluff introduced every now and again) to 30 years ago. Nothing has really changed.  Yes, there has been a shift away from institutionalisation but there is plenty of evidence that despite living ‘in’ the community, learning disabled people remain outside of the community, isolated, often victims of hate crime and not in, or even close to, employment.

And employment, or work, is one of the central features of our lives.  Something this pig ignorant coalition government wilfully misunderstand, misinterpret and use as a political tool for their own purposes.

Today Remploy employees are striking against the proposed closure of 27 “loss making” factories putting 1421 people at risk redundancy.

Remploy provides employment opportunities for learning disabled people (and so much more).  Remploy employees go to work, work and earn money. Ok, it’s an exclusive setting, but, for the time being, the rest of the UK workplaces are exclusive too.  Exclusive to people without learning disabilities. Until these workspaces become inclusive, closing Remploy is going to leave most, if not all, of the current employees unemployed.

Many or most Remploy employees will no longer go to work. Structured everyday life, use of space outside of the  homes, journey to and from work and social experiences gained on a daily basis will be removed.  Many employees will be left with the option of day centres, staying at home or using direct payments to pay someone to take them out somewhere. We all like going out, but as a part of our lives, not as a sole feature.  There are also implications for family members who will have to readjust their own lives accordingly.

Many or most Remploy employees will no longer work. The benefits of working are documented in a ton of evidence gathered over decades. I won’t bother to list them here, but the health consequences of not being able to gain employment are also documented. The lack of structure and activity, and the emotional distress caused by the removal of  working lives, may have serious health implications.

Most or many Remploy employees will no longer ‘earn’ money. Yes, there will be some financial support but it ain’t the same thing. And no doubt there will be some shenannigens about placing Remploy employees in an inappropriate work category, leading to more punitive sanctions in line with current changes to the benefits system.

So what is going on here? Is the government closing these factories because they subscribe to the vision of an inclusive society in which learning disabled people are supported, welcomed and sustained in paid employment?

Bollocks. It’s all about money. The worth and value of learning disabled people is so low, that keeping (financially) unprofitable factories open, even if they offer some people employment and everything that comes with that, is not an option.  But “loss making” in this situation, cannot and should not be measured financially.

The DWP commissioned report into the viability of Remploy opens with the statement;

The views expressed in this report have been based on discussion with Central Management only.

Sums it up really.

“Dear Wilbur…”

Rosie and Owen said they’d sort out the clutter in the loft today. They pulled everything out of cupboards into a huge mess of stuff (and more stuff). When I got back from work we sorted through it.

Well.

What a load of rubbish. And memories.

A few (of so many) highlights; my Kate Bush fan club card, 500 francs from the Central African Republic, a load of charcoal life drawings, my autograph book (including Arthur Askey and Daley Thompson), old school textbooks covered in waxed paper and an old laptop we decided to keep for comedy value. The LOL Laptop as it was renamed.

Then there was my battered old case of birthday cards and letters. We chucked the cards. Well apart from 18th and 21st birthdays. And handmade ones from the kids.

Various diaries also turned up spanning several years. Didn’t realise I was such a diarist to be honest.

“OMG Mum, you’re so lame..” muttered Rosie, leafing through them. “Woke up. Washed my hair. Walked to school…Watched Angels, went to bed…

1982 quickly became the favourite. From March 2nd, I started writing it as though I was writing to a mate from my old school.  I’ll save the details for another day other than to say this shift meant there were a lot of exclamation marks and I signed off entries “TTFN, Sara!”  On May 5th I switched to writing to an imaginary person, ‘Wilbur’, ending each entry with “Well that’s about it for now! Sara.” By the end of May, I reverted back to type. Thank goodness.

Rosie read out several entries, howling with laughter. Then we got back on with the job. Head first in dirty boxes.

OMG Mum. Stamps!!! You.were.a.stamp collector?????

Nuff said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My diary (2); Christmas Day

Browsed a bit more of my diary this afternoon. I was waiting to upload some photos and it sort of called to me from its recent position under my computer screen. Next to the packet of Rajah Extra Hot Chilli Powder and the spotty sock.

The page fell open at ‘Christmas Day’. Wow. Now this should be a cracking entry. We always had a great Christmas Day as kids. All that excitement, atmosphere, lovely food and fun. Always fun times.

The verbatim entry;

Christmas Day

Up at 6.30. Opened stocking – Yorkie, tic tacs, book, paper clip, piggy bank, make up, biro, rubber, Abbey National notebook.

Went downstairs. Cup of tea. Unwrapped pressies – cardi, Parker pen and biro, Barry Manilow* LP, Ludlum book, Neil Diamond single, record cleaner, Bogeyman book, Pooh calendar.

Brekky. Got dressed. Listened to Barry Manilow LP. Read book. Had orange drink then Florida Orange. Listened to Beach Boys, Paul Simon, The Police. Tracey worked.

Christmas dinner. Afterwards watched TOTP with No.1s. Bit of George and Mildred, Putting on the Ritz (Fred Astaire), James Bond (Man with the Golden Gun). Went upstairs to my room. Downstairs. Watched Airport 75 -terrible. Bed.

Eh? Where is everyone? Where’s the excitement? The drama? The interaction? The fun?

Why did I keep a daily record of my life based on stuff, the TV I watched and daily activities like waking up and going to bed?

Mind boggling and hilariously, weirdly, odd.

*I ain’t gonna apologise for Bazza. I loved him then and I still do. Mr Ultimate Cheese with the mysterious background. I do wonder about the Abbey National notebook and Neil Diamond single though. 

The Society for Disability Studies

Annual conference 2012. Where photographically, it became increasingly about the carpet.

Bill Clinton, Posh Fish and the work do

Just like I nearly met Michelle Obama a few months ago, today I nearly met Bill Clinton. Small world and all that. We were at a work do in a local hotel when we noticed some security type geezules with ear pieces prowling the corridors. Very atmospheric, and slightly surreal. The hotel is based in an old prison.

“Ooer.. someone important here tonight then?” we chittered, moving towards the photographer to have our work pics taken.
“Hey, is Bill Clinton talking to you lot tonight then?” asked the photographer, conspiratorially.
“Eh, wha? Bill Cer-linton? Here?” We looked round.
“Yep, I saw this security guard earlier in town and asked to take his photo. Then I heard from the guys in the office that Bill Clinton walked passed Posh Fish in a white suit. I just saw the same security guard walk in a moment ago…”
“Wow.”
“A white suit?”
“No, he ain’t talking to us.”

The action hotted up as an older man rushed past, dressed just like like a US reporter in the movies.

“Ah. He’s a journalist from the New Yorker.”
“Did you just recognise a journalist from the New Yorker?”
“No, he said ‘I’m from the New Yorker’ on his phone when he went passed.”

More security people gathered in the exercise yard. Looking very serious. Scanning the area. Was Big Bill about to arrive?

New Yorker guy rushed passed again.

“Excuse me, is something happening this evening?” I ventured.
“Happening? No idea?” he answered with a big, fake shrug, rushing off again.

Blacked out cars filled the front of the hotel. A posse of security guards, the size of minibuses, came in from the rain.

“A ‘V.I.P.’ is going to be filming out back”, one of them said. With a serious, Bill Clinton related, nod.

“Well I’d love to hang around and meet him”, I thought to myself. “But it’s Tom’s birthday and I’ve got meself some butterfly cakes to ice.”

The torch relay

“Come on LB! Hurry up or we’ll miss it!”
“I hate the torch relay Mum. I HATE it!”
“Come on…”
“I HATE THE TORCH RELAY! I HATE THE TORCH RELAY!
“Look, I think it’s coming along St Clements already…”
“Why are you doing this to me Mum? I.HATE.THE.TORCH.RELAY.”
“There – look! Can you see it? Above all those people? Look up there..”
“I hate it Mum.”
“Ok. It’s gone. Home now.”
“Thank you Mum. Can I go back on Youtube Mum?”

The Sickie

“Mum? Mum is it school today Mum?”
“Yep.”
“What if I didn’t feel well Mum?”
“Don’t you feel well?”
“No Mum.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Dodgy stomach Mum.”
“Well you look fine to me.”
“I can’t go to school Mum. I don’t want to infect the other kids.”
“You’re going to school.”
“Mum! I’ve got a dodgy stomach Mum. And I feel sick. That’s what I feel like today.”
“School LB.”
“MUM. I’m knackered Mum. And I’m seventeen. I HATE school.”