The welfare system subjugates the poor, ensnaring them in a trap of dependency, and crushing their horizons
By
Brendan O'neill
It
was the week the battle over benefits exploded into life as liberals
howled about Tory cuts. But here a leading Left-wing thinker says the
chattering classes are peddling a poisonous myth – that the poor cannot
survive without the soul- deadening embrace of welfarism.
The
thing about receiving incapacity benefit is that you really start
believing you’re incapable. The Government tells you you’re incapable,
and it sinks in: I’m useless, I can’t work, I must be looked after.’
So
says an old friend of mine who lives in the most deprived ward in
Barnet, North London, where we both grew up. After suffering anxiety
attacks, he’s been ‘on the sick’ — that is, receiving some form of
sickness benefit — for nearly five years. It is, he assures me, an
unpleasant existence.
‘You
get sucked into a life of uselessness. The Government gives you enough
money to live on, but you don’t live. You do the same thing day in, day
out. See the same people, watch the same TV, drift off to sleep in
mid-afternoon.’
Twisted values: Mick and Mairead Philpott, who
were convicted of killing six of their children in a fire, have raised
the welfare debate
He says he’s pleased Iain
Duncan Smith is shaking up benefits paid to ‘the incapable’, alongside
other forms of welfare. More than two million Brits receive
sickness-related benefits, and my friend reckons many of them must be
like him: not really sick, but simply treated as sick by a welfare
system with more money than sense.
He
agrees with Grant Shapps, chairman of the Conservative Party, who says
of the army of sickness claimants: ‘It is not that these people were
trying to play the system, so much as these people were forced into a
system that played them.’
This
is the side to the welfare debate we rarely hear about, at least not
from Left-wing politicians and commentators: how the welfare system
subjugates the poor, ensnaring them in a trap of dependency, and
crushing their horizons.
Over
the past week, as IDS’s welfare reforms have kicked in, we’ve heard
quite the opposite from middle-class liberals who have been tearing
their hair out over the fact that the poor aren’t rising up against
them.
Grant Shapps, chairman of the Conservative
Party, who says of the army of sickness claimants: 'It is not that these
people were trying to play the system, so much as these people were
forced into a system that played them'
They’re bamboozled as to why
the down-at-heel haven’t peeled their eyes away from the Jeremy Kyle
Show, got off their subsidised sofas and marched to Whitehall to demand:
‘Leave our welfare payments alone.’
Where
well-off, Left-leaning do-gooders in Britain’s leafier suburbs are
weeping into their macchiato coffees over the Tories’ trims to welfare
spending, the poor seem unmoved. What is wrong with these ungrateful
urchins, plummy-voiced radicals wonder?
What
the posh warriors for welfarism don’t understand is that the poor do
not share their enthusiasm for the welfare state, for one very simple
reason: like my friend, they know what the welfare state is like, and
what a corrupting influence it can have on individual ambition and
community life.
They have seen with their own eyes what the intrusion of welfarism into every nook and cranny of poor people’s lives can do.
Iain Duncan Smith's reforms to welfare have been
greeted with anger, surprisingly not so much from the poor, but from
the middle-classes
They know it is not a
liberating force, but a soul-deadening one, which doesn’t improve less
well-off communities but rather turns them into ghost towns, maintained
by faraway faceless bureaucrats rather than by the community’s own
members.
The chattering
classes now refer to Monday, April 1, when the Government’s benefit
reforms were enacted, as Black Monday. They call IDS a ‘Tory toff’ who
is launching an ‘ideological war’ against the poor. Guardian columnist
Polly Toynbee has said that the poor will be hit by an ‘avalanche of
cuts’ which will propel them into ‘beggary’.
In
this lip-smackingly Dickensian view of what will become of Britain, we
might soon expect to see women in shawls selling soap on London Bridge
and children in torn trousers going back up chimneys.
IDS
might only be putting a cap on the annual increase in benefits people
can receive, slightly reducing some people’s housing benefit, and
rethinking Disability Living Allowance, yet his increasingly shrill
critics paint a picture of him turfing the downtrodden out of their
homes and into a gutter-based life of Oliver Twist-style precariousness.
Guardian columnist Polly Toynbee has said that
the poor will be hit by an 'avalanche of cuts' which will propel them
into 'beggary'
When the pro-welfare lobby isn’t
wildly exaggerating the severity of IDS’s chopping, it is demonising
those who dare to raise questions about the impact welfarism has had on
poor communities.
So anyone
who suggests that Mick Philpott’s decadent, deeply unproductive
lifestyle in Derby may have been a product of welfarism, of the
thoughtless casting of the welfarist net across entire poor communities,
is shot down in flames.
Some
commentators, and now the Chancellor George Osborne, have said that the
Philpott case raises questions about the way the state has sustained,
ad infinitum, those who don’t work or contribute to society.
But
they’re mercilessly attacked by pro-welfare activists, who treat any
attempt to critique welfarism as tantamount to committing a hate crime
against the poor and ‘vulnerable’.
Yet
no matter how much these observers ramp up the rage, still they fail to
inspire those who are actually on benefits to join them in their
battle.
In fact, far
from wanting to fight in defence of welfarism, less well-off people seem
positively suspicious of the welfare state, and this drives
middle-class campaigners crazy.
John
Harris, a columnist for the Guardian, this week expressed his dismay
that anti-welfare ‘noise’ always gets ‘louder as you head into the most
disadvantaged parts of society’.
Indeed, earlier this year a study by
the Left-leaning Joseph Rowntree Housing Trust found that poor
families, including those affected by welfare cuts, take ‘the harshest
anti-welfare line’.
The study’s lead researcher was thrown by this.
‘Logically,
I’d expect those at the sharp end of things to be pro-welfare,’ she
said. ‘But if anything, many had internalised a Thatcherite
every-man-for-himself mentality.’
Other
studies make for interesting reading, too. A British Social Attitudes
Survey in 2003 found that 82 per cent of people on benefits agreed that
‘the Government should be the main provider of support to the
unemployed’, but by 2011 that number had fallen to 62 per cent.
The
proportion of working-class people in work who agree with that
statement has fallen from 81 per cent to 67 per cent in the same period.
Some commentators, and now the Chancellor George
Osborne, have said that the Philpott case raises questions about the
way the state has sustained, ad infinitum, those who don't work or
contribute to society
In 2003, 40 per cent of
benefits recipients agreed that ‘unemployment benefits are too high and
discourage work’; in 2011, 59 per cent agreed. So a majority of actual
benefits recipients now think the welfare state is too generous and
fosters worklessness.Surely those well-off welfare cheerleaders, when
shown these figures, would accept that perhaps they don’t know what
they’re talking about. But no, they have simply come up with a theory
for why the poor are anti-welfare: because they’re stupid.
The Trades Union Congress says the little people have been ‘brainwashed by Tory welfare myths’.
They
claim the masses have been duped by Right-wing politicians and
newspapers that spread myths about ‘welfare scroungers’. Consequently,
ordinary people are apparently consumed by ‘prejudice and ignorance’
about welfarism.
One
commentator says the problem is that not enough people read the
Guardian. In a column for that paper on why the less well-off aren’t
fans of the welfare state, she said: ‘Are the public stupid, or simply
people who don’t read the Guardian? Well, yes . . .’
This
is a spectacularly patronising view. The idea that the only reason the
poor are critical of welfarism is because they’ve been ‘brainwashed’
suggests a view of those people as utterly gullible.
In 2003, 40 per cent of benefits recipients
agreed that 'unemployment benefits are too high and discourage work' in
2011, 59 per cent agreed
In truth, there’s a far simpler
explanation. Most of those who have experienced a life reliant on
benefits have come to understand the detrimental impact it has had on
their lives. The cult of welfarism also fosters divisions in less
well-off communities.
Those
who work, who leave the house at 7am to earn a wage for themselves and
their families, start to feel antagonistic towards those who don’t work,
whose curtains remain firmly closed well into the late morning.
Three
of my brothers work in the building trade, and the one political issue
that riles them is what one of them calls ‘subsidised laziness’.
This
isn’t because they hate the poor, or think everyone on the dole could
magically get a job tomorrow morning if they got their fingers out.
Nor is it because they’ve been brainwashed by anti-welfare tabloid newspapers, as liberal campaigners would have us believe.
Karl Marx described very early forms of top-down 'welfare measures' as a 'disguised form of alms'
Rather it’s because they recognise
that the exponential expansion of the welfare net, the transformation of
welfare-reliance into a permanent state of existence for many of the
poor, makes worklessness into a way of life rather than a temporary
predicament.
It actively
encourages people to give up, to stay home, to be ‘kept men’ rather than
working men. And naturally, working men don’t like that.
Indeed,
there’s a long-standing tradition of poor communities expressing
profound hostility to welfarist assistance, even when they have needed
it.
In the Thirties, when
early forms of state welfare were introduced, many of the unemployed
came to resent their ‘new status as citizen beneficiaries of state
welfare’, as one academic study put it. They found claiming state
welfare humiliating.
In
1945 — the year the modern welfare state was born — a former
cabinet-maker from the East End of London published a book about his
life, titled I Was One Of The Unemployed. He described how, in Thirties
and Forties Britain, he and many others who found themselves out of work
felt an ‘innate morbid sensitivity’ towards ‘having to depend upon
state welfare’.
The poor experienced a ‘sense of wounded pride at being driven by hunger to ask for cash benefits’, he said.
Even
the most radical old Leftists, unlike today’s uncritical, poor-pitying
Leftists, issued cutting criticisms of the welfarist ideology.
In
1850, Karl Marx described very early forms of top-down ‘welfare
measures’ as a ‘disguised form of alms’ that were designed to make
people’s less-than-ambitious lives seem ‘tolerable’.
That is, welfare was a way of placating the poor, lowering their horizons and acclimatising them to a life of mere survival.
As
Pat Thane, a professor of history at King’s College, London, pointed
out in a 1999 essay on early forms of state welfare, the less well-off
were suspicious of welfarism that seemed ‘to imply that poor people
needed the guidance of their “betters” ’.
The end result of this propping-up of communities is the kind of world Mick Philpott lived in
Working-class mothers hated the
way that signing up for welfare meant having to throw one’s home and
life open to inspection by snooty officials, community health workers
and even family budget advisers.
They
didn’t want ‘middle-class strangers’, as they called welfare providers,
‘questioning them about their children’. They felt such intrusions
‘broke a cultural taboo’.
And
the use of welfare as a way of allowing society’s ‘betters’ to govern
the lives of the poor continues now. Indeed, today’s welfare state is
even more annoyingly nannyish than it was 80 years ago.
As
the writer Ferdinand Mount says, the post-war welfare state is like a
form of ‘domestic imperialism’, through which the state treats the poor
as ‘natives’ who must be fed and kept on the moral straight-and-narrow
by their superiors.
Mount describes modern welfarism as ‘benign managerialism’, which ‘pacifies’ the lower orders.
Working-class
communities feel this patronising welfarist control very acutely. They
recognise that signing up for a lifetime of state charity means
sacrificing your pride and your independence; it means being
unproductive and also unfree.
The
cultivation of such dependency on the state has a devastating impact on
community life in poor parts of Britain. Because if an individual’s or
family’s every financial and therapeutic need is being met by the state,
then what need is there for those people to turn to their own
neighbours for help or advice?
Welfarism
doesn’t only destroy individual pride and independence — it also eats
away at social solidarity, the glue of local life, by encouraging people
to become more reliant on the state than on their friends and
neighbours.
The end
result of this propping-up of communities is the kind of world Mick
Philpott lived in, where a sense of entitlement to state cash overpowers
any feeling of personal moral responsibility for improving one’s life,
or any sense of duty to the community.
So
to my mind, there’s no mystery as to why the poor are refusing to join
the fight to preserve the massive and unwieldy welfare state: it’s
because they live in the very areas where welfarism has wreaked its
worst horrors.
It is the
bleeding heart campaigners fighting to defend welfarism who are
spreading a poisonous myth: that the less well-off could never survive,
far less thrive, without the financial assistance and moral guidance of
their middle-class betters.
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