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.

Sunshine, support and fluffy dogs

Old social worker: So I think if you are hoping that LB will eventually move into supported living, he needs to get used to staying away from family…

Adult social worker: Well there’s always respite at Saxon House.

Me: Mmm.. I’m not sure he’d want to go there for respite.

OSW: Oh no. Definitely not. [laughs] He hates ‘the disableds’ does LB [laughs]. He is hilarious. You haven’t met him yet but he comes out with the funniest things. [starts crying with laughter] He sat there, looking at me last time and came out with these one liners. He is totally comical…[wipes eyes]

ASW: Well there’s always Camden. That’s run more like a hotel than a respite centre. It’s like walking into a hotel and it’s all set up like a hotel. There’s a couple of them locally and I think there’s one at the seaside. And actually, you’d be surprised how many people don’t see themselves as disabled.

Me: Wow!!! Camden sounds amazing.

OSW: Oh yes. A hotel? That sounds right up LB’s street.

ASW: Well it’s all about choice these days. You know. Personalised budgets and choices.

Me: [floats off into some imaginary space full of sunshine, fluffy dogs, support and services]

The holiday

“Hey, LB. (Social care agency) rang today…”
“Yes Mum.”
“They said they’ve got a great holiday you can go on in the Summer. Five days at an activity centre with a few young people.”
“No Mum. I don’t want to go Mum.”
“Ahh.. it will be fab. Loads of fun and activities. You love the holidays you go on with school…”
“Who is it with Mum?”
“(Social care agency).”
“No Mum. I don’t want to go Mum.”
“Why not?”
“It will just be misery Mum. It will just be a bucket of misery Mum.”
“Well, Sue from (social care agency) is coming round in a couple of weeks to tell us some more about it.”
“I don’t want to go Mum. It will be misery, Mum. I just like lorries Mum. Irish lorries Mum.”
“Well, let’s have a bit of a think about it when we meet up with Sue.”
“I don’t want to go Mum.”

Benefit cheaters

The whole business of who should inform people of the benefits, support and services they may be entitled to has been playing on my mind for the last few weeks. In some work I’m doing, involving interviews with people with long term conditions, there are consistent reports of people not knowing. Not knowing they were entitled to x, y or z.

Similarly, I was surprised to be told by mates that LB has been entitled to Employment and Support Allowance since he was 16. Eh? Wha? Are you sure?? How do you know? (Other parents told them). How could I not know?

I cast my mind back over all the meetings I’ve had with various profs over the past year or so:

  • There was that DWP woman who travelled 100 miles to see for herself whether LB could manage his own finances.
  • Two annual reviews with a Connexion worker and a social worker in attendance, as well as school staff.
  • At least three meetings with a transition social worker (to increase LB’s care package (from 4 hours a month, to 4 hours a week and discuss the future).
  • The Direct Payments police.
  • School nurse, paediatric neurologist, adult neurologist, GP, local authority funded care agency… and so on.

Now I ain’t suggesting it is the responsibility of any one of the above to inform us of benefits. I’m just surprised that given the huge layers of bureaucracy and meetings that having a child like LB involves, we could get to him being over 17 without a mention of ESA.

On Twitter yesterday, a couple of people said there are welfare rights experts based in CABs (currently under threat from government cuts). But it boils down to the old saying; you don’t know what you don’t know. I didn’t know I should contact the CAB at this point (or a year ago). And, given the amount of time I have spent in meetings like the ones listed above, I suppose I didn’t think I needed to.

For me, there is an opaqueness to the benefit system in this country. So much information seems to be passed on from parent to parent, disabled person to disabled person, support group to members, rather than through ‘official’ channels.  I’ve had a shufty at the government website providing information about ESA and other benefits. Reading the information, it wouldn’t have crossed my mind that LB is eligible. A quick look at the other benefits/allowances left me as much in the dark. It took seconds to be told about ESA, by mates, and to be emailed the number I then rang to organise it. Seconds.

Makes me wonder, really, who is doing the cheating?

Frankie, Benny, Kevin and Terry

Part of LB’s new care package includes a 12 week course with a buddy. This buddy will take him out and about, to help him increase his independence, encouraging appropriate behaviour round the ladees and road safety.  I told LB this morning that Terry, his new buddy, would be coming to meet him this evening, then promptly forgot about it.

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The T word

I’m seriously starting to hate the T word. Trans-fucking-ition. Professionals (teachers, social workers, clinicians) drip it into conversations with big nods and concerned faces.

“We need to talk about transition,” they say, before disappearing out the door.
“How old is LB now? Mmmm…
nearly in transition then.”
“I’ll make an appointment around seven months before his 18th birthday, so we can really start to discuss transition. But you should be thinking about it now.”

OK. I’m thinking. Think think thinkety think.  Er. I’m struggling a bit here. What am I actually supposed to be thinking about?

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History of a diagnosis (es)

LB and ‘diagnosis’. Well that was a winding old road, with a few false starts (and ultimately a dead end). I knew there was something up from the first couple of months. He was way, way too good. So good (undemanding, placid, cheerful, smiley and happy to just watch everyone) but every so often, he would have random outbursts in which he was inconsolable. I used to ask friends if they thought there was anything different about him but it was always a giant ‘NOOOOOOO.  Don’t be daft’… But I knew. Continue reading