Disabled and on the Work Programme: "Cold calling companies for 8 to 16 hours a week"

"Life is already extremely limited for me, but with the pressure of the Work Programme, I've just felt a lot more hopeless – about either getting a job or just feeling happy and well again."

Ross has bowel disease and depression. He’s 33 and living at home with his parents. He can’t afford the rent or bills and, eighteen months since being put onto the Work Programme – the Government’s welfare-to-work scheme – is still unemployed.

“My mental health’s suffered due to the treatment I've received and my physical problems are still with me,” he tells me.“No job vacancies were ever given to me.”

Ross is one of tens of thousands of people with disabilities and long-term sickness who have been forced onto the Work Programme but who have not found a job – many on employment and support allowance (ESA), and who, like Ross, had been told their out-of-work disability benefit would be cut or removed if they did not take part.

The Work Programme has been a failure even for the unemployed who do not have health conditions. Last week it emerged that some of the biggest firms involved have been penalised for poor performance: almost eight out of 10 unemployed people on the programme for two years had failed to get a long-term job.

The picture is even bleaker for the disabled and long-term sick. According to new data, more than 93% of disabled people put onto the Work Programme are not finding long-term work. Just 6.8% of those referred to the scheme in the latest three months have found employment.

Despite this, the Conservative Party conference launched with George Osborne’s pledge to practice “tough love” on the people who, having gone through the Work Programme, are still unemployed. Yesterday, it emerged the disabled and long-term sick would not be exempt from being penalised for the scheme’s failure. Leaked documents show Iain Duncan Smith is seeking ways to give jobcentre staff more powers to make people on ESA undergo further tasks to prove they are “trying as hard as possible to get back into work.” This includes forcing people with serious health conditions that have been judged as ‘time-limited’, to take up any offer of work. Department of Work and Pensions staff would be given the power to strip the disabled or sick of their benefits if they refused.

Ross was mandatorily enrolled on the Work Programme in January 2012, after his two-year-limited ESA had timed out. He was given the option of trying Work Choice, the scheme said to be designed specifically for people with disabilities and long-term conditions.  

“It was simply getting me to cold call companies for 8 to 16 hours a week,” he says of the reality. “An occasional meeting with the Work Choice advisers would allow me to hand over a list of the employers called, when, what happened and who I talked to.” It was the extent of the ‘support’ he received.

A DWP report released earlier this summer acknowledged that the Government had significantly underestimated the extra barriers to work many people like Ross, forced onto the programme, face. It suggested that, despite private Work Programme contractors being offered higher payments for finding jobs for harder to place clients, such as those with a disability, instead of giving them more attention, they have given them less.

“When I was on the Work Programme, I received no help,” Ross confirms. “I had occasional appointments which were only ever about getting me to do search for vacancies on their computers and fill in forms. My interactions with them in the five months before I left consisted of about two face to face appointments with an adviser and several jobsearch appointments where I was put in front of a computer and told to look for vacancies.” 

Ross tells me that from his induction onwards he was treated as if he was a JSA claimant and, as such, was given no acknowledgement that his illnesses meant he needed additional help.

“All the information they gave [including sanctions] was for JSA claimants,” he says. “The rules for those on ESA are different and they didn't give that information out at all. In fact they seemed to be confused as to the difference between the two groups.”

“No-one ever tried to understand the way my health impacted on my ability to find and retain work,” he says. “From the start it was clear I was simply being squeezed into a generic system that took no account of my needs and offered no real advice or support.” 

This lack of understanding was not only of detriment to his ability to find work but his ability to hold onto his benefits. As the DWP report disclosed back in the summer, the Work Programme’s model of ‘conditionality’ and ‘sanctioning’ – where a person has their benefits withdrawn for increasing periods of time – is particularly cruel to people who are disabled or ill. They are often unable to avoid being sanctioned because they cannot physically or mentally comply with the conditions they have to meet.

Ross asked at one of his adviser interviews what would happen if his disability prevented him from attending an appointment, either the day or so before or on the morning of one.

“They were very evasive and simply said it would be a problem,” he says. “They expected me to come in regardless or simply be sanctioned. I don't know how I could manage that if I were sat on the toilet or in bed with agonising gut pain or moving bowels. It left me very distressed.”

Such elements of the Work Programmetook its toll on Ross’s mental health, not only creating problems but also exacerbating existing ones.

“It's made me a lot more anxious,” he says.

In his old job working in the Scottish Government, Ross dealt comfortably with the public but says he now feels tension when having to speak to people, either on the phone, in person, or even writing a letter.

“[The experience has] tired me enormously and made me less trusting, less able to talk to people without a fear of what they will say and what they will do,” he says. “My depression got worse as I simply withdrew more. Life is already extremely limited for me, but with the pressure of the Work Programme, I've just felt a lot more hopeless – about either getting a job or just feeling happy and well again. I'm still on medication for my depression and had hoped to be weaning myself off them by now. But there's no chance while the Work Programme keeps making things worse for me.”

“Pressuring people into working, under the threat of losing their benefits, often serves to exacerbate their mental health problems, pushing them even further from the job market,” Paul Farmer, Chief Executive of Mind tells me. “Currently there’s still too little specialised support available and too much focus on sanctions and conditionality. People with mental health problems face significant barriers to finding and staying in work, such as stigma from employers, and often dealing with an invisible and fluctuating condition. The Government should be ensuring they provide tailored support to help people find appropriate employment.”

According to a new YouGov poll by right-wing think tank Policy Exchange, the public is rather in favour of workfare schemes instead – and has little interest in exempting people on grounds of disability or mental health. 75% said people who were ‘mentally disabled’ (judged fit) should be made to work unpaid for their benefits. 78% said the same about people with physical disabilities. 

It was a useful foundation to Osborne and Duncan Smith’s new measures, with Osborne, buoyed by apparent public and party support, pledging yesterday to force the long-term unemployed to take on unpaid work, accept a full-time unemployment programme, or attend the jobcentre every day.

It’s for people like Ross to deal with the practicalities, like affording to get to the jobcentre daily in the first place. For him, the Work Programme brought increased financial problems.

“Even though the Work Programme reimbursed me for the travel expenses of going into their offices, it was sometimes difficult to find the bus fare in the first place,” he says. “Once they ran out of petty cash and I had to wait until my next appointment to get the money back. That was nothing to them but really difficult for me.”

“I worry deeply about how I can pay for interviews and even how I can afford to pay my way when I do get a job,” he tells me. “The Work Programme offers no financial help with that, but what am I supposed to do until my first pay cheque comes in? None of those issues were acknowledged by the Work Programme and they made no effort to help with them.”

Ross has watched this week as the contractor that failed him, Ingeus, has been declared as one of the Work Programme’s better performing firms – and given more contracts as a reward. It doesn’t create much hope for the scheme’s future.

A year and a half on, Ross is back where he started. Though with increased anxiety and even less clear assistance in place.

“Last year, I was told that my status on the Work Programme had been switched from mandatory to voluntary due to my recent Work Capability Assessment [the test to see if I was fit for work]. They later claimed that was not the case,” he tells me. “I'm probably due to be mandated back to the Work Programme some time soon as I was given another period off it before Job Centre Plus would refer me back. The JCP, DWP and WP have lacked clarity over every issue I've asked them about.”

“I'm still on benefits receiving no help whatsoever,” Ross adds.

This week, the Government has confirmed their idea of help: when the forced Work Programme fails, try some forced unpaid work.

Jobseekers queue at their local Jobcentre Plus. Image: Getty

Frances Ryan is a journalist and political researcher. She writes regularly for the Guardian, New Statesman, and others on disability, feminism, and most areas of equality you throw at her. She has a doctorate in inequality in education. Her website is here.

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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.