An ideological Trojan horse – greed and cruelty dressed up as compassion, that’s Dave’s ‘Big Society’
It’s time to mount the barricades, says Frank. “He will leave a gilded hourglass welded to the mantelpiece of No.10, resources for the poor emptying like sand into a growing mountain for the rich. Propped next to it, a calling card for posterity that reads ‘Big Society by Dave’. Big Society my elbow. The forked tongue of 21st century leadership,” said wife, beheading a boiled egg.
“Humans have aspired to big society for over 4,500 years,” wife continued, stabbing the butter, brooking no interruption. “The flow of resources was usually the other way round”.
A well-placed word in edgeways – nano-second-quick – might have turned this into a conversation. “The ancient Hebrews levied a tax to benefit the poor. Augustus gave public aid to 200,000 people in 28 AD”. The toast had long since capitulated but was still being walloped. “Last century, Bevan tried to put an end to two nations, rich and poor, with social security, health, employment, housing for all. For all, note. It was called the Welfare State. Now that was a big society”.
Loved up
She continued, “Not what Dave meant at all. Big Society Small State that’s what. Ideological Trojan horse carrying the idea that people are going to get loved up not ripped off. Who wouldn’t want to be loved up?” she asked, savouring a sweet, buttery moment in an otherwise savage breakfast. “Greed and cruelty dressed up as compassion, leading us on. It really gets my goat,” she said, tongue finally trapped in marmalade.
Ignoring the oft-got goat I spied my chance. “PIP,” I said nano-second-quick, “…my elbow”. I jabbed at the Marmite with a spoon, following wife’s lead. “Another of Dave’s Trojan horses. What sort of personal independence is it where payments to 13,000 disabled people are stopped so that they can’t get to the hospital or go to work?” I said, dropping spoon on to side plate for emphasis, cracking it. “Not again, Frank” said wife uber-sternly. “Stop this endless moaning and do something about it. Pick a weapon and mount the barricades”. Miffed, my retort was muffled in Marmite.
I mulled it over nonetheless. Weapons? If I sign anymore e-petitions I will become rent-a-signature. Practise mindfulness? More a shield than a weapon. Direct action? Spray paint and failed getaways ending in magistrates courts. No longer my thing. Join up to a kinder, more honest politics perhaps? Like defending against a cobra’s strike by appealing to its humanity.
What about just shouting at and shaming people like we did in the 80s, akin to moaning and therefore something I am naturally good at?
Insensitive lie
I recalled a photosymbol of a woman, proxy for the Southern Health NHS Foundation Trust CEO, Katrina Percy, standing with a magnifying glass next to an Easy Read comment, searching for truth but finding only an insensitive lie. “We investigated all the deaths we needed to,” she says, responding to the Mazar’s report that less than 1% of unexpected deaths of people with learning disabilities were investigated, and most of those botched.
“Where are you off to so suddenly?” asks wife. “I am headed South to mount the barricades against the forked tongue of 21st century leadership,” I shouted, practising volume, slamming the door, cracking the glass.
