The Sun's frontpage for 7 October 2013. Photo via @SuttonNick on Twitter
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Laurie Penny on The Sun: fearmongering about mental health is what's really monstrous

The paper's frontpage claim that "1,200 killed by mental patients" is misleading - and it exposes exactly the kind of prejudice that implies people with mental health problems are violent, unstable monsters.

"1,200 killed by mental patients." Today's drooling Sun headline plays on precisely the kind of fearmongering that people with mental health problems have come to fear most, implying that they are violent, unstable monsters - as well as lazy benefit scroungers making up their illnesses in order to milk the system. The headline is entirely misleading. In fact, the most recent available figures show that "there has been a fall  in homicide by people with mental illness, including people with psychosis" since 2004.

The Sun claims that, far from seeking to stigmatise the mentally ill, its cover story draws attention to how many have been let down by poor mental health provision over the past decade. That's why it led with the sort of weary sensationalist headline that exploits prejudice against the sick and vulnerable to sell papers.

In Britain and across the global north, one in four people will experience significant mental health problems in their lifetimes. With the right treatment and support, most of those people are able to make a full recovery, but some need ongoing care, particularly in a society where employers are often less than understanding about how depression, anxiety and other mental health conditions affect people's ability to hold and keep a job. It's no wonder that some people choose not to disclose their mental health history, often struggling without help for years, between fear of getting sacked and the persistence of cruel, lazy sterotypes like the grotesque 'Mental Patient' and 'Psycho Ward' Hallowe'en costumes recently released by Asda and Tesco respectively - in which you could dress up as a terrifying crazy person, strait-jacketed, covered in blood and brandishing a meat cleaver. It's stigma like this that make people with severe and ongoing mental health difficulties up to ten times more likely to be the victims of violent crime than they are to perpetrate it.

Mental health problems can be scary - but not in that way. They're frightening to go through, and they're particularly frightening to go through alone. In my experience, a more accurate 'Mental Patient' costume would be a slightly funky-smelling jumper - when I'm having a bout of the blues, I'm usually strict about doing laundry, but sometimes it takes me a while to actually get the stuff out of the washing machine and hang it up, leading to a distinct whiff of damp Persil. Hardly Normal Bates, but trust me, on the inside I'm quaking.

Like a lot of people, I sometimes get depressed and anxious. On precisely none of these occasions have I flown into a murderous rage and stabbed up a stranger. Mostly, I just want a cup of tea and a cuddle, and perhaps to curl up with Netflix until I feel better.

The Sun is right about one thing, though - it is indeed a disgrace that the mental health care system in the UK is so chronically short of funds, meaning that those in most need often miss out on essential care. As austerity takes its toll on the emotional resilience of an already stressed and unequal society, there is now even less provision to take care of people with severe depression, debilitating anxiety, or more chronic conditions like psychosis, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.

Part of the reason people with mental health difficulties continue to face such poisonous prejudice, part of the reason the government is able to impoverish and stigmatise those receiving care in the community with relative ease, is that there has been a relentless campaign against mentally ill benefit claimants, a campaign led by right-wing tabloids like the Sun. The Sun has fought for years to make withdrawal of care from people with mental health difficulties socially acceptable. The Sun, and its editors' former riding partners in government, have stood by whilst more and more mental patients commit suicide after that care is withdrawn and they are plunged into lonely, desperate destitution. That it now claims to be championing their cause, even as it paints the mentally ill as savage, violent semi-humans - that's what's truly monstrous.

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

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The decline of the north's sporting powerhouse

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Now, things are different.

On a drive between Sheffield and Barnsley, I spotted a striking painting of the Kes poster. Billy Casper’s two-fingered salute covered the wall of a once-popular pub that is now boarded up.

It is almost 50 years since the late Barry Hines wrote A Kestrel for a Knave, the novel that inspired Ken Loach’s 1969 film, and it seems that the defiant, us-against-the-world, stick-it-to-the-man Yorkshireness he commemorated still resonates here. Almost two-thirds of the people of south Yorkshire voted to leave the EU, flicking two fingers up at what they saw as a London-based establishment, detached from life beyond the capital.

But whatever happened to Billy the unlikely lad, and the myriad other northern characters who were once the stars of stage and screen? Like the pitheads that dominated Casper’s tightly knit neighbourhood, they have disappeared from the landscape. The rot set in during the 1980s, when industries were destroyed and communities collapsed, a point eloquently made in Melvyn Bragg’s excellent radio series The Matter of the North.

Yorkshire historically acted as a counterweight to the dominance of southern elites, in sport as in politics and culture. Yet today, we rarely get to hear the voices of Barnsley, Sheffield, Doncaster and Rotherham. And the Yorkshire sporting powerhouse is no more – at least, not as we once knew it.

This should be a matter of national concern. The White Rose county is, after all, the home of the world’s oldest registered football club – Sheffield FC, formed in 1857 – and the first English team to win three successive League titles, Huddersfield Town, in the mid-1920s. Hull City are now Yorkshire’s lone representative in the Premier League.

Howard Wilkinson, the manager of Leeds United when they were crowned champions in 1992, the season before the Premier League was founded, lamented the passing of a less money-obsessed era. “My dad worked at Orgreave,” he said, “the scene of Mrs Thatcher’s greatest hour, bless her. You paid for putting an axe through what is a very strong culture of community and joint responsibility.”

The best-known scene in Loach’s film shows a football match in which Mr Sugden, the PE teacher, played by Brian Glover, comically assumes the role of Bobby Charlton. It was played out on the muddy school fields of Barnsley’s run-down Athersley estate. On a visit to his alma mater a few years ago, David Bradley, who played the scrawny 15-year-old Billy, showed me the goalposts that he had swung from as a reluctant goalkeeper. “You can still see the dint in the crossbar,” he said. When I spoke to him recently, Bradley enthused about his lifelong support for Barnsley FC. “But I’ve not been to the ground over the last season and a half,” he said. “I can’t afford it.”

Bradley is not alone. Many long-standing fans have been priced out. Barnsley is only a Championship side, but for their home encounter with Newcastle last October, their fans had to pay £30 for a ticket.

The English game is rooted in the northern, working-class communities that have borne the brunt of austerity over the past six years. The top leagues – like the EU – are perceived to be out of touch and skewed in favour of the moneyed elites.

Bradley, an ardent Remainer, despaired after the Brexit vote. “They did not know what they were doing. But I can understand why. There’s still a lot of neglect, a lot of deprivation in parts of Barnsley. They feel left behind because they have been left behind.”

It is true that there has been a feel-good factor in Yorkshire following the Rio Olympics; if the county were a country, it would have finished 17th in the international medals table. Yet while millions have been invested in “podium-level athletes”, in the team games that are most relevant to the lives of most Yorkshire folk – football, cricket and rugby league – there is a clear division between sport’s elites and its grass roots. While lucrative TV deals have enriched ruling bodies and top clubs, there has been a large decrease in the number of adults playing any sport in the four years since London staged the Games.

According to figures from Sport England, there are now 67,000 fewer people in Yorkshire involved in sport than there were in 2012. In Doncaster, to take a typical post-industrial White Rose town, there has been a 13 per cent drop in participation – compared with a 0.4 per cent decline nationally.

Attendances at rugby league, the region’s “national sport”, are falling. But cricket, in theory, is thriving, with Yorkshire winning the County Championship in 2014 and 2015. Yet Joe Root, the batsman and poster boy for this renaissance, plays far more games for his country than for his county and was rested from Yorkshire’s 2016 title decider against Middlesex.

“Root’s almost not a Yorkshire player nowadays,” said Stuart Rayner, whose book The War of the White Roses chronicles the club’s fortunes between 1968 and 1986. As a fan back then, I frequently watched Geoffrey Boycott and other local stars at Headingley. My favourite was the England bowler Chris Old, a gritty, defiant, unsung anti-hero in the Billy Casper mould.

When Old made his debut, 13 of the 17-strong Yorkshire squad were registered as working-class professionals. Half a century later, three of the five Yorkshiremen selec­ted for the last Ashes series – Root, Jonny Bairstow and Gary Ballance – were privately educated. “The game of cricket now is played in public schools,” Old told me. “Top players are getting huge amounts of money, but the grass-roots game doesn’t seem to have benefited in any way.”

“In ten years’ time you won’t get a Joe Root,” Rayner said. “If you haven’t seen these top Yorkshire cricketers playing in your backyard and you haven’t got Sky, it will be difficult to get the whole cricket bug. So where is the next generation of Roots going to come from?” Or the next generation of Jessica Ennis-Hills? Three years ago, the Sheffield stadium where she trained and first discovered athletics was closed after cuts to local services.

This article first appeared in the 19 January 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The Trump era