We must never forget the human touch. It's what today's NHS is lacking

This government confused customising services with humanising them, writes IPPR's David Robinson.

Britain’s most respected institution was the star of the show at the Olympic opening ceremony a year ago but our beloved NHS has taken a brutal kicking ever since. First the Mid Staffs report revealed "a lack of care, compassion and humanity", then similar revelations about several other hospital trusts, an enduring crisis in A&E departments across the country and now, it seems, the 111 call service is falling apart at the seams. 

Of course even the best managers will struggle when demand is rising and funding is falling, and some parts of the NHS are seriously lacking in the best managers department. But the underlying story of the last 12 months has not just been about money or management. It has also been about culture and about reaping the consequences of a prolonged and systematic shift in custom and practice. A fundamental change that has not been confined to the NHS but is endemic across our public services.

Commenting on the Mid Staffs report and shortly after starting work as the new NHS national medical director Professor Bruce Keogh promised earlier this year that hospitals would be fined if they failed to provide the best care. Is this really the answer? Care driven by fear of punishment? 

The prospect is discomforting but it isn’t new and it isn’t unique to the health service. Talk to social workers, teachers, probation officers and care workers and you will find that regulations and systems, impersonal transactions and a fear of risk and reprisal shape the culture in which they all work. Public services in recent years have been reduced to a set of transactions when the real need is for a more personal relationship, for common sense and for human kindness.

Callers to 111, patients in A&E, and particularly families using Mid Staffs haven't, for the most part, been complaining about the medical science. Rather, they say, it’s the human touch that’s gone missing. The time to talk to an anxious relative in A&E, the opportunity to appreciate that a patient needs a drink as much as a pill, and the common sense to understand that a monitoring phone call at 5am in the morning may not be the most useful way of helping a stressed parent. In short, the capability and, critically, the management support to see the person not the operational target. 

This government and the last one confused customising services with humanising them – both are worthwhile goals, but they are quite different. 111 call centres or big polyclinics may offer a service that will meet individual needs more quickly, efficiently and flexibly than the individual GP working on their own, but the service will be less personal. The polyclinic suits the busy commuter seeking holiday jabs (customised); the small-practice GP may be preferred by the parent of a chronically sick child visiting the surgery every week (humanised). A huge body of evidence now supports the proposition that consistent, high-quality relationships change lives and that better results are achieved where, in design and delivery, primacy is given to the quality and consistency of the individual interaction – that is, where the service is humanised.

Such “deep value” relationships should be the organising principle at the heart of our public services, not because they are a “nice to have” on the margins of the core service, but because they have a material impact on the outcomes and on the long term costs. 

As conference season approaches politicians and commentators will be preparing their prescriptions for the NHS. They must not – in the words of TS Eliot – "dream of a system so perfect that no one will have to be good". We've been there and it isn’t working. Systems, upheld by inspection and punishment are, at best, not enough. We need the maturity and the good sense to talk about love, what Barbara Fredrickson has called "that micro-moment of warmth and connection that you share with another human being", to understand the place of trust and kindness in the public realm and, above all, to consistently and deliberately design it into service reform, not design it out.

A patient is wheeled into a lift in Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham. Photograph: Getty Images

David Robinson is co-founder and now senior adviser to Community Links

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"We repealed, then forgot": the long shadow of Section 28 homophobia

Why are deeply conservative views about the "promotion" of homosexuality still being reiterated to Scottish school pupils? 

Grim stories of LGBTI children being bullied in school are all too common. But one which emerged over the weekend garnered particular attention - because of the echoes of the infamous Section 28, nearly two decades after it was scrapped.

A 16-year-old pupil of a West Lothian school, who does not wish to be named, told Pink News that staff asked him to remove his small rainbow pride badge because, though they had "no problem" with his sexuality, it was not appropriate to "promote it" in school. It's a blast from the past - the rules against "promoting" homosexuality were repealed in 2000 in Scotland, but the long legacy of Section 28 seems hard to shake off. 

The local authority responsible said in a statement that non-school related badges are not permitted on uniforms, and says it is "committed to equal rights for LGBT people". 

The small badge depicted a rainbow-striped heart, which the pupil said he had brought back from the Edinburgh Pride march the previous weekend. He reportedly "no longer feels comfortable going to school", and said homophobia from staff members felt "much more scar[y] than when I encountered the same from other pupils". 

At a time when four Scottish party leaders are gay, and the new Westminster parliament included a record number of LGBTQ MPs, the political world is making progress in promoting equality. But education, it seems, has not kept up. According to research from LGBT rights campaigners Stonewall, 40 per cent of LGBT pupils across the UK reported being taught nothing about LGBT issues at school. Among trans students, 44 per cent said school staff didn’t know what "trans" even means.

The need for teacher training and curriculum reform is at the top of campaigners' agendas. "We're disappointed but not surprised by this example," says Jordan Daly, the co-founder of Time for Inclusive Education [TIE]. His grassroots campaign focuses on making politicians and wider society aware of the reality LGBTI school students in Scotland face. "We're in schools on a monthly basis, so we know this is by no means an isolated incident." 

Studies have repeatedly shown a startling level of self-harm and mental illness reported by LGBTI school students. Trans students are particularly at risk. In 2015, Daly and colleagues began a tour of schools. Shocking stories included one in which a teacher singled out a trans pupils for ridicule in front of the class. More commonly, though, staff told them the same story: we just don't know what we're allowed to say about gay relationships. 

This is the point, according to Daly - retraining, or rather the lack of it. For some of those teachers trained during the 1980s and 1990s, when Section 28 prevented local authorities from "promoting homosexuality", confusion still reigns about what they can and cannot teach - or even mention in front of their pupils. 

The infamous clause was specific in its homophobia: the "acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship" could not be mentioned in schools. But it's been 17 years since the clause was repealed in Scotland - indeed, it was one of the very first acts of the new Scottish Parliament (the rest of the UK followed suit three years later). Why are we still hearing this archaic language? 

"We repealed, we clapped and cheered, and then we just forgot," Daly says. After the bitter campaign in Scotland, in which an alliance of churches led by millionaire businessman Brian Souter poured money into "Keeping the Clause", the government was pleased with its victory, which seemed to establish Holyrood as a progressive political space early on in the life of the parliament. But without updating the curriculum or retraining teaching staff, Daly argues, it left a "massive vacuum" of uncertainty. 

The Stonewall research suggests a similar confusion is likely across the UK. Daly doesn't believe the situation in Scotland is notably worse than in England, and disputes the oft-cited allegation that the issue is somehow worse in Scotland's denominational schools. Homophobia may be "wrapped up in the language of religious belief" in certain schools, he says, but it's "just as much of a problem elsewhere. The TIE campaign doesn't have different strategies for different schools." 

After initial disappointments - their thousands-strong petition to change the curriculum was thrown out by parliament in 2016 - the campaign has won the support of leaders such as Nicola Sturgeon and Kezia Dugdale, and recently, the backing of a majority of MSPs. The Scottish government has set up a working group, and promised a national strategy. 

But for Daly, who himself struggled at a young age with his sexuality and society's failure to accept it, the matter remains an urgent one.  At just 21, he can reel off countless painful stories of young LGBTI students - some of which end in tragedy. One of the saddest elements of the story from St Kentigern's is that the pupil claimed his school was the safest place he had to express his identity, because he was not out at home. Perhaps for a gay pupil in ten years time, that will be a guarantee. 

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