The riots a few weeks ago told a big story. That the state cannot acquiesce to disorder. That you will get sent down if you are caught. And it will put a deep hole in your life for a few years to come. Perhaps forever. I saw the rogues’ gallery of people sentenced and it showed a social uniformity of depressing scale. All without exception were not from the same social class as even that supposed working-class boy, Sir Keir Starmer.
They had the marks of labour but not of the Labour Party. Their gaunt pictures were frightening; they seemed like the lost generation of the inheritors of poverty. They had precious little skin in the game, if the game is the continuing motley of poverty here, prosperity there and never the means of crossing from one to the other. The game being that if you all buckle down and get on with it you’ll get your rewards.
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There was a time when most of the men paraded before our eyes a few weeks back for public scrutiny would have worked in big state-sponsored businesses like the mines and shipbuilding. The vast car-building industry that even I worked in – me, the recipient of sheltered employment, as the car industry seldom made money.
Along with steel and heavy engineering they were heavily subsidised. But that was a lifetime ago, back when rather than have people on social security the state believed in creative accounting: they thought it was cheaper to keep the basic industries functioning, with state aid. For the alternative was social ruination in the festering pool of poverty support, rather than a reason to get up in the morning and get out to work.
Time, a great killer if you’ve got lots of it spare, was then gifted to a whole generation – especially in the North, in the rough-hewn world of former industrial and mining towns. If you worked, it was not leading to prosperity but often away from it. And social security was willingly given as an alternative to skilling you up and away from need.