Advice on a real choice

Enabling someone to decide for themselves is a basic human right and boosts wellbeing, and a new guide and workshops support you to help others to exercise this, say Sally Warren and Jo Giles

Two people at outdoor cafe ordering

“Sometimes I rush into things and it goes pear shaped. I don’t think everything through. I want my supporters to help me understand the situation, so that I can think through the right road for me. I want them to help me understand.”

This comment from David Jeffrey, a self-advocate from London, sums up why Paradigm launched supported decision-making workshops and a free guide (available on our website) for anyone in a support role. Our training organisation co-produced the guide with self-advocates.

Enabling someone to decide for themselves is a basic human right highlighted in the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, the Mental Capacity Act 2005 and the Care Act 2014.

Often people will be offered only one option, for example a move into residential care.

The Mental Capacity Act should uphold people’s rights to make decisions, from small everyday decisions such as what to eat to bigger ones such as over where to live.

But often, people with a learning disability are stopped from making decisions because others think it unwise.

If a decision seems risky, it is important to check if the person understands the risks and choices. They may need support to consider the options or find better ones.

Lucy Series, lecturer at the School for Policy Studies at the University of Bristol, contributed to our guide.

“Most people take for granted that they will make key decisions about their lives. We also know that being able to make decisions about our own lives is critical for wellbeing,” she says.

Supported decision-making involves:

  • Asking how someone wants to be supported
  • Asking if there is anyone they would like (or not like) to help them make the decision
  • Making or finding accessible information about the options
  • Helping someone find out about the choices available
  • Support to understand and weigh up the pros and cons of each option
  • Help to identify any risks and explore how to address them
  • Supporting the person in expressing their feelings about each option.

Often people will be offered only one option, for example a move into residential care.

Take one young man we know – let’s call him Tim – who does not use many words to communicate.

He was supported to take part in weekly swimming sessions but these usually ended abruptly, with support workers taking him home because he was too upset.

One of the home team who knew Tim well was asked to go along to find out what was happening. As they drove there, Tim was happy to be going out, clapping, cheering and saying “car”.

But, when they got to the road leading to the pool, he became upset, with his distress escalating when one of the staff got out of the car to get his wheelchair and another tried to remove his seatbelt.

The person who knew him asked if anyone had considered that Tim did not want to go swimming – maybe he didn’t need to return home but try something different.

She asked Tim if he wanted to go for a drive as he had loved the journey. He stopped shouting and, as they drove off, shouted: “Hooray.”

This distressing experience could have been prevented if staff had offered him support to decide on the activity.

Our guide includes a decision flow chart to help anyone in a support role to think through this process.

It includes questions, such as what kind of issue is involved: a big decision or a smaller one? Does the person prefer a certain communication method, so they can fully understand the options?

The resource also includes downloadable checklists to help keep the person at the centre of the decision-making.

We need to be upholders and campaigners – not gatekeepers – in upholding people’s rights so they can, with appropriate support, steer their own way through life.

Sally Warren is managing director and Jo Giles is associate at Paradigm

Families find solidarity

An event brought together people whose relatives had died in state care. This aimed to amplify their voices and make the experiences of bereaved families less harrowing, says Will Lewallen

Spencer + Will Lewallen

Six months after the death of my beloved teenage brother Spencer at a residential care home in southern England, my mum and I went to the charity Inquest’s Mental Health, Learning Disability and Autism Family Consultation Day.

The purpose of that event in London last May was to amplify the voices of families like ours and ensure relatives can contribute to policy changes.

Inquest is the only charity providing expertise on state-related deaths and their investigation to bereaved people. The day’s discussions fed into the charity’s report on the problems relatives face after the death of a loved one in mental health services.

The report reflects demands for changes to the system, including:

  • Independent investigations into deaths related to mental health
  • A national coronial service to address inconsistencies in the inquest system
  • Non-means tested legal funding for all families involved in inquests where state bodies are involved
  • A duty of candour on those giving evidence.

These concerns also drive Inquest’s No More Deaths campaign to end preventable state-related deaths. The campaign calls for a new independent public body to analyse and follow up recommendations from inquests, inquiries, official reviews and investigations into such deaths.

Still reeling from my 19-year-old brother’s death while in residential care in November 2021, we arrived at the family day overwhelmed and uninformed. The majority of those attending were further down the line than us; most had completed the lengthy and draining inquest process.

Callous gaps in our legal system such as these hamper too many families’ search for justice and accountability.

People spoke candidly about their experiences, all of which were incredibly harrowing. There were 14 family members bereaved by deaths in the care of mental health services or settings for people with learning disabilities and/or autism.

We shared common ground, anger and grief and spent time simply being around people who understood such ineffable ordeals. What united us was the desire to ensure that more families do not have to endure the same experience.

The main mechanism through which bereaved families seek change is through prevention of future death reports. Coroners have a statutory duty to issue these when they feel future deaths can be mitigated – but only if the failings that led to a death are deemed systemic or likely to be repeated.

Many families we met did not receive such reports; the deaths were deemed to result from individual failings so did not merit them. Yet, in most cases, those accountable were not prosecuted due to the unreasonably high threshold for criminal charges such as manslaughter or neglect.

Callous gaps in our legal system such as these hamper too many families’ search for justice and accountability.

Despite these relatives’ frustration at the processes, they were unbelievably kind in discussing their experiences. People warned us of the realities of facing legal teams, such as bullying defence lawyers.

Many felt they were left in the dark or, on the contrary, were bombarded with information at a time they were unable to process it.

We all agreed that the voices of the relatives left behind need to be listened to in a meaningful way.

Afterwards, I was unsure  how to feel. I was torn between replaying all the obstacles to justice I had heard about and tuning into the beauty of being in a room with people who really care. Solidarity, understood as a consciousness of shared interests, is truly joyful.

All the staff present that day, all the caseworkers and everybody in between embody these shared interests. They recognise and believe in their heart of hearts that our struggles are their struggles. Most importantly, they convinced me that they truly cared. The effect this has on one’s soul during such dark times is indescribable.

This article is based on a blog written for Inquest’s website

Will Lewallen is a writer, climber and works supporting children with special needs

Get ready for adult life

A hundred young people have co-produced and feature in a bright, clear guide to adult life. This and careers events may give them new ideas on what to do, say Dan Wilkins and Abbie Mines

Jade Miles serving in shop

To be ready for adult life after school or college, you need the right information
– and this should be accessible, useful and interesting.

Young people had been critical of Wiltshire Council’s previous guide on preparing for adulthood. It was “boring” and had “too many words”, they said. They found it confusing and could not easily find the information they needed, plus it did not provide the details they wanted.

They wanted colours, photos and information shared in a more accessible way.

The right language

We wanted to co-produce a resource to support young people to move on that used the same language they did.

In Wiltshire, 5,315 people have education health and care plans. Our preparation for adulthood team visited mainstream and special schools and colleges.

Students looked at a draft guide and gave feedback verbally or were supported to complete a written feedback form.

We overhauled the guide and changed it from a dry, wordy document into a colourful, accessible resource. A key result of the feedback was that the language was made clear and relatable.

Our Growing Up and Moving On guide helps young people with special educational needs and disabilities (SEND) consider what they want to do after school. It features some of the 100 young people who helped shape it.

It includes tips on money management, benefits, independent living, clubs, activities and volunteering, taking care of health as well as help and support and local, independent providers of this.

Wiltshire is by no means the first organisation to use co-production, but we think how we engaged with young people to develop the guide is unique; they had full ownership and it reflects their language.

For example, the word “transition” is traditionally used to describe the move from children’s to adult services. This term is ambiguous and can describe many different events.

The word transition was replaced with “growing up” in the guide – because that is fundamentally what it is about.

Considering careers

The document, which is now just over a year old, has been shared in SEND and mainstream schools.

Based on the guide and the work to produce it, Wiltshire Council will hold its second Growing Up and Moving On event for young people with SEND in October at the Civic Centre in Trowbridge.

The aim of these events is to allow young people to see for themselves what is on offer. They can meet professionals and services, ask questions and get information so they can make decisions about their future.

Last year’s event at the Corn Exchange in Devizes was attended by around 100 students, along with teachers and support staff. There were 17 stalls hosted by various professionals, including those in the fields of education, social care and employment.

Speakers included a young woman who talked about her education, her work as a massage therapist and her plans to work for Victim Support.

Students from Fairfield Farm college spoke about their learning experience, what they wanted for the future and what they would like to find out about.

We hope young people will gain knowledge from the events and the guide and put it into practice, recognise their potential and go on to lead independent and fulfilling lives – and maybe consider options that had not occurred to them previously.

Dan Wilkins is head of adult social care transformation and quality at Wiltshire Council; Abbie Mines is transitions coordinator at the 18-25 Moving On Service at Wiltshire Council

Chris Hatton: it should be obvious that backgrounds are multifaceted

Health and social care services seem neither able nor willing to understand the complexity of people’s circumstances, especially those from minority ethnic backgrounds

Father and son on sofa

In July, the NHS Race and Health Observatory published a major review – We Deserve Better: Ethnic Minorities with a Learning Disability and Access to Healthcare.

This goes alongside other recent work highlighting the discrimination that people with learning disabilities from ethnic minorities experience. This includes the Commission on Covid-19 Ableism and Racism, organised by the Voluntary Organisations Disability Group, and the Small Margins from Changing Our Lives report (PDF) on how people with learning disabilities from ethnic minorities experience social care.

The NHS Race and Health Observatory work shows the catastrophic consequences of this discrimination. Between 2018 and 2021, the median age of death of people with learning disabilities recorded as white was 62 years (the median age of death is the age at which exactly half the deaths occurred in people above that age and half in those below).

This is shockingly young compared to the general population, where the median age of death is above 80, according to the Office for National Statistics.

The figures for people with learning disabilities from other ethnic groups are even worse: 40 years for people in black, black British, Caribbean or African ethnic groups; 33 years for people in Asian or Asian British ethnic groups; 30 years for people in mixed ethnic groups; and 49 years for people in other ethnic groups.

Government policies and NHS England plans often reference the health inequalities experienced by people with learning disabilities in comparison to the general population.

The NHS Race and Health Observatory review shows that, beyond the Valuing People white paper in 2001, the ethnic inequalities experienced by people with learning disabilities have been pretty much absent from government policy or organisational guidance.

We don’t even know the ethnicity of the population of adults with learning disabilities, or have regular information on how this plays out in access to health or social support.

The issues reported by people with learning disabilities from ethnic minority communities and their family members in all three reports and in the sparse research that exists are depressingly similar to those in the landmark King’s Fund report on double discrimination more than 30 years ago.

All these reports emphasise the importance of intersectionality. The easy read version from Changing Our Lives, Small Margins explains what this means: “No one is just disabled. Disability is part of a person’s identity. Disabled people have lots of different parts that make them who they are, just like everyone else does.”

Someone’s sex, sexuality, religion, wealth and all sorts of other issues matter, and thinking about any one aspect of a person’s life while ignoring everything else isn’t going to respect that person’s identity.

We don’t know the ethnicity of the population of adults with learning disabilities or how this affects access to health or social support

Why does intersectionality matter? In the research I mention, people with learning disabilities from ethnic minorities talk about the pervasive discrimination they experience. For some people, racism is upfront, for others is it ableist discrimination and for many it is both working together in ways that are often difficult to disentangle.

People also talk about most health and social care services not being able or willing to understand the complexity of people’s identities and circumstances.

For example, if a service offers reasonable adjustments for a person with learning disabilities, it is unlikely to also shape these to work for people across a range of ethnic groups.

Taking intersectionality seriously is both vital and a fundamental challenge to how policymakers, services (and most researchers) think and operate. Reading these reports is a good way to start.

Support can work from a distance, and being in the same boat has potential mental health benefits

Remote support can make people feel more in control of their lives, plus people who have used mental health services could help others in the same position, says Juliet Diener

Community Living

Remote support can help people negotiate day-to-day issues, and peer support in mental health is explored.

Support at a distance

Zaagsma M, Koning MHM, Volkers KM, Schippers AP, van Hove G. Supporting independently living people with intellectual disabilities: a qualitative study into professional remote support practices. Journal of Learning Disabilities. 13 June 2022.

Professional services are seeking more remote approaches to supporting disabled adults in any type of setting, including independent living.

While this way of delivering services was accelerated due to the pandemic, it was also developed to minimise costs and improve access to care. It has also been argued that remote services allow more choice and privacy for a person.

Remote services were intended to improve long-term care by making it “more person centred and to increase self-direction”.

This qualitative study analysed remote services provided by support staff at Dutch service DigiContact.

It was designed, planned and delivered by numerous skilled and experienced researchers along with a co-researcher with intellectual disabilities.

Using documents, interviews with people supported by DigiContact, caseworkers and support workers, the research team analysed the material and identified seven key themes.

The themes were grouped into categories, according to the “what” of the support (such as how to make an appointment) and the “how” of providing this (such by phone, video call or email).

The findings were positive, especially regarding people with learning disabilities who were living independently by strengthening their capabilities to manage day-to-day issues. This gave the person a greater sense of control and a feeling that workers were supportive.

However, it was not always possible to have the same workers offering a person remote support, which made it more difficult to build relationships.

Not enough is written about the potential of remote services and this study hopes to encourage further research into this.

It is noted that remote services are not suitable for every setting and person and should not be seen as a quick fix for social care.

Peer support

Ali S, Allum P, Vassell S, Levitan T. Peer support by and for people with learning disabilities. Journal of Learning Disabilities. 9 August 2023.

Peer support in this study is that provided by people with direct experience of mental health problems and services. The paper acknowledges that the NHS has long recognised the need for peer support in healthcare.

The article considers peer support for those with learning disabilities experiencing mental health concerns, with a focus on recovery. This is defined as “more than improving symptoms, it is about living a good life even if you still have mental health difficulties”.

The research team consisted of adults with learning disabilities with experience of mental ill-health as well as a psychologist. All had taken part in recovery programmes and all contributed to writing the article.

Isolation in society and belittling language were reported to affect the mental health of those with learning disabilities considerably.

The researchers shared their opinions and experiences at workshops, and discussed how they could offer insight to help others like themselves recover. Their views about the training they had received to be a peer supporter were explored.

The group explored causes of mental health problems and differences between people developing these conditions and those born with a learning disability.

Isolation in society and belittling language were reported to affect the mental health of those with learning disabilities considerably.

The study identified the skills needed by peer and non-disabled supporters, and the importance of an inclusive team. The group valued being seen as professionals but acknowledged the stresses this could involve.

It is evident these roles have a great deal to offer.

Club with a toxic secret

Boys at a harsh institution who joined an illustrious-sounding science club were given days out and gifts – and special food laced with radioactive isotopes. Susanna Shapland reports

Walter E. Fernald State School

What would become known as the Walter E Fernald Develop-mental Center was founded in 1848 as the Massachusetts School for the Feeble-Minded. Its original aim was to train society’s supposedly “untrainable” children so they could go on to lead productive lives.

The centre’s purpose shifted with the spread of eugenics. Eugenics was based on the concept of inheritance, and the belief that nations needed to breed “good” traits into their populations while breeding out the “bad”, just as with livestock.

Those who had previously been seen as potentially capable of contributing to society were recast as unsalvageable. Most dangerous were those labelled “high-grade defectives”, later “morons”, who appeared “normal” so were free to breed and pass on “defective” traits.

Inspired by eugenics and aided by the publication of the deeply flawed Stanford-Binet IQ test in 1916, Massachusetts, like many American states, began seeking out and testing potential “morons” in the general population, and segregating them indefinitely in institutions such as Fernald.

In practice, the centre was soon flooded with orphans, children from poor or unstable families and those considered delinquent.

By 1949, 150,000 Americans were institutionalised, around 12,000 of whom were considered to be of “relatively normal intelligence”.

At Fernald, inmates were met with brutality and coldness by the overworked and under-qualified staff. Sexual, verbal and physical abuse, from both other inmates and staff, was rife and went largely unpunished. Conversely, the penalties for children who transgressed, whether by stealing, escaping or simply talking at the wrong time, were severe.

When resentment at the unfairness and hopelessness resulted in 15 boys taking over and largely destroying ward 22, they were sent to the infamous Bridgewater State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Only seven were allowed to return.

Inmates were left largely uneducated, and the “brighter” children were often required to provide free manual labour to bolster the centre’s income. No matter how bright or well behaved, all of Fernald’s inmates were there for an indefinite stay.

The brighter children often had to provide free labour to raise income. No matter how bright or well behaved, all inmates were there indefinitely

Clemens Benda, the head of Fernald’s medical laboratory, regularly used Fernald’s captive population in his experiments.

In 1949, he teamed up with the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to investigate how the body absorbs cereals and nutrients.

In a study partially funded by Quaker Oats, some of the brighter boys were invited to join the prestigious-sounding Science Club.

They were fed a special diet then rigorously tested to determine its effects. Club members received extra food as well as gifts and went on special trips, and were told they were engaged in vital work for the good of mankind.

What the boys and their parents were not told, however, was that they were being fed radioactive isotopes with their oatmeal, in just one of a series of human radiation experiments that were taking place in state institutions across America.

These boys and hundreds of others like them were eventually freed from Fernald by policy and funding changes in the late 1950s.

Under-educated, traumatised and unprepared for life outside, many struggled. Some kept their time at Fernald secret. Others battled to receive recognition of the abuse they had suffered during their unfair confinement.

Compensation came at last in the 1990s, when the Advisory Committee on Hospital Radiation Experiments came to investigate what went on in the Science Club.

While the levels of radiation were low and believed not to have harmed the boys, it was acknowledged that the experiments were “morally troubling” due to a lack of informed consent and the “unfairness” of selecting institutionalised children who already had such difficult lives.

An apology from the institutions was not forthcoming, but club members did eventually receive some financial compensation.

Fernald closed in 2014.

D’Antonio M (2005) The State Boys Rebellion: the Inspiring True Story of American Eugenics and the Men Who Overcame It. Publisher: Simon and Schuster

Consequences of work

Entering paid work and changes in employment and earnings can affect numerous benefits in many ways – and may even lead to abilities being reassessed, says Charlie Callanan

Making Work Pay - sign in window

Many disabled people who are unemployed would like to work. However, it is important to know how starting work may affect benefits.

For new claims, universal credit (UC) has replaced previous means-tested benefits. People receiving these so-called legacy benefits are gradually being migrated to UC.

UC is more flexible in allowing people to change their employment status while keeping some benefit. There is no limit to how many hours a person can work.

Normally, for every £1 the claimant or their partner earns, their UC payment is reduced by 55p.

However, a work allowance applies to a claimant or their partner if they have a disability qualifying them as having limited capability for work or are responsible for a child or young person aged under 18.

In these cases, the claimant can earn up to either £379 or £631 per month before their UC award is reduced. (The higher amount takes account of housing costs, such as rent and some service charges.)

If a UC claimant has been assessed has having limited capability for work status but their earnings rise over a fixed threshold (16 hours multiplied by the national minimum wage or living wage), this limited capability may be reassessed.

Employment and support allowance (ESA) is awarded to people whose ability to work is limited by a disability or illness, so paid work is normally not allowed. However, claimants can still get ESA while doing “permitted work”. This includes:

  • Working for less than 16 hours a week if this has been allowed by the Department for Work and Pensions
  • “Supported” permitted work, supervised by a public or voluntary organisation employee who finds employment opportunities for disabled people
  • Work done as part of a treatment programme under medical supervision.

The earnings limit for all these is £167 a week. Permitted work can also be where a claimant earns up to £20 a week.

The rules are different for people who receive legacy benefits.

For income support and jobseeker’s allowance, if a claimant or their partner works for 16 or 24 or more hours per week respectively, the claimant cannot get the benefit any more. They
may instead claim UC to top up their earnings.

However, if a claimant or their partner works for less than these hours, they may able to keep the benefit depending on how much they earn.

Working tax credit is payable to qualifying claimants who are employed and meeting working hour thresholds of 16, 24 or 30 hours depending on their circumstances. Claims are reviewed annually when the person declares their earnings for the previous tax year.

Housing benefit is available to people of working age who are already claiming it. As it is means tested, most income from employment is counted when it is calculated, unless the person also gets a qualifying means-tested benefit.

Similarly, with council tax reduction, any new earnings or a change in income may affect the amount. The local authority should be told about any such changes.

Disability benefits, including personal independence payments, are not means tested so are not affected by earnings. However, the nature of any work and the duties involved may raise doubts over entitlement, which could lead to an award being reassessed.

The nature of any work and its duties may raise doubts over entitlement to disability benefits

A carer may be able to claim carer’s allowance. If a carer is in paid employment while getting this, their earnings must be no more than £139 a week after deductions, and they must still be able to care for at least 35 hours per week.

Taking a paid job has an impact on many benefits. Also, starting to earn while claiming a legacy benefit may end this award. Expert advice should always be sought when considering a change in employment status.

Activities are more than a choice

Disability-related expenditure should not be restricted to what is necessary for care and support, and a person’s own ambitions should be taken into account, reports Belinda Schwehr

Girl kicking football on pitch

A high court decision has obliged councils to reconsider their approach to disregarding disability-related expenditure (DRE) from people’s incomes.

The case, as the judgment states, “raises important questions of principle about our collective duty towards members of the community who live with disabilities that make their daily life more difficult”.

RW is an autistic man whose Care Act personal budget was converted into a direct payment to meet his assessed needs. As part of his care plan, he attended a social and life skills group three times a week.

He paid to attend from his personal budget but needed to meet an additional charge for activities (around £15 per session). RW requested the council consider this cost to be DRE and therefore disregard that sum from the total of his available income for charging purposes.

The council refused. It suggested that RW “chose” to attend these activities and there were cheaper ways to have social interaction and, alternatively, that such expenditure was part of his “care and support” and should come out of his personal budget.

RW’s stance was that, without the activities, there would be no point in attending. The activity provider confirmed that the purpose of attendance was engagement in particular
team-based activities to develop his skills to lead an independent life.

The case raises important questions of principle about our collective duty towards those who live with disabilities that make their daily life more difficult

Both RW and a staff member gave evidence about the strengthening of RW’s confidence, social bonds and wellbeing.

The judge divided the legal issue into three parts, which were whether the costs:

  • Were capable of being seen as disability related
  • Were properly considered regarding whether they were necessary and reasonably incurred
  • Could be ignored as DRE because they had to be discharged from his personal budget.

The judgment steered clear of the merits of the decision on whether every single activity cost was or was not DRE; Judge Dexter Dias KC considered only whether the council’s decisions were lawful.

He applied the Care Act 2014 and the Care and Support (Charging and Assessment of Resources) Regulations 2014, citing the guidance, which stated “what is disability-related expenditure should not be limited to what is necessary for care and support’’.

The judge found the activities were undoubtedly capable of being covered by DRE and the council’s all-or-nothing approach was flawed and in breach of the regulations.

The argument that because expenditure is disability related then it automatically should come out of formal care funding was also rejected.

It was clear that there was a category of private expenditure that goes beyond what is necessary for care and support and this category underpins the role of DRE when determining what is a reasonable charge.

Consideration of the scope of DRE cannot be limited to what a care planner regards as necessary to meet care and support needs. Councils must recognise that there may be additional expenditure that arises beyond the funded services or budget. While these are paid for with an individual’s own money, they may meet eligible needs.

The council argued that “cheaper” options were open to RW so the expenditure was not necessary but his own choice. The judge considered the relevance of the word “necessary” as the DRE regulation does not use this term but the word “required”.

However, the judge saw that “necessary” was used in the guidance. He noted it was broadly synonymous with “required” but had shades of meaning.

Its appearance in the guidance was to be interpreted in the context of the surrounding provisions about charging and the two DRE conditions mentioned in the guidance: that the expenditure is directly related to the disability; and that the additional cost is reasonable.

The judge favoured the “natural and ordinary meaning” of necessary after considering several dictionary definitions.

The Oxford English Dictionary definitions include “needed for a purpose or a reason”; the Cambridge Dictionary’s is: “needed in order to achieve a particular result”. These were contrasted with the Merriam-Webster definition, which includes examples with a higher degree of essentiality: “inescapable, logically unavoidable, compulsory”.

The judge concluded that necessary here meant “needed to achieve an objective” – that objective being to develop and maintain personal relationships and achieve autonomy. It could not mean that the person’s expenditure had to be the only or only logically necessary way of achieving the objective.

DRE cannot be limitless, extravagant or exorbitant, the judge said but, in terms of reasonableness, while value for money is important, councils must base decisions on the person’s intended outcomes.

It would “be wrong to consider that a cheaper alternative must always be chosen irrespective of the wider implications and context beyond the bottom-line cost. There must be a fair balance struck and an evaluation of the trade-offs.”

He accepted that the council had evidence that not attending the sessions would be detrimental to RW’s wellbeing; insufficient regard had been paid to that consequence and decision-making must not ignore a person’s own “ambitions”.

The judge considered whether the costs were disproportionate. The evidence that the cost represented 7.3% of the funding provided informed his implicit conclusion that no authority could defensibly regard that as unreasonable expenditure in relation to the whole budget.

He concluded that the local authority had made a public law error and quashed this decision, directing it to make a new one.

The council had not considered relevant issues – the adverse emotional impact on RW, in addition to his social anxiety, wishes and feelings, autonomy and choice.

Instead, it had given “disproportionate, excessive and unreasonable weight to financial considerations and did not consider the limited cost of the activities compared to the total personal budget”.

It would be wrong to consider that a cheaper alternative must always be chosen irrespective of implications and context beyond cost

Undue emphasis had been put on costs without proper consideration of the effects on RW, who needed the support of the community to live independently and autonomously, in line with his UN convention rights.

Cases

RW v Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead [2023] EWHC 1449 (Admin). 

SH v Norfolk County Council [2020] EWHC 3436 (Admin).

Comment: guidance should be issued to reiterate ethos of Care Act

Councils, the National Association of Financial Assessment Officers and the Local Government and Social Care Ombudsman should take note of this exploration of the scope of and rightful approach to disability-related expenditure (DRE).

In practice, they should issue guidance to councils regarding internal complaints, to charging officers and within ombudsman case decisions.

Authorities cannot simply say: “It can only be expenditure where there is virtually no choice” nor argue “if it’s not mentioned in the care plan, it can’t have been that important and therefore it can’t be DRE”.

That should stop a worrying direction of travel that we have noticed increasingly since the SH v Norfolk County Council decision in 2020 on discrimination in how charging policies were applied.

The judge’s approach should provide fresh hope to those seeking to use the Care Act in the way in which it was intended to operate.

The judgment states: “The entire ethos of the Care Act 2014 is finally to place the individual front and centre of this decision-making process. It requires that their wishes and feelings, while not being determinative, are taken seriously… The power contained in the DRE regulations has as its existential purpose the reasonable and fair assessment of the ways that we as a community can support people living with disability.”

Mary O’Hara: vigilance needed to maintain disability funding

As in the UK, there is agreement in the US that people should receive support to live independently – but politicians often see the cost of this as a soft target

Man holding 'Save Medicaid' sign outside US Capitol

These are dark days for anyone caught up in the social care, benefits or healthcare systems in the UK.

Years of cuts have taken an enormous toll, while the cost of living and overstretched social care provision have seen financial hardship rise and access to support plummet.

Multiple charities highlight how people are being forced to pay for their own soaring care charges, putting ever greater strain on their already meagre finances.

Over in the US, advocates and campaigners, much like their British counterparts, are in a perpetual battle to secure people the support they need, when they need it and with community inclusion as a bedrock, not an add-on.

Insurance for support in the US

Medicaid, a US government-funded insurance programme, covers healthcare and community assistance for a range of people including millions of disabled adults and children.

Its introduction in 1965 was a pivotal moment in the decades-long shift from institutionalised care.

In total, around 87 million Americans were in receipt of Medicaid as of April this year – more than one in four of them.

It is the main source of funding for health and community services for millions of disabled people, including those with intellectual and developmental disabilities. It is often the only support for long-term community care services.

The system is complicated but, put simply, Medicaid is federally funded and administered while individual states are responsible for providing services and can match fund cash from the federal coffers.

Medicaid is far from a panacea. It is not exactly generous and provision varies from state to state. There are often waits for support, means testing leads to complex hoops being jumped through and it can be bureaucratically cumbersome.

However, it is a hugely popular and regarded by many people as essential to living in dignity in their communities. In March, data from the Kaiser Family Foundation’s Health Tracking Poll showed that three-quarters of Americans had a “very favourable” view of it.

Yet, not unlike the ongoing squeeze on health and social care in the UK, Medicaid is frequently in the line of fire for cuts.

During the latest set-to over the federal debt ceiling, Republicans again turned their attack dogs on Medicaid, with some calling for deep cuts to the tune of billions that would have seen around 21 million Americans ejected from it.

An attempt by the Republicans (not for the first time) to insert a “work requirement” during the negotiations fell at the final hurdle.

Disabled stave off attacks

David Goldfarb, director of long-term supports and services policy at The Arc, a nationwide umbrella services and advocacy body, says staving off challenges was in large part successful “because the disability community stood behind” efforts to protect Medicaid.

He points out that, in many ways, Medicaid has seen a “wild ride” running the gamut of expansion through President Obama’s Affordable Care Act in 2013 to ongoing threats to funding.

However, as he explains, “there is a lot of opportunity for bipartisanship”. There is a degree of agreement on supporting people to live independently, he argues, and political wrangles frequently revolve more around the overall cost of welfare programmes.

Threats to Medicaid remain and the wider political circus will do its thing as long as Republicans see the programme as low-hanging fruit in budget negotiations.

However, there is no denying the force of pushback against cuts that stopped them – this time.

For all the best efforts of advocates in the UK to protect services, the Tory government seems likely to make things worse in the next wave of cuts. And, at least until a general election, the same groups will suffer the consequences.

Scaling great heights

A young man with multiple disabilities has found his passions and confidence at a youth zone, says Sereena Lewis

Climber scaling climbing wall

Belting out Beyoncé’s Halo in front of a room full of friends takes confidence, just as conquering an eight-metre climbing wall takes skill and persistence.

I have watched Gabriel Ciubotaru achieve both of these. This incredible young man has a rare chromosome deletion that manifests in learning disabilities, cerebral palsy, feeding difficulties and balance issues.

As inclusion manager at Future Youth Zone in Dagenham, Essex – part of the OnSide national network of youth zones – I am lucky enough to work with 369 young people with additional needs, equivalent to 10% of our membership.

OnSide Youth Zones are state-of-the-art buildings located in disadvantaged areas and open to anyone aged 8-18 years or 25 years if they have an education health and care plan. The OnSide network sees 50,000 children and young adults come through its doors every year, nearly 4,000 of whom have additional needs.

We provide a well-equipped, supportive space that allows young people to find their passions and confidence, mentored by highly trained youth workers. We also host Futurebility day sessions for disabled members.

Every child deserves the chance to make friends and to thrive in social situations. That is no different for those with learning disabilities.

Pupils spend 85% of their waking hours outside school, so inclusion cannot end at the school gates.

We know from families that without the specialist services provided by Youth Zones and other charities, many young people would be stuck at home, lonely.

As for Ciubotaru, when he isn’t at college studying life skills, he is here. He says: “I feel safe and happy at Future. My first word when I walked in the first time was ‘Wow!’ It was huge and there were so many kids.

“Now I come every day to climb and use the music room and have lots of friends around me. If I feel sad, coming here cheers me up.”

I was struck by the 20-year-old’s cheeky smile when we first met in 2021. Here was a young man who doctors had given a 1% chance of surviving his disabilities but who had beaten the odds.

He liked to push boundaries and had behavioural challenges. So we made sure each session had the same rules and that he was rewarded for good behaviour, for example helping out on reception.

His mum, Marcela, says: “When Gabriel began to be more aware of his disability, his behaviour deteriorated. Future helped him understand his condition and to accept his disability. They gave me crisis management tips so that I could help calm him down at home. For example, music really helps.”

Our provision has to go beyond just being inclusive within the building. We link up with families, schools and organisations such as child and adolescent mental health services to support young people.

We want to equip teenagers to function well in society and surmount barriers to doing this.

Future recently piloted a six-week programme called the Nurture Group, which is designed to give young, disabled, learning disabled and neurodivergent people the confidence to attend mainstream senior sessions. Ciubotaru got stuck into everything.

He has thrived and is now on our Young Leader Programme, achieving first aid and safeguarding qualifications. When a younger child was hurt, Ciubotaru was adamant he wanted to stay and look after them.

The Gabriel I first met and the Gabriel I know now – the young man with cerebral palsy who took on the climbing wall and won – are very different. There is still room to grow, but I am so proud of what he has achieved.

Sereena Lewis is inclusion manager at Future Onside Youth Zone

Stephen Unwin: Chilling view of the value of lives

A national paper that evaluated people by their cost to the state shows a failure to understand the complexities of human life – and reminds us of some of the most repulsive policies in 20th century history, says Stephen Unwin

Joey Unwin

The British mainstream press has hit a new low in relation to stories about disability.

In a move eerily reminiscent of Nazi attempts to evaluate vulnerable people according to cost, in June The Daily Telegraph provided an online calculator to help its readers work out how much of their taxed salary went on “bankrolling the welfare state”.

Neues Volk - Nazi eugenics poster
This poster makes a value judgment on the 60,000RM cost looking after people who cannot work, saying: “Fellow citizen, that is your money too.” It was advertising Neues Volk (New People) Nazi magazine in 1937

As the article accompanying the calculator insisted, “millions are claiming benefits without ever having to look for work, helping to push the tax burden to the highest point since the Second World War”.

Tax cuts were presented as the only answer, and welfare where the axe should fall.

Just after the Telegraph published its piece, Kamran Mallick, chief executive of Disability Rights UK, said: “Disability hate speech is totally abhorrent and must stop. We urge The Telegraph to cease their campaign against disabled people unable to work.

“We are part of society, we are parents, brothers, sisters and friends. When we can’t work, it’s due to our impairments or health conditions.

“Anyone can become disabled and it can happen anytime in our lives – that’s why we as a decent society support each other.

“We have the right to live fulfilling lives, as part of the wider community, free of ableism and hate speech.”

Along with Disability Rights UK, more than 600 people have so far complained to press watchdog the Independent Press Standards Organisation, which is still assessing these complaints.

Out of interest, I entered an (entirely fictional) income of £150,000 a year into the calculator.

The calculator told me that I would pay a total of £60,222 in tax. Of this: 31.4% (£18,888) would be spent on welfare (not, note, schools or hospitals); 13.5% (£8,126) would support people in old age; 6.4% would go on sickness or disability benefits; 2.8% would support families and children; 1.9% would go on housing; and a tiny 0.2% would be spent on bereavement support and unemployment benefits. Finally, 6.7% would go on unidentified “social protection”, including the cost of administering benefits and enforcing the legislation.

None of this came as much of a shock (and I gather from reactions to the article that many of its assumptions are wrong), although readers may be surprised to read how much we spend on the elderly.

The Telegraph’s editor will no doubt defend his calculator on the grounds that transparency and accountability are essential for good government.

But this is deeply disingenuous: not only are the totals spent on all aspects of government expenditure readily available, but there is no good reason why welfare spending should merit this attention more than other expenditure.

Attacks on disabled people have all too often been dressed up in the clothes of good housekeeping

After all, with a simple change of the algorithm, we could have discovered what percentage of our taxes are spent on the vast sums wasted by Dido Harding who led the UK Health Security Agency and NHS Test and Trace during the pandemic, the ballooning costs of the Conservatives’ hard Brexit and Liz Truss’s catastrophic mini budget, let alone Boris Johnson’s enormous legal fees.

But the Telegraph’s agenda is all too clear: we’re too heavily taxed because of all that money spent on the welfare state, and this fiendish little calculator will show you all too clearly who is to blame.

The prejudice that lies behind this innovation fails to understand the complexities of human life – like many of this government’s policy.

Not only will most of the Telegraph’s readers eventually retire (if they’re not already retired), some will claim a state pension and many will have children and receive child benefit.

Finally, like the rest of Britain, one in four readers will belong to families with a disabled member, and many others will become disabled or go on to parent a child with disabilities.

It is almost as if the editor thinks that his readers are somehow immune to what Hamlet calls “the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to”; frailty, disability and
old age are fundamental to the human condition.

What’s more, no doubt many Telegraph readers work in the public sector and all benefit from public expenditure in countless other ways.

It is not this, however, which has shocked so many of us.

The real reason is the way that The Telegraph’s calculator reminds us of some of the most repulsive policies in 20th century history, especially attitudes to the public cost of supporting disabled people.

For, unlike the irrational hatred that shapes racism and sexism, attacks on disabled people have all too often been dressed up in the clothes of good housekeeping.

We can see this in the early arguments in favour of eugenics where social scientists were eager to reduce the cost of care.

Indeed, this was one of the chief goals of the “colony movement”, where disabled people, especially those with learning disabilities, were packed off to remote colonies whose farms, workshops and unpaid labour were designed to make them cost neutral.

Radicals argued for the sterilisation of so-called feeble-minded people to reduce future expenditure; large, poorly funded hospitals were favoured right up to the 1980s, above all because they offered an economy of scale.

Nazi Germany went even further and justified its murder of as many as 250,000 “useless eaters” on the grounds of cost, with a poster claiming that a man “suffering from a hereditary defect” cost “the people’s community 60,000 reichsmarks during his lifetime”.

School textbooks asked children to calculate the money to be saved if support was withdrawn: “An idiot in an institution costs around four reichsmarks a day. How much would it cost if he has to be cared for there for 40 years?”

One particularly vile Nazi statistician later “worked out that 70,273 ‘disinfections’ had saved the Reich 885,439,980 marks over a period of 10 years and that Germany had been saved 13,492,440kg of meat and wurst”.

It’s an attempt to rip up the social contract, the understanding that makes for a decent society. Without it, as history shows, the jaws of Hell open wide.

Sausages, eh?

For many of us, it’s personal.

Disabled people, such as my profoundly disabled 27-year-old son Joey, the Telegraph suggests, are simply too expensive for the country to support and the money should go on tax cuts instead.

This is yet another attempt to rip up the social contract – the unspoken understanding that makes for a decent society. Without it, as history shows, the jaws of Hell open wide.

The Telegraph did not go quite as far as asking how much food could have been bought with the money spent on disabled people, but it was an utterly disgraceful line of enquiry designed to stir up hatred and division.

I did not expect the editor to apologise, but the paper showed it knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.

This article was originally published by Byline Times

Stephen Unwin is a theatre and opera director, writer and teacher

Junk food: a surprise of a love story

Love me slender? A glorious, riotous hour celebrates the comfort and joy of burgers, chips and doughnuts

Elvis died of burgers

London’s Blink Dance Theatre has brought something quite extraordinary to the stage in its show Elvis Died of Burgers.

Elvis Died of Burgers
Blink Dance Theatre Company
Battersea Arts Centre, London

The performers sing, dance and narrate their way through the story of Elvis Presley, a gigantic American rock and roll star in every sense of the word, who sadly died in 1977 on the toilet, aged just 42, morbidly obese and addicted to painkillers and junk food.

They do not focus solely on Elvis, although much of the performance is narrated in sparkling Elvis costumes, sometimes delivered from a line of golden toilets on which the performers are seated.

They engage with their own love of junk food, and their reasons for loving it – burgers, chips, doughnuts, the lot.

Blink operates as a cooperative, the four main performers are company directors and each has a specific role in addition to performance work. All are neurodiverse, including performers who have learning disabilities.

I confess I had some trepidation about this production. Seeing the title, I wondered if I was going to be sitting through a worthy disposition on the wisdom of healthy eating, the perils of junk food and the value of a risk-free life.

But then I didn’t know Blink Dance Theatre.

What we got was a glorious, riotous hour in praise of burgers (preferably without the lettuce), the sheer sensuous delight of sinking your teeth into what we all know is the wrong sort of food and the joy of unrestrained pleasure. There was neither a lecture nor a homily in sight and it was scintillating stuff.

At one point, the brilliant Francis Majekodunmi was wheeled out swaying on a golden hostess trolley, wearing around his waist a gigantic burger in a bun with all the trimmings. He dismounted and gyrated around the stage to pulsing music, inviting the audience to love the burger as much as he does.

Later, during the re-enactment of Elvis’s funeral, he was the preacher, eliciting fervent alleluias from the audience as the great burger-eater was put to rest.

Vicki Hawkins gave a beautiful and poignant account of the role junk food played when she was struck by family tragedy. Rachel Gildea’s expressive performance holds the whole show together. Last but by no means least, Delson Weekes is an unforgettable, full-on Elvis. Rachel Jones signs the whole performance while participating in scenes and dance sequences.

Sensory not censorious

An audience member put it well: “I’m so pleased to see something that celebrates food and taste and enjoyment and comfort of food, and isn’t saying what’s bad about this and what might be wrong with it, but really lets us into this very sensory experience.”

This is the most challenging, courageous, brilliant, stand-out, moving and sophisticated show I have seen in a long time – and I go to a lot of dance and theatre.

It is what performance should be, and it knocks the spots off anything now on in London’s West End – I stand by every word of that.

Risk managers, nutrition advisers, and safeguarding leads should probably stay at home for their own wellbeing – but I implore anyone else to buy, beg, steal or borrow a ticket to see these wonderful performers in action.

IQ and testing times

An installation and event on IQ tests sparked a wide-ranging discussion from their use in eugenics and in diagnosis to how much stress they could cause, say Matt Prothero and Sarah Marks

Two-sided desk, Psychotechne, Peltz Gallery

How do people feel with learning disabilities feel about intelligence testing? How have these tests affected people’s lives? Why were they designed the way they were, and how might they have been discriminatory?

These were some of the topics explored at a Big Ideas event at the Peltz Gallery at Birkbeck, University of London, earlier this year.

Big Ideas sessions were started by researchers Nicola Grove and Jan Walmsley to open up discussion of theories that influence policy and research with self-advocates and activist researchers.

Self-advocates visited an installation by artist Sasha Bergstrom-Katz, On the Subject of Tests, part of the Psychotechne exhibition at the Peltz Gallery.

The artwork included a two-sided desk with space for exploration, engagement and interaction with materials related to intelligence testing.

Each side contained objects from historical, commonly used intelligence test kits, including those around the Wechsler Intelligence Scale for Children and the Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scales.

Each drawer contained an object from the test kit accompanied by objects, images and articles that directly connected these objects to issues including play, education, military recruitment, eugenics movements and psychology.

The artwork was designed to be interactive, and to prompt challenging discussions. Bergstrom-Katz introduced some of the objects from the tests and their histories to the group.

We learned about how intelligence testing had been linked with the dark history of eugenics in the 20th century. This classified different people according to ability and was used to wrongly justify the institutionalisation of people with disabilities or to support claims that their lives were worth less than other people’s.

In America, tests were developed at Ellis Island to discriminate against people from different backgrounds who tried to emigrate to the US. Even now, immigration questions are biased towards those who know a lot about American life.

Self-advocates discussed their own encounters with intelligence and educational testing, and the resulting separation from their peers.

We were grateful for the contributions of Sunderland People First, Ben McCay, chair of self-advocacy charity My Life My Choice, and the University of East London’s Rix inclusive research group.

Ros Weinberg, a co-researcher from the Rix group, explains: “It reminded me of when my social workers came to my house and asked me intelligence test questions like who the prime minister was and who the queen was and all sorts of different questions.

“My mum and dad would sit there thinking ‘why they are asking me these different questions?’ ”

Some participants described the anxiety or stress that testing caused. Others talked about how test results might give diagnoses that could give people the right to services and support for special educational needs, but that often it was difficult to access this support.

Many argued that the very idea of intelligence itself was flawed as it focused on one type of ability, overlooking the wide range of ways that people with learning disabilities could be involved in work and society.

Ultimately, we need to support different ways of learning and working, and traditional intelligence tests are too narrow and simplistic to help with this.

The workshop enabled us to learn from the experiences of people who have been directly affected by the policies and practices linked with intelligence testing.

This reinforces the message of the Big Ideas group: if we make complex ideas accessible and relevant, the insights of self-advocates come to the fore and are an invaluable contribution to further discussion. n

Matt Prothero is a director at Sunderland People First; Sarah Marks is director of Birkbeck Centre for Interdisciplinary Research

The exhibition was reviewed in our summer issue

Shalim Ali: no reason to use such a stigmatising and horrible term

The title of a recent TV documentary raises questions of why prejudice because of disability is not taboo in the same way as racism or homophobia

Shalim Ali

A lot of people have been talking about the documentary by comedian Rosie Jones, which was shown on Channel 4 in July.

People have been angry about it on social media because of the way in which the subject of disability was approached.

It was controversial because of the title.

The programme was described on the Channel 4 website like this: “Rosie Jones: Am I a R*tard? In this unflinching and highly personal documentary, comedian Rosie Jones explores how prevalent disability trolling is in the UK, and why it’s often left unchecked.”

I thought it was disgraceful.

The word is stigmatising, disgusting and horrible. It is discriminatory and it is an abusive word.

The title must have been made up by someone who’s never worked with a person who has a learning disability.

I was surprised at that title because of the way it puts disabled people in a box – especially those who have speech or language problems.

Who came up with the title? What was the purpose?

If I’d been working at Channel 4 and someone had asked me about that word, I’d have said: “No, I don’t like it, I want to change it – if you agree on that title, then you can leave my department.”

Do your research

If I’d been involved in the research, I’d have asked a big group of people what their opinion was.

I heard that some participants who are disability campaigners had left the documentary. I don’t blame them – they left because of the title.

You need the research team to make sure people in the documentary aren’t going to be disappointed. I was surprised they had not employed someone with a learning disability in the programme.

The people who made it should have talked to people with learning disabilities and organisations that support them.

If the people hearing or reading these words were in our position or had a son or daughter with learning disabilities, how would they feel?

Language is important. Like the words “idiot” and “fool” which you hear a lot – from adults, from parents or business people, or just people talking in the pub or trolls on social media.

Even if these words aren’t directed at me, they make me feel upset, frustrated and angry. It’s shameful that people use language like this.

If the people hearing or reading these words were in our position or had a son or daughter with learning disabilities, how would they feel?

My nephews are 10 and eight and they don’t use that word; my siblings have explained why it’s a bad word and I’ve been open about that too.

The programme made me think about why ableism doesn’t have the same profile as racism or homophobia.

I got bullied at my mainstream secondary school for my disability and my race. I was the only Asian person at the school, and all the teachers and pupils were white.

So my experience of discrimination makes me feel very strongly about the words people use.

Get ready to vote next year

This summer, I spoke at an event in London about accessible voting organised by a group of learning disability charities.

The My Vote My Voice project is encouraging people to vote in the 2024 general election. It’s important for society that everyone uses their right to vote.

At the event, I gave my opinion about voting and people with learning disabilities not being left out.

As an Asian person, I want representation. The prime minister is Asian but, as he is a wealthy, privileged man, I don’t see him as a great role model.

Accessibility at polling stations and in parliament is difficult. For example, not everyone knows you have to register to vote, or who their MP is or that when you move, you have a different MP.

One question we discussed at the event was about what it would take for someone with a learning disability to be an MP.

It made me wonder if one idea is to look at what it would take to get more councillors with learning disabilities voted onto local authorities.

Rent your own home. Yes, really

Tenancies are often not seen as suitable for people with learning disabilities but even the private sector can be a valid choice regarding long-term homes, say Becca Cooper and Eppie Leishman

Rental researchers Stephen Hodgkins, Andy Pollin, Debs Quilgars, Paul Scarrott, Sam Clark, Eppie Leishman and Becca Cooper

“I’ve never, ever had a home of my own and this is my first home… my dream come true.”

This is what one person involved in our housing research told us. As the government’s National Disability Strategy notes: “A decent home is the foundation for an independent life.”

But, sometimes, the idea of home is not extended to people with learning disabilities. Instead, there’s a service-land jargon of placement, unit or setting.

Through our study, Supporting People with Learning Disabilities at the Edges of Social Care in Social Housing and the Private Rented Sector, we wanted to understand people’s experiences of renting. We wanted to know what support – if any – is useful and what could improve the experiences of tenants with learning disabilities.

Our findings suggest that, too often, there are limited housing choices open to them.

NHS data shows that 35,500-37,500 people with learning disabilities and autistic people live in supported housing, and 3,600 rent from private landlords. However, this data is not complete as it covers only England and only those aged 18-64 receiving long-term social care. There will be others, such as the tenants in our study who receive little or no formal social care.

Our research began in late 2020 and ended earlier this year. We continue to raise awareness about the issues, for example, by speaking at events. We have also produced easy-read research findings.

Talking to tenants

For our research, we held eight regional and one national roundtable event with over 100 attendees in total. We interviewed 35 tenants – 30 in social housing and five in the private sector – including those who were already renting but wanted to move.

Our project team included an advisory group of people with learning disabilities who rented their own homes and who belonged to self-advocacy groups, including York People First and My Life, My Choice.

Our work, funded by the National Institute for Health Research’s School of Social Care Research, involved the University of York, the University of Bristol, housing provider Riverside, Learning Disability England and Housing LIN (a network for professionals in specialist housing and care in England and Wales).

Where to? Who with?

People we spoke to told us that those paid to support them were not helpful in planning a move and, in some cases, were actively against this. We also heard that some support staff discouraged couples from moving in together.

What about choice and control?

People’s views are not always prioritised. Support staff, social workers and family sometimes have more of a say in where people live than people with learning disabilities themselves.

Private renting is often seen as a less stable option than social housing. But our research shows people with learning disabilities can be excellent tenants who stay in their homes for a long time. Many of those we spoke to were long-term settled renters who had been in their tenancies for over 10 years.

Those living in social housing could often see a long-term future and stability in their homes but, for those rented privately (a much smaller portion of those who took part), the future felt less settled.

While there were some great examples of renting privately, there were also huge inconsistencies and people were not always aware of their rights as tenants.

We also found that, while social workers might be involved in providing support in early stages of renting, this often dropped off and little support was given to maintain a long-term tenancy. This may make it harder for people renting privately who do not get formal paid social care support on a regular basis to stay in their homes.

Private landlords are also not always aware of the needs of people with learning disabilities, such as requiring easy-read tenancies – but this can also be said of social housing landlords.

Woman cooking meal

A home as you want it: an hour a week of flexible support can be enough to allow someone to maintain a tenancy. Photo: Seán Kelly

Making it work

For some of the people we spoke to, an hour a week of flexible support meant they were able to maintain their tenancy.

This support often included things such as:

  • Reading and explaining inaccessible letters, such as those on changes in contracts or bills
  • Support to set up direct debits, pay bills and manage money
  • Helping with getting repairs done but not taking over – we found tenants were often not taken seriously when reporting repair needs and support staff often had to escalate this with landlords
  • Having a named contact/housing officer who is regularly in touch throughout a tenancy, not just at the beginning.

If we are to offer more homes that are privately rented, landlords need to be made aware that people with learning disabilities can make excellent long-term tenants.

Landlords also need to be aware of the needs of people with learning disabilities, for example in terms of easy read documents and correspondence regarding and repairs and maintenance.

There needs to be support in place for those renting for the first time, particularly in the private sector where landlords may not be in a position to offer this.

Local authorities may lease properties from private landlords then act as the landlord for the tenancy. This model may work well in ensuring tenants with learning disabilities have adequate support.

We also need more support for local self-advocacy groups.

People with learning disabilities also need to be included in the conversation and made aware of their options when it comes to renting. Seeing other people with learning disabilities successfully renting demonstrates another pathway regarding choice of home.

Finally, social workers need to consider renting privately as a viable option for people with learning disabilities, and this needs to be presented as a genuine choice when planning for the future.

As for the relationships between housing, health and social care agencies, we think it is quite difficult to understand how they are working together well or if at all. The people we spoke to were not always clear on how (or indeed whether) different agencies were connected or worked collaboratively. They might
talk to each other or sometimes with families but often did not include people with learning disabilities themselves.

It is not just formal social care that makes the difference. Neighbours can really help in having a decent life and being close to family and friends also made a big difference.

Who doesn’t want to have a place that they call home, or feel at home in? As one research participant told us: “It’s my own place, you know. I can do what I want in it, and I can have friends over, and family and all that.”

Becca Cooper is chair at York People First; Eppie Leishman is research associate at the University of York

Ten-point checklist for would-be tenants

  1. Choice: ask what your housing options are
  2. Support: get help to move and with the tenancy if you need it
  3. Quality: your home should be in a good condition and repairs fixed quickly
  4. Location: think about where you want to live, including the area’s safety
  5. Affordability: rents should not be higher than your benefits and be reasonable if you are working
  6. Information: get easy-read paperwork, including your tenancy agreement
  7. Stability: check how long your tenancy is for
  8. Involvement: find out if your landlord asks for tenants’ views and how they do this
  9. Adaptations: if necessary, your property should be adapted to make it safer and easier to use
  10. Reasonable adjustments: ask for any changes to make your home meet your needs

‘I’ve written the book I needed in those early days’

Heidi Mavir was blamed when her autistic son struggled with school and advice from well-meaning professionals was often all too wrong – so she wrote a parenting guide. In these edited extracts from her book, she describes how her son Theo found life difficult and the effects of ignorance and prejudice around autism.

Your Child is Not Broken coverAn education professional who I (wrongly) assumed was an expert told me that the reason my son didn’t want to go to school was that he knew I was “a soft touch”. She told me I needed to put my foot down.

A child and adolescent mental health services worker told me that when it came to his anxiety, we needed to teach him to “try harder in the face of adversity”.

More professionals than I can count told me that Theo needed to “build resilience”.

I was told that he needed to learn not to interrupt, not to ask so many questions and not to be so sensitive.

I was warned that he was making himself an obvious choice for bullies: Theo needed to try harder to fit in and not draw attention to himself.

I was told that my child was broken.

Your Child is Not Broken
Heidi Mavir
Bluebird, 2023, £10.99

The narrative that accompanied that assertion was that it was almost certainly my fault that my gloriously neurodivergent child was struggling.

I now know how ableist, misinformed and harmful that advice was.

This book is the book I needed in those early days – the days when our family was in crisis; when my son’s anxiety made him so unwell he couldn’t go to school; when I had no idea what sensory needs or emotional regulation or trauma profiles were; when I was blissfully unaware of the damage caused by pervasive stereotypes around neurodivergence; when I was drowning under the weight of well-meaning but incredibly unhelpful advice from professionals who I believed knew what was best for our family; when my only point of reference for autism was Dustin Hoffman’s performance in Rain Man. When I had no idea that I too was autistic.

Growing up in a “neuronormative” world, neurodivergent children are taught from a young age that our way of being is “wrong”: “don’t rock on that”; “don’t fidget”; “don’t ask rude questions”; “get down from there”; “stop being silly”; “don’t be so sensitive”; “sit still”; “look at me when I’m talking to you”.

The consequences of us not conforming range from being excluded by peers and being othered in social situations, to becoming overwhelmed to the point of a meltdown by sensory stimuli and demands on us to do things in a particular way.

Many neurodivergent kids learn early on that not behaving according to expectations will result in them getting into trouble.

A natural, unavoidable and very often unconscious consequence of this realisation is that these children mask – they learn to suppress their needs and sensory responses and temper their behaviours. They become experts at fitting in as a means of survival.

Before starting on this journey, I had a very narrow view of neurodivergence. Like many people, my understanding of autism, in particular, was largely based on what I’d seen in the media.

In my teens, Rain Man and What’s Eating Gilbert Grape were huge box office hits.

As a result, I thought all autistic people were savants, banged their heads on stuff and had learning disabilities. Of course, some do fit those criteria. That’s the key though: some is not all.

Heidi Mavir is a speaker, advocate, author, podcaster and parent of an autistic teenager

Theo Mavir: no child should be made to feel guilty for how they are acting if they cannot help it

Not everything professionals say is correct. Sometimes it’s the adults in the situation who need to change, rather than the child.

Just because your child isn’t conventionally fitting in, it doesn’t mean they are not going to fit in, anywhere, ever.

It’s not that they aren’t going to do well if they aren’t conventional or neurotypical. It might take a bit of adjustment but they should have access to things that everyone else has access to.

And your child shouldn’t be made to feel guilty for how they are acting if they can’t help it.

Saba Salman: fulfilling lives need a focus on early years

Right now, you can guarantee that most of us are planning a summer holiday. Students, meanwhile, are celebrating the end of exams and anticipating the next stage of life – work, training or education. 

Boy with floating ball

But, if you are autistic or have a learning disability, summer leisure is not guaranteed. Nor are opportunities for work, training or learning.

Losing out on childhood holiday activities or education will affect your future as an adult.

As the Disabled Children’s Partnership shows, young people often miss out on playing with others or on summer trips. Families lose support once schools break up. If you do find a holiday club place, it’s unlikely to have specialist workers.

Meanwhile in schools, funding for special educational needs and disabilities (SEND) is abysmal. Ambitious about Autism, for example, says that the government’s recently published SEND improvement plan is inadequate, not least because it fails to tackle teacher shortages.

A focus on aspiration would help shift the narrative reflected in headlines and government messaging that disabled people are an unproductive burden on the state.

For students to be prepared for adulthood, special school inspections need to change. The inspectors for care and education – the Care Quality Commission and Ofsted – focus on their respective sectors but residential schools and colleges need a holistic approach.

Boosting aspirations also requires more visibility and representation, like the appointment of Paul Taylor, the UK’s first university lecturer with learning disabilities. He teaches healthcare undergraduates about learning disability issues.

Taylor’s appointment is impressive but it is notable that he accepts only expenses for the role because the part-time wage is so small. Still, this does not detract from his achievements.

A focus on aspiration would help shift the narrative reflected in headlines and government messaging that disabled people are an unproductive burden on the state.

We need more stories like Taylor’s, along with decent support in childhood and beyond, if the prospect of people living fulfilling lives in proper communities is to become the rule rather than the exception.

Saba Salman
Editor

Make drug labels clear

If you can’t read medication instructions, you could put your health at risk, says Shaun Webster, who describes how a frightening incident spurred him to campaign for accessible labels

Shaun Webster with labels

About five years ago, I took too much medication because I couldn’t read the label.

I was panicking and scared – a horrible feeling. I rang my mum. I told her I couldn’t read the label, so she told me to send a photo to her. She told me I needed to take two tablets, not three.

Confidence and risk

It knocked my confidence and I had to rely on my mum or my support worker for a while to get my confidence back.

If labels are not accessible, it puts people at risk. If you can’t read a medication label properly, you might take too much or not take it at all and your health could suffer.

If these labels were easy to read, you wouldn’t need to ask for help. You would be independent taking your medication.

My role at the learning disability service at Leeds and York Partnership NHS Foundation Trust since 2020 has been to use my lived experience of healthcare to make services better for people with a learning disability.

Our Bigger and Better Labels project started because I shared my experience of taking too much medication.

It was important to talk to other people to find out how they felt about taking medication and if they could understand the labels. We ran some workshops at the Leeds Learning Disability People’s Parliament. People told us they also found it difficult to read the labels.

Making labels accessible has not happened before because people with a learning disability are not always listened to or taken seriously. Health professionals don’t have enough training to know what it is like to have a learning disability.

When I spoke to pharmacies while doing some mystery shopping, some told me they didn’t have the IT to make labels bigger or they didn’t have time. Some pharmacies can print bigger labels, but you have to ask. This is a problem because people don’t know they can ask or don’t have the confidence to speak up.

Information should be bigger and easier to understand. Pictures would help show how to take medication, how often and how much. The colour of packets can change, and sometimes this can be confusing. People at the chemist need to tell you about any changes.

We want to take away barriers to taking medication safely. We want people not to worry about taking it. This will give them more power over their lives.

Shaun Webster is involvement co-ordinator at the learning disability service at Leeds and York Partnership NHS Foundation Trust

Spreading the word: Bigger and Better labels project targets pharmacies and health staff

The Bigger and Better Labels project, launched two years ago, involves a core group of four people with lived experience and three staff members.

It began with a series of workshops and evolved into a co-design group. Shaun Webster brings such passion and energy – he inspires us.

We have 12 workshop participants (service users who share experiences and test labels) and have engaged around 30 people through local learning disability forums.

Research has included visiting pharmacies to ask if they could make labels more accessible and meeting health professionals including pharmacists and a GP.

The project has been shared with health and care leaders in West Yorkshire. Our next stage is to work with pharmacy services in the area to make large print labelling more available.

We have also made a short film and a poster is being planned so that staff will know to offer large-print labels and patients will know to ask for them. We will also look at using pictures or symbols.

Amy Hirst is involvement facilitator and Helen Thompson is patient experience coordinator at Leeds and York Partnership NHS  Foundation Trust

Jan Walmsley: stories spread the word about making rights a reality

An anthology of more than 80 first-person accounts should raise awareness that people with disabilities have rights enshrined in a United Nations convention

UN member flags

It has been a source of great pride that I was associated with the first major initiative to tell people’s stories in their own words.

The 1990 anthology Know Me As I Am contains more than 200 items – prose, poetry and art – created by people with learning difficulties.

My contribution was to organise travel around the UK so the editors, Dorothy Atkinson and Fiona Williams, could meet the contributors.

Now, more than 30 years later, I am co-editing another book created by self-advocates and their allies, Stories of Citizenship.

This project, with Open University lecturer Liz Tilly and social enterprise Building Bridges, draws attention to the United Nations Convention on the Rights of People with Disabilities.

This document, which the UK has signed up to, is a statement of rights – what people are entitled to expect from the government, legal systems, social and health services and fellow citizens. However, people do not seem to know about it.

We have collected stories about how people are realising the rights promised in the convention.

Although a book is not the most accessible of formats – it will not be in easy read but is in plain English – over 80 contributors will have their names in print.

People used different ways to tell the stories. Some wrote their own accounts while others worked with family members, supporters or friends to record what they wanted to say, then approved the contribution. Sometimes, the editors visited groups to record what people wanted to say.

In some cases, we invited supporters to write their story alongside the self-advocates’ contributions.

Getting the language right

It has been less easy to collect stories from people with more profound learning disabilities but, thanks to some creative work by supporters, these are in there too.

As editors, we have sometimes asked people to rewrite content that had the name of a self-advocate attached to it but did not ring true because of the language used. At the other end of the spectrum, some contributions came in exactly as people said them. We asked for these to be smoothed to make them easier to read.

Some contributions did not show how a difference had been made. Meeting your MP is great but, unless it leads to positive change, do we need to know about it?

There were also challenges in getting contributions that address the different articles in the convention. We had lots on ways to get interesting paid jobs (article 27) and about learning (article 24). Finding positive stories about the criminal justice system, however, was more difficult (article 13), despite excellent work by KeyRing’s Working for Justice group.

We had lots on ways to get interesting paid jobs and learning. Finding stories about good treatment in the criminal justice system was more difficult

Similarly, democratic rights (article 29) can be difficult to realise. The work of Brighton and Hove Speak Out’s Being Heard in Government group is inspiring, but there is nothing like enough of this.

It was striking how few contributions acknowledge support from formal services. Support has come from family members, universities or community groups. Several people said it was necessary to escape the service world and enter the real world to find people who get inclusion.

Why does it matter that we hear good news stories? It is easy to become despondent. This book will show that there are ways in which people can get better lives. It takes energy, courage, determination and commitment – and maybe even luck.

Transport for London has for decades worked with disabled people to make public transport more accessible – why can’t everyone do it? My Life My Choice’s Travel Buddy scheme, which supports independent travel, provides paid work for self-advocates and saves money as it no longer needs to pay for taxis.

The books illustrate what can be achieved as well as the barriers that need to come down to make citizenship achievable for all.

Stories of Citizenship, edited by Liz Tilly and Jan Walmsley, will be published by Palgrave MacMillan early next year

Disabled parents and risk of harm

The risks of harm to a child may not be enough to remove them from the family home, even when the parents’ disabilities mean they cannot prevent this, report Belinda Schwehr and Emman Kaur

The Royal Courts of Justice

A recent court of appeal case (H, Re) illustrates that potential risks of significant harm are not enough for the state to remove a child from the family home, even when the parents have disabilities rendering them unable to prevent such harm to their children.

The parents of H, a girl born in 2021, lived with cognitive difficulties and the mother had a diagnosis of learning disability. H’s four older siblings each displayed various cognitive impairments.

The council had been heavily involved with the family since 2011 when the oldest boy – known as D, then aged 12 – was alleged to have inappropriately touched a five-year-old girl. D was moved into care.

Continuing concerns over the three other children’s relationships with associates of the family, allegations of aggressive and sexualised behaviour as well as intermittent violent explosions were recorded. By 2019, the council had started care proceedings for all four children.

In 2021, when H was born, the council immediately issued care proceedings. An interim order allowed her to remain at home under a working agreement.

Despite continuing reports of aggressive behaviour by one older sibling still at home, H was seen as developing well, with age-appropriate behaviour; there were no concerns about the mother’s basic childcare, with professionals observing emotional warmth and affection between her and H.

The judge in the lower court had failed to subject the evidence to the degree of rigorous scrutiny required in these circumstances

On 13 June 2022, the final care hearing took place where the judge made care and placement orders.

On appeal, it was asserted that the judge had erred on several aspects central to the allegations of risk. In particular, he had not looked closely at the level and nature of support the family would likely require and qualify for if caring for H; this had led to an erroneous conclusion that this would amount to “substituted parenting” which would not be forthcoming or sustainable. The judge also failed adequately to consider what work by social services had been undertaken.

Risk without factual foundation

The court had no proven or admitted factual foundation on which to conclude the older brothers posed a sexual risk to H. One was imminently moving out and the other was rigorously supervised by professional staff whenever in contact with his family.

In addition to the duty under section 17(1) of the Children Act, the obligation on the state to provide support so children can remain with their parents has been recognised as an aspect of the state’s positive obligations under article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights, per Re D.

The council and guardians contended that the extent of the long-term support required to ensure adequate parenting would be far in excess of what the local authority could reasonably be expected to provide.

Duty led by needs

However, the appellants contended that the duty is a needs-led process with no blueprint and the judge should have identified precisely the package of support that would have to be provided before concluding it would not be funded.

Without that exercise, the pros and cons of other placement options could not have been considered or compared, and it was not acceptable for the judge to have concluded that other placement options were in H’s best interests simply because he had characterised the level of intervention required as “not reasonable, sustainable or in H’s welfare’s best interests”.

The appellants also relied on Peter Jackson LJ in Re F, stating that it was necessary for courts, when evaluating the risk of future harm arising to any child, to evaluate the steps that could be taken to reduce the likelihood of the harm arising or to mitigate the effects if it did.

The psycho-educational work that the court had been advised both parents should receive in order to understand the nature of any potential sexual risks to the children had not been provided.

A Care Act assessment had concluded that the mother was independent in all daily activities and did not meet the eligibility criteria to receive services from adult social care.

The appellants submitted that the judge failed adequately to evaluate alternative placement options in terms of proportionality – in particular, the impact on H (who had, to date, suffered no identified harm) of breaking the close attachment she had formed with her parents, particularly her mother, with whom she had always lived.

The appeal was allowed. Importantly, the court noted that section 1(3)(e) of the Children Act and section 1(4)(e) of the Adoption and Children Act 2002 require the court to take into account any harm that the child is at risk of suffering, not the possibility of such risk. Any considered risk needed to be established on the basis of proven fact, not mere possibility.

Judge Baker LJ agreed that the judge in the lower court had failed to subject the evidence to the degree of rigorous scrutiny required in these circumstances.

For example, that judge had recognised that the council would have to maintain an (undefined) “high level of support and intervention in the family for many years to come” without taking into account the provision of support for eligible parents with learning disabilities under the Care Act.

The judge had failed adequately to evaluate alternative placements in terms of proportionality – in particular, the impact on the child

The judgment cited the decision within In the Matter of Re G and A in some detail. This noted that “parents with learning difficulties can often be ‘good enough’ parents when provided with the ongoing emotional and practical support they need.

“The concept of ‘parenting with support’ must underpin the way in which the courts and professionals approach, wherever possible, parents with learning difficulties…

“Children of parents with learning difficulties often do not enter the child protection system as the result of abuse by their parents. More regularly, the prevailing concerns centre on a perceived risk of neglect, both as the result of the parents’ intellectual impairments and the impact of the social and economic deprivation commonly faced by adults with learning difficulties.

“It is in this context that a shift must be made from the old assumption that adults with learning difficulties could not parent to a process of questioning why appropriate levels of support are not provided to them so that they can parent successfully… rather than automatically assuming that they are destined to fail.

“The concept of ‘parenting with support’ must move from the margins to the mainstream in court determinations.”

Comment: child and adult services need a common protocol

One domain in the Care Act concerns an adult’s inability to carry any caring responsibilities for a child.

Children’s social services duties under section 17 of the Children Act can extend to providing parents with services for themselves or for their child, and a child need not be a at risk under section 47 to be in need.

In H, Re, the parents had been found ineligible for this at the time (it was not explained how) and the court used the alternative Human Rights Act and Children Act routes to reach the same outcome.

However, council adult services teams cannot simply say it is children’s services who provide that support. Councils owe duties to disabled adults as well as to children in need. The eligible disabled adult with responsibilities for children is entitled to have a needs-led budget and package of care. The council has a power to provide such support, even where the person is not eligible under any other domain.

There is no case law on what is required to meet need lawfully in this regard but it is likely that a package needs to be related to assisting the person to care for the child, not just to pay for care for the child.

The practice lesson from this case is that the overlap between the two functions under the Children Act and the Care Act demands a protocol for joint working, not a turf war between the two departments.

Emman Kaur is a volunteer writer at CASCAIDr

Cases

H, Re (Parents With Learning Difficulties: Risk of Harm) [2023] EWCA Civ 59
(02 February 2023).

Re D (A Child) (No 3) [2016] EWFC 1.

Re F (A Child: Placement Order: Proportionality) [2018] EWCA Civ 2761.

In the Matter of G and A (Care Order: Freeing Order: Parents with a Learning Disability).

IQ tests: fascinating and pernicious

IQ testing has had long-reaching effects, determining who is fit for what and who truly belongs in society. Its influence over our lives and our ambivalent attitudes are captured in an installation

Wooden desk with drawers and chair

Aged eight, Sasha Bergstrom-Katz was transfixed when her mother, a trainee psychologist, brought home some IQ testing materials.

Pyschotechne: Assessment, Testing

Artists: Sasha Bergstrom-Katz, Tomas Percival

Peltz Gallery, London

What was it about these materials – test sheets, play figures, strange diagrams – that fascinated her? She has been grappling with that question ever since, and recently displayed her installation at London’s Peltz Gallery.

Intelligence quotient (IQ) testing was developed in the early 20th century by French psychologist Alfred Binet. It has had a pernicious effect on people with learning disabilities, cementing them into the bottom of the social hierarchy.

It has also created a boundary, with seemingly scientific authority expressed as a number, between those who belong and those deemed outsiders. Score 69 and you are out. Score the magical 70 and you are (just) good enough to be in.

IQ testing has spawned deep social assumptions. Those with high scores are seen as worthy of society’s highest echelons and reaping its rewards on merit (despite having been born with their attributes).

Psychometric testing has spread like a rash through our professions and businesses, determining and deciding who is fit to do what, and who isn’t fit to do anything at all.

Parents buy toys suitable for certain developmental stages, and pray their child knows how to use them. We do cognitive tests at home (Wordle, anyone?), arming ourselves against cognitive decline.

Bergstrom-Katz captures this strange influence of IQ over our lives in her installation. It consists of a two-sided desk with numerous differently sized drawers. On one surface sits an intimidating looking briefcase holding testing materials.

In each drawer lie written tests, play figures, picture cards, strange little boxes and containers. The panel between the two desks represents the intimidating authority of the tester over the tested.

Katz bought all the materials on eBay, where there is a thriving market for them.

I looked at a test question from the Weschler intelligence test for children from 1974, with a drawing of a hand with the thumb shaded in. “What is the name of this finger?”

I felt a rising sense of panic. I don’t think a thumb is a finger. Is this a trick question? Is the correct answer: “It’s not a finger, it’s a thumb”? Or is that me being… er, stupid?

Bergstrom-Katz says many people experience similar feelings, with uncomfortable memories of childhood (and adult) tests rising from forgotten corners of the mind.

Now exploring testing though her art in a PhD at Birkbeck, University of London, she has never lost her fascination.

Hidden depths or limiting labels?

A part of her loves the aesthetics of the materials and the promise they held for her as a child that they might tell her something about herself she didn’t know, perhaps even that she “might be very brilliant and likeable”. These were games, but they were serious.

Another part of her pushes back against testing: don’t tell me who I am, don’t package and categorise me, don’t define me through your questions and my answers.

This striking installation captures the dark side of testing and our ambivalent attitudes towards it. As she notes, you only ever read personal accounts of testing by people who have excelled at tests.

When we met, she was about to entertain a group of people with learning disabilities who were coming to explore and reflect on the exhibition and their experiences of testing. A good start in redressing the balance and wriggling free from the IQ straitjacket

 

Don’t write off pupils

Autistic children are missing out and plans for special education fall short of what is needed, says Jolanta Lasota

Boy making biscuits

Students across the country will soon receive their GCSE or A level results. They may continue their studies, apply for jobs or have a gap year.

However, this will not be the case for many autistic children who are written off before they even leave school. It is well documented that they are at a higher risk of exclusion, less likely to reach their potential and often deeply unhappy in education.

The Written Off campaign, launched by Ambitious about Autism late last year, aims to stop schools giving up on these pupils.

Our charity wants the government to protect funding for special educational needs and disabilities (SEND) and to uphold families’ legal rights to get support for their children.

Our recent research among 2,000 families and young people shows that nearly two-thirds (65%) of families were unhappy with their child’s mainstream education. More than one in three (36%) autistic pupils reported being out of school against their wishes.

The SEND system affects a significant number of children. Some 1.5 million pupils in England have special educational needs – an increase of 77,000 since 2021.

The government is reviewing how it can improve the SEND system. Earlier this year, it published its long-awaited improvement plan.

Yet many fear its proposals could make things worse. There is no intention to scrap worrying plans, such as giving parents a “tailored” list of education settings to choose from (which could be in another area) and mandatory mediation with the local education authority before parents can appeal against a placement decision.

We welcome plans for autism-specific guidance, and the small steps to improve the SEND workforce. But we need to plug staffing gaps so all autistic pupils are supported, and we need Ofsted to hold schools to account by making SEND support a higher priority during inspections.

We also want a public commitment from the government to fund support; the extra £2 billion in the autumn statement only restores education funding per pupil back to 2010 levels.

Education policy should work for all pupils – not just those who reach narrow attainment targets.

Megan Horan, a 23-year-old from Kent, is a member of our Ambitious Youth Network – an online space for autistic 16-25 year-olds. She says: “I would like to see different qualifications available for those who are unable to do GCSEs and take exams to enable them to show off their skills.”

“I would like the government to take on board what parents and young adults are saying about the broken education system, and I would like it to look at its policies and see what isn’t working and how to make it better.”

The SEND system is broken – the government knows this as do thousands of families at crisis point across the country.

A call to the government to make education work for all

Ambitious about Autism wants to the government to:

  • Uphold existing laws that help children with SEND get the assessments, support, and school places they need
  • Create an expectation that every school is a SEND school, every teacher is a SEND teacher and every policy is a SEND policy
  • Publish a plan to develop a valued, skilled, sufficient SEND workforce, backed by resources and with clear timescales
  • Ask Ofsted to make the quality of SEND support a greater priority in inspections
  • Gather and share evidence on how mainstream and special education can work together to get children the right support.
Boy with floating ball
Photo: Ambitious about Autism

Jolanta Lasota is chief executive of Ambitious about Autism

Misfit team shine in feelgood film

A few twists and tensions in this tale of a grumpy man forced to coach a team of players with learning disabilities

Champions poster

We are in icy Des Moines. Grizzled, bitter, friendless old basketball coach Marcus Markovich (Woody Harrelson) is plying his trade as an assistant coach in the minor league, far below where he believes he belongs.

Champions

Amazon Prime

But worse is to come. Fired from this job, he gets a drink-driving conviction. The judge offers him a choice – 18 months in prison or 90 days’ community service coaching a basketball team comprising people with intellectual disabilities.

Prison versus playing

“When you say ‘intellectual disabilities’ your honour,” a shocked Markovich responds, “do you mean retarded Amer…” – before his lawyer shuts him up and accepts the lesser sentence. Markovich looks like he’d have preferred imprisonment.

From this point, the feelgood movie machine cranks into action, and you can guess where it goes.

Markovich turns up at the impoverished community centre where the team – assorted misfits who share nothing other than the label of intellectual disability and the ability to play basketball mostly very badly – are fed up with coaches breezing into their lives and then out again as soon as they get a better offer.

His coaching methods are lost on them but, slowly, the scales fall from his eyes and coach and team begin to gel. Will they reach the basketball Special Olympics final in Winnipeg Canada? Well, what do you think?

There are a few twists. Alex (played by the excellent Kaitlin Olson), who Markovich meets after swiping right on Tinder then parts with on less than friendly terms, turns out to be the sister of one of the players. Cue a tense relationship. And the star player consistently refuses to play for Markovich – why?

Harrelson plays the role just right – there is a good guy struggling to get out from somewhere deep within, but he is very well hidden.

There are also some excellent performances from the young cast of people with learning disabilities, particularly Kevin Iannucci as Johnny and Joshua Felder as Darius.

For sure, this film gets sentimental and saccharine at times – it’s an American feelgood movie, why wouldn’t it? – but there’s a lot that’s right about it.

It reflects a reality that people who are outsiders – either from birth or as a result of life events – are often thrown together, and often reluctantly so

The fact that Markovich comes into contact for the first time with people with learning disabilities only when he hits rock bottom could be seen as negative – is that how low he has fallen? But it also reflects a reality that people who are outsiders – either from birth or as a result of life events – are often thrown together, and often reluctantly so.

The relationship between coach and team is not over-sentimentalised, and there is nothing patronising about the interactions between the learning disabled and non-learning-disabled characters.

Conflicts and back stories

The players’ back stories are well done. They are not just foils to make their coach a better person – they characters in their own right, often tackling tough obstacles.

Olson captures very well Alex’s conflict between her feelings towards her brother and her own middle-aged disappointment with dull, small-town family life, peppered with soulless Tinder hook-ups.

This isn’t an Oscar contender, nor is it one of the great moments in the inclusion of actors with learning disabilities in film. But it is a step in the right direction, and has things to say about learning disability that are worth listening to.

It has been panned by some (but not all) members of the weary film critic crowd in the UK but I admit I enjoyed it. And so did the full house audience I watched it with.