There are not 120,000 "troubled families"

This zombie statistic refuses to die.

The Department for Communities and Local Government has released a report focusing on so-called "troubled families", which presents a compelling case that the worst of these families have problems which need urgent intervention. But it also takes the opportunity to revive one of the department's favourite zombie statistics. A report which is based on formal interviews with 16 families ("although she met and talked with many more") is generalised out to cover 120,000.

This six-figure number is one of the DCLG's favourites. It has been pushing it since at least February, when NIESR's Jonathan Portes first drew attention to the problems with the definition of "troubled". When the Prime Minister quoted the figure, he called these families:

The source of a large proportion of the problems in society. Drug addiction. Alcohol abuse. Crime. A culture of disruption and irresponsibility that cascades through generations.

As Portes pointed out, the actual definition of troubled families focuses far more on them being families with troubles, rather than families causing trouble. The DCLG has an explanatory note on the topic, which defines the families as any holding five or more of the following characteristics:

a) no parent in work
b) poor quality housing,
c) no parent with qualifications,
d) mother with mental health problems
e) one parent with longstanding disability/illness
f) family has low income,
g) Family cannot afford some food/clothing items                                                        

So back in February, the overarching problem with the statistic was how it was used, rather than the number itself. Whether or not there were 120,000 of them, these troubled families are in no way "irresponsible".

But last month, the dishonesty became clearer. Perhaps realising that the rhetoric didn't match up with the definition, the department published a new explanatory note, which claimed that troubled families were:

Characterised by there being no adult in the family working, children not being in school and family members being involved in crime and anti-social behaviour.

That definition does sound much more like one of a family suffering "a culture of disruption and irresponsibility", certainly. But normally, when one changes a definition of something, the number of cases falling under that definition also changes. Not so with the troubled families. The department continued – and continues – to refer to "120,000" of them.

Even worse, when the Prime Minister first referred to the families (using the kinder definition), he did so with an extraordinary level of granularity, saying:

There are an estimated 4,500 of these families in Birmingham, 2,500 in Manchester, and 1,115 here in Sandwell.

Once the definition changed, had the location? Like hell.

As Jonathan Portes concluded his post:

It is difficult to conclude anything except that the Department, and the governnment, have become hung up on the 120,000 number despite the fact that they are well aware that it is now completely discredited, either as a national estimate of the number of "troubled families" or as a sensible guide to local policy.

The release of today's report just confirms that feeling. The figure of 120,000 is mentioned exactly twice in the 30,000 word report (pdf), once in author Louise Casey's foreword and once in the introduction. It is also mentioned twice in the 600 word press release, and twice in each of the Guardian and Mail's reports on the topic. It seems like something which has little to do with the content of the report (an admirable qualititative study of what it's like to live in an incredibly disfunctional household, but one which offers little guidance as to how widespread the problems are) and everything to do with a need to push a continuing narrative.

People like to put numbers on things, so here's one: with the actual information the DCLG has put out, we know of just 16 troubled families, the ones interviewed by Casey. Pick a number any higher than that and you're getting into the same voodoo mathematics the government has been performing for the last six months.

Syringes lie on the floor. But are they from a "troubled family"? Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

Felipe Araujo
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Hull revisited: What happens when a Brexit stronghold becomes City of Culture?

We report from Hull, to find out if you can replace the kind of nostalgia that led to a Leave vote with cultural investment.

At 75 metres long, the offshore wind turbine blade erected across Queen Victoria Square, in the heart of Hull, is a sculpture intended to mark a new chapter in the city’s history. For the next 12 months, Hull, a city of more than a quarter of a million people in the northeast of England, will be the UK’s City of Culture.

The 28-tonne blade hails from the local Siemens plant. The German technology company employs around 1,000 people in the area, making it Hull’s biggest single employer.

Seen up close in this context – laid dormant in the middle of a town square instead of spinning up in the air generating energy – the structure is meant to remind passersby of a giant sea creature. It is also, I’m told, an allusion to Hull’s rich maritime history.


All photos: Felipe Araujo

Nostalgia is a big thing in this part of the country. At one point, Hull was the UK’s third largest port but technology and privatisation drastically changed that. The battle over cod fishing with Iceland in the waters of the North Sea 40 years ago has also dealt a major blow to a region with a long and proud trawling tradition.

People here still talk about a bygone era when the fishing industry provided jobs for everyone and there was enough money to go around.

Fast forward to 2017, and the country’s new capital of culture is the same city that voted 67 per cent in favour of leaving the EU last June. Its new-found prestige, it seems, is not enough to erase years of neglect by a political class “too busy for commoners like us”, as one resident puts it.

“More than a message to Brussels, it [the Brexit vote] was a message to Westminster,” Paul Leeson-Taylor, a filmmaker born and bred in Hull, tells me. “For the first time in a long time people in Hull felt like they had the chance to change something, and they took it.”

But while speaking to people on the high street and hanging out with locals at the Community Boxing Club in Orchard Park, one of the city’s most deprived areas, there is one word that consistently popped up in conversation – more than any specific policy from Westminster or the much-hated rules “dictated” by Brussels. Foreigners.

According to official figures, Hull’s population is 89.1 per cent white British. Still, immigration is big on people’s minds here.

During my two-day stay in the city, I find myself being the only black person in most places I visit – I’m certainly the only black guy at the boxing club. So when someone begins a sentence with “I’m not racist but…”, I know a tirade on immigrants is about to ensue.

“There are just too many of them,” Nick Beach, an estate agent whose Polish clientele is a big part of his business, tells me as he is about to teach a boxing class to local children. Beach was born in Shepherd’s Bush, in West London, but has been living in Hull for the last 20 years.

“When I go down there these days and go into Westfield shopping centre, it is very rare you get an English person serving you now,” he says. “I just find it disappointing that you go into your capital city and you are a minority there.”

These are the much-discussed “left behind”, a white working-class community that has gained particular prominence in a time of Brexit and Donald Trump. Under economic pressure and facing social change, they want to have their say in running a country they claim to no longer recognise.

For Professor Simon Lee, a senior politics lecturer at the University of Hull, immigration is only a superficial layer when it comes to explaining the resentment I witness here. For him, the loss of the empire 70 years ago is still something that as a country Britain hasn’t come to terms with.

“The reason for us to be together as a United Kingdom has gone, so what is the project?”

As destiny would have it, a foreign company will now play a major role on Hull’s economic future, at least in the short term. In the wake of the Brexit vote, there were widespread fears Siemens would pull out of the region and take its factory elsewhere. With the massive blade looming large in the background, Jason Speedy, director of the blade factory in Hull, assures me that isn’t the case.

“The Brexit decision has made no difference. We have made our investment decision, so Siemens, together with the Association of British Ports, has put in £310m. It’s all full steam ahead.”

As Hull becomes the country’s cultural hub for the next few months, the hope is that its residents stop looking back and start looking forward.

For Professor Lee, though, until there is a complete change in the power structures that run the country, the north-south divide will remain – with or without the EU. “The way you kill nostalgia is to have something new,” he said. “The reason why people here are nostalgic is because there is nothing to replace it with.”

Felipe Araujo is a freelance journalist based in London. He writes about race, culture and sports. He covered the Rio Olympics and Paralympics on the ground for the New Statesman. He tweets @felipethejourno.