They’re At It Again – And This Time, It’s Going to Bury Them.
I listened. Or at least, I tried to. I tuned into the highlights from the Conservative Party conference, bracing myself. You learn to do that after a while—to put on your emotional armour before politicians start talking about people like us.
And honestly? The armour wasn’t needed. It was just… empty. A void where any positive vision for our community should have been. But while their leaders were silent on us, their key players certainly weren’t. In the side rooms and the fringe events, they were laying out their plans with a chilling clarity.
They’ve learned nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Let’s talk about what they actually said. Shadow Chancellor Mel Stride wants to stop claims for people with “less severe” mental health issues like anxiety. Helen Whately is out there, casually throwing around the word “millions” to describe people with ADHD and anxiety on benefits, a figure that’s been shown to be a straight-up fantasy.
Hear that? It’s the sound of the same old scapegoat being led to the slaughter. The rhetoric is so familiar it’s almost boring: “The system is broken because too many of you are using it. The bill is too high because you aren’t really that sick.”
Beneath the polished talk of “reform” and “prioritising treatment over cash” lies the same old cruelty, dressed up as fiscal responsibility. They aren’t trying to save us money; they’re trying to save the Treasury money by taking it from our pockets.
Let me translate their policy-speak into human terms.
When Mel Stride says we should have “treatment and support” instead of cash, what he’s really saying is: “We’d rather you wait 18 months on an NHS waiting list for therapy you may not be able to physically get to, rather than give you the £70 a week that allows you to pay for a taxi to get groceries, or to keep your heating on so your chronic pain doesn’t flare up.”
Cash is freedom. Cash is dignity. It’s the ability to decide for yourself what your most pressing need is. Is it the broken wheelchair ramp? The specialist food? The extra laundry from incontinence caused by your condition? Or is it just being able to buy a coffee with a friend so you don’t drown in isolation?
They want to replace this with “equipment purchases or tailored treatments.” A one-size-fits-all voucher system designed by a bureaucrat who has never met me. It’s paternalistic, it’s insulting, and it’s designed to fail. It creates a labyrinth of red tape so complex and demeaning that people like us will simply give up. And they know it. That’s the point.
This is the cruelty. It’s not just about the money. It’s about the message, repeated over 14 years, that our lives are a drain. That our existence is a line item on a spreadsheet to be trimmed. That our anxiety isn’t “severe” enough, our ADHD isn’t “real” enough.
But here’s the thing they’ve failed to learn, the lesson that history should have seared into their political souls: we are not an island.
We have families. We have friends. We have carers who see the daily struggle. We have neighbours who watched as the last 14 years of austerity pushed disabled people into poverty, into foodbanks, into premature graves. That memory hasn’t faded.
And the public? They aren’t the easily-led masses of the 2010s. They’ve seen the foodbanks. They’ve clapped for carers. They’ve grown weary of being told to blame their struggling neighbour instead of a system rigged for the wealthy.
By returning to this tired, brutal playbook, the Conservatives aren’t just being cruel. They’re being politically stupid. They are signalling to the country that if given another chance, they will continue the same grinding, dehumanising policies that have already caused so much harm.
They think they’re talking to their base about saving pennies. But they’re broadcasting to the entire nation that they are devoid of new ideas, empathy, and basic human understanding.
So let them have their conference. Let them talk about “stricter requirements” and “inflated benefits bills.” They are digging their own political grave. This time, the people watching aren’t just the disabled, the carers, and the families they so casually dismiss.
This time, it’s everyone who is tired of the blame game. Everyone who sees through the rhetoric to the real, human cost.
They had 14 years and learned nothing. Now, they’re showing us their hand, and it’s the same losing card. This time, I suspect, it’s them who will fall by the wayside. And frankly, you can only push people so far before they push back.
I listened. Or at least, I tried to. I tuned into the highlights from the Conservative Party conference, bracing myself. You learn to do that after a while—to put on your emotional armour before politicians start talking about people like us.
And honestly? The armour wasn’t needed. It was just… empty. A void where any positive vision for our community should have been. But while their leaders were silent on us, their key players certainly weren’t. In the side rooms and the fringe events, they were laying out their plans with a chilling clarity.
They’ve learned nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Let’s talk about what they actually said. Shadow Chancellor Mel Stride wants to stop claims for people with “less severe” mental health issues like anxiety. Helen Whately is out there, casually throwing around the word “millions” to describe people with ADHD and anxiety on benefits, a figure that’s been shown to be a straight-up fantasy.
Hear that? It’s the sound of the same old scapegoat being led to the slaughter. The rhetoric is so familiar it’s almost boring: “The system is broken because too many of you are using it. The bill is too high because you aren’t really that sick.”
Beneath the polished talk of “reform” and “prioritising treatment over cash” lies the same old cruelty, dressed up as fiscal responsibility. They aren’t trying to save us money; they’re trying to save the Treasury money by taking it from our pockets.
Let me translate their policy-speak into human terms.
When Mel Stride says we should have “treatment and support” instead of cash, what he’s really saying is: “We’d rather you wait 18 months on an NHS waiting list for therapy you may not be able to physically get to, rather than give you the £70 a week that allows you to pay for a taxi to get groceries, or to keep your heating on so your chronic pain doesn’t flare up.”
Cash is freedom. Cash is dignity. It’s the ability to decide for yourself what your most pressing need is. Is it the broken wheelchair ramp? The specialist food? The extra laundry from incontinence caused by your condition? Or is it just being able to buy a coffee with a friend so you don’t drown in isolation?
They want to replace this with “equipment purchases or tailored treatments.” A one-size-fits-all voucher system designed by a bureaucrat who has never met me. It’s paternalistic, it’s insulting, and it’s designed to fail. It creates a labyrinth of red tape so complex and demeaning that people like us will simply give up. And they know it. That’s the point.
This is the cruelty. It’s not just about the money. It’s about the message, repeated over 14 years, that our lives are a drain. That our existence is a line item on a spreadsheet to be trimmed. That our anxiety isn’t “severe” enough, our ADHD isn’t “real” enough.
But here’s the thing they’ve failed to learn, the lesson that history should have seared into their political souls: we are not an island.
We have families. We have friends. We have carers who see the daily struggle. We have neighbours who watched as the last 14 years of austerity pushed disabled people into poverty, into foodbanks, into premature graves. That memory hasn’t faded.
And the public? They aren’t the easily-led masses of the 2010s. They’ve seen the foodbanks. They’ve clapped for carers. They’ve grown weary of being told to blame their struggling neighbour instead of a system rigged for the wealthy.
By returning to this tired, brutal playbook, the Conservatives aren’t just being cruel. They’re being politically stupid. They are signalling to the country that if given another chance, they will continue the same grinding, dehumanising policies that have already caused so much harm.
They think they’re talking to their base about saving pennies. But they’re broadcasting to the entire nation that they are devoid of new ideas, empathy, and basic human understanding.
So let them have their conference. Let them talk about “stricter requirements” and “inflated benefits bills.” They are digging their own political grave. This time, the people watching aren’t just the disabled, the carers, and the families they so casually dismiss.
This time, it’s everyone who is tired of the blame game. Everyone who sees through the rhetoric to the real, human cost.
They had 14 years and learned nothing. Now, they’re showing us their hand, and it’s the same losing card. This time, I suspect, it’s them who will fall by the wayside. And frankly, you can only push people so far before they push back.
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