Kenneth Roy
Point of order, Mr Chair.
Why are you allowed to
go on – and on?
David Hill
A disgusting stitch
John Cameron
We should beware
forensic evidence to
secure convictions
The Cafe
David Cameron and the union
Andrew Hook
David Cameron has
raised the level
of
the intellectual debate
Andrew Sanders
Playing into O’Leary’s hands
Walter Humes
The principals won’t
like this report. So let’s
press ahead anyway
Life of George
An uncertain stream
Anne Keenan
Is Scotland to be
regarded as a feeble
child in the playground?
Angus Skinner
Boredom will win
21.02.12
No. 516
David Mackenzie
It was our annual disarmament camp at Peaton Wood beside Loch Long, half a mile from RMD Coulport, where they store the Trident nuclear warheads and load them onto the Vanguard boats.
It was 6 August 2000, Hiroshima Day, and were discussing how to conduct our commemoration ceremony. The usual thing was to float lanterns on the loch both in memory of the victims and as an expression of our hopes for peace. The lanterns were made and ready but there was a stiff onshore breeze, making it unlikely that we could get them to float into the currents that would take them down the loch. Then someone said: ‘We could ask the MoD boatmen to float them for us!’. Sniggering, perhaps a little cynical.
Then someone else said: ‘Why not?’. The question hung in the air for a moment or two as we pondered the notion of actually asking members of the opposition to help us. No objections were raised and then the third person said: ‘I’ll try to phone them right now’.
As dusk fell we went down to the shore at the arranged time and lit the lanterns. A couple of MoD ribs edged in towards the shore and a few of us waded out shoulder deep to the boats, the lanterns held aloft. The boatmen took the lanterns gently with both hands and then helped a protester on to each of the boats. They moved from the shore and the on-board protesters lowered the lanterns into the water. The current carried them slowly south – the little red, green and yellow lights growing smaller and spreading out in a long line, a beautiful and poignant scene.
We were moved by the empathy and sensitivity the boatmen had shown, as well as their trust, given our record of edgy non-violent direct action. While their response did not diminish our sense of the utter wrongness of the humming orange-lit complex up the road, the human connection their courtesy provided was special.
It was then that I recognised that non-violence is not a passive stance but is liable to spark you off into new paths at any time.
Unlike many publications SR doesn’t have an online comment facility – we prefer a more considered approach. The Cafe is our readers’ forum. If you would like to contribute to it, please email islay@scottishreview.net
For rough sleepers,
‘that dog’ is often
all they have left
Michelle Howard
Homelessness is a problem of scale. It is a problem of complexity, one of significant human cost, and one of individual life stories.
At 54 years old, Tony didn’t think it would ever happen to him. But tonight, as he has done so many nights before, Tony cautiously settles into the corner where he hopes he won’t be disturbed. Tony’s face bears no expression at all; a poignant symbol of his acceptance of what is now his reality. As a group of passers-by remark in hushed tones, ‘He probably spent all his money on drink anyway’ and ‘If only he got rid of that dog…’. Little do they realise, the drink is all that gets him by, and ‘that dog’ is all he has got left. Like us, the passers-by are shamefully accustomed to the sleeping bag, the discarded bottle and the silhouette in the corner; yet Tony’s life story remains invisible and his desperation unnoticed.
Tony isn’t alone. Rough sleepers are by far the most vulnerable and most visible of our homeless population. However, with many more thousands of people affected by homelessness, it is a problem of significant and increasing scale. But let’s not think of homelessness as a problem of scale. To do so removes the individuality and personal element of each case. Instead, consider it as a problem of complexity, where no two people lose their homes for the same reason, and where every person has a different life story.
Tony’s life story isn’t that he had a problem with drugs or alcohol. Nor is it that he had committed a crime. Tony simply lost his job. And despite his best efforts, when he couldn’t get back to work, he couldn’t afford to stay in his house and his situation soon spiralled. Not knowing where to turn for help, Tony woke up one morning to find that other than ‘that dog’, he had nothing left and his only option was to seek shelter on the streets.
Nobody chooses to live on the streets. And quite simply, nobody should have to. It’s 2012 and almost unthinkable that we still have people enduring such extreme poverty. Whilst legislation allows us to protect some vulnerable people affected by homelessness, this safety net has still allowed many rough sleepers to fall through. So, can we get to a place where help is available to all homeless people who need it, when they need it, and to ensure that nobody is left with no option but to sleep rough? A thankless task perhaps? Or simply one that is long overdue.
In an ideal world, we would prevent people from becoming homeless in the first place. But this does not help those who are already caught up in the web of homelessness. However, whilst it appears daunting, a vision to end rough sleeping is entirely achievable and sustainable. If we can put a man on the moon, why can’t we work together to put an end to rough sleeping?
When I asked Tony what helped him, he told me that outreach support
saved his life. Outreach support sees beyond the silhouette in the street,
and instead, considers the life story.
You may think that the answer is accommodation. But it isn’t accommodation alone. For a rough sleeper, excluded from society and removed from services, even the simplest tasks feel unmanageable, and their issues so entrenched that simply accessing accommodation is not enough. Accommodation alone isn’t the solution, but instead, is just a part of the jigsaw. Little by little, it is possible to help to rebuild that person’s faith in society, their self-respect and their plans for a future.
In many ways, support and accommodation for rough sleepers has come a long way. It is no longer about providing a bed for a single night, or simply running a soup kitchen to provide a meal. It is about supporting that person to access the services they need, and equipping them with the tools they need to find and sustain a home. Having that safe and stable base to return to at the end of the day provides an opportunity to put down some roots and to create a positive life story.
You might think that there are people who don’t want to leave a life on the streets. This simply isn’t true. But, like Tony, for many rough sleepers the prospect of overcoming a life on the streets is frightening and the longer somebody spends living on the streets, the harder they become to reach. For Tony, it meant taking the time to help him to help himself – something that is far easier said than done. It requires commitment, patience and determination, to build a relationship of trust over time – however long it may take.
When I asked Tony what helped him, he told me that outreach support saved his life. Outreach support sees beyond the silhouette in the street, and instead, considers the life story. Entrenched rough sleepers need services. They need help to help themselves. More than anything, they need somebody to never give up.
For Tony it meant that when he had given up on the world, and he thought that the world had given up on him, somebody gave him a chance and showed him how to get things back on track step by step.
Support like this is flexible, yet persistent – regardless of a frosty reception. It acknowledges that every case is different and every person is different. It isn’t the work of one person in isolation but it starts with somebody offering a helping hand, and a chance to rebuild that life story.
The next time you see somebody sleeping rough on our streets, take a minute to think about their background and their potential when they are supported into a settled life. They haven’t chosen to live on the streets, but have drifted into a world of homelessness and simply need support to get back on track.
Michelle Howard works in local government. She delivered this paper at a recent Young Thinker of the Year event organised by the Scottish Review team
like this report. So let’s
press ahead anyway
Life of George
An uncertain stream
Anne Keenan
Is Scotland to be
regarded as a feeble
child in the playground?
Angus Skinner
Boredom will win
21.02.12
No. 516
David Mackenzie
It was our annual disarmament camp at Peaton Wood beside Loch Long, half a mile from RMD Coulport, where they store the Trident nuclear warheads and load them onto the Vanguard boats.
It was 6 August 2000, Hiroshima Day, and were discussing how to conduct our commemoration ceremony. The usual thing was to float lanterns on the loch both in memory of the victims and as an expression of our hopes for peace. The lanterns were made and ready but there was a stiff onshore breeze, making it unlikely that we could get them to float into the currents that would take them down the loch. Then someone said: ‘We could ask the MoD boatmen to float them for us!’. Sniggering, perhaps a little cynical.
Then someone else said: ‘Why not?’. The question hung in the air for a moment or two as we pondered the notion of actually asking members of the opposition to help us. No objections were raised and then the third person said: ‘I’ll try to phone them right now’.
As dusk fell we went down to the shore at the arranged time and lit the lanterns. A couple of MoD ribs edged in towards the shore and a few of us waded out shoulder deep to the boats, the lanterns held aloft. The boatmen took the lanterns gently with both hands and then helped a protester on to each of the boats. They moved from the shore and the on-board protesters lowered the lanterns into the water. The current carried them slowly south – the little red, green and yellow lights growing smaller and spreading out in a long line, a beautiful and poignant scene.
We were moved by the empathy and sensitivity the boatmen had shown, as well as their trust, given our record of edgy non-violent direct action. While their response did not diminish our sense of the utter wrongness of the humming orange-lit complex up the road, the human connection their courtesy provided was special.
It was then that I recognised that non-violence is not a passive stance but is liable to spark you off into new paths at any time.
Unlike many publications SR doesn’t have an online comment facility – we prefer a more considered approach. The Cafe is our readers’ forum. If you would like to contribute to it, please email islay@scottishreview.net
For rough sleepers,
‘that dog’ is often
all they have left
Michelle Howard
Homelessness is a problem of scale. It is a problem of complexity, one of significant human cost, and one of individual life stories.
At 54 years old, Tony didn’t think it would ever happen to him. But tonight, as he has done so many nights before, Tony cautiously settles into the corner where he hopes he won’t be disturbed. Tony’s face bears no expression at all; a poignant symbol of his acceptance of what is now his reality. As a group of passers-by remark in hushed tones, ‘He probably spent all his money on drink anyway’ and ‘If only he got rid of that dog…’. Little do they realise, the drink is all that gets him by, and ‘that dog’ is all he has got left. Like us, the passers-by are shamefully accustomed to the sleeping bag, the discarded bottle and the silhouette in the corner; yet Tony’s life story remains invisible and his desperation unnoticed.
Tony isn’t alone. Rough sleepers are by far the most vulnerable and most visible of our homeless population. However, with many more thousands of people affected by homelessness, it is a problem of significant and increasing scale. But let’s not think of homelessness as a problem of scale. To do so removes the individuality and personal element of each case. Instead, consider it as a problem of complexity, where no two people lose their homes for the same reason, and where every person has a different life story.
Tony’s life story isn’t that he had a problem with drugs or alcohol. Nor is it that he had committed a crime. Tony simply lost his job. And despite his best efforts, when he couldn’t get back to work, he couldn’t afford to stay in his house and his situation soon spiralled. Not knowing where to turn for help, Tony woke up one morning to find that other than ‘that dog’, he had nothing left and his only option was to seek shelter on the streets.
Nobody chooses to live on the streets. And quite simply, nobody should have to. It’s 2012 and almost unthinkable that we still have people enduring such extreme poverty. Whilst legislation allows us to protect some vulnerable people affected by homelessness, this safety net has still allowed many rough sleepers to fall through. So, can we get to a place where help is available to all homeless people who need it, when they need it, and to ensure that nobody is left with no option but to sleep rough? A thankless task perhaps? Or simply one that is long overdue.
In an ideal world, we would prevent people from becoming homeless in the first place. But this does not help those who are already caught up in the web of homelessness. However, whilst it appears daunting, a vision to end rough sleeping is entirely achievable and sustainable. If we can put a man on the moon, why can’t we work together to put an end to rough sleeping?
When I asked Tony what helped him, he told me that outreach support
saved his life. Outreach support sees beyond the silhouette in the street,
and instead, considers the life story.
You may think that the answer is accommodation. But it isn’t accommodation alone. For a rough sleeper, excluded from society and removed from services, even the simplest tasks feel unmanageable, and their issues so entrenched that simply accessing accommodation is not enough. Accommodation alone isn’t the solution, but instead, is just a part of the jigsaw. Little by little, it is possible to help to rebuild that person’s faith in society, their self-respect and their plans for a future.
In many ways, support and accommodation for rough sleepers has come a long way. It is no longer about providing a bed for a single night, or simply running a soup kitchen to provide a meal. It is about supporting that person to access the services they need, and equipping them with the tools they need to find and sustain a home. Having that safe and stable base to return to at the end of the day provides an opportunity to put down some roots and to create a positive life story.
You might think that there are people who don’t want to leave a life on the streets. This simply isn’t true. But, like Tony, for many rough sleepers the prospect of overcoming a life on the streets is frightening and the longer somebody spends living on the streets, the harder they become to reach. For Tony, it meant taking the time to help him to help himself – something that is far easier said than done. It requires commitment, patience and determination, to build a relationship of trust over time – however long it may take.
When I asked Tony what helped him, he told me that outreach support saved his life. Outreach support sees beyond the silhouette in the street, and instead, considers the life story. Entrenched rough sleepers need services. They need help to help themselves. More than anything, they need somebody to never give up.
For Tony it meant that when he had given up on the world, and he thought that the world had given up on him, somebody gave him a chance and showed him how to get things back on track step by step.
Support like this is flexible, yet persistent – regardless of a frosty reception. It acknowledges that every case is different and every person is different. It isn’t the work of one person in isolation but it starts with somebody offering a helping hand, and a chance to rebuild that life story.
The next time you see somebody sleeping rough on our streets, take a minute to think about their background and their potential when they are supported into a settled life. They haven’t chosen to live on the streets, but have drifted into a world of homelessness and simply need support to get back on track.
Michelle Howard works in local government. She delivered this paper at a recent Young Thinker of the Year event organised by the Scottish Review team
21.02.12
No. 516
David MackenzieIt was 6 August 2000, Hiroshima Day, and were discussing how to conduct our commemoration ceremony. The usual thing was to float lanterns on the loch both in memory of the victims and as an expression of our hopes for peace. The lanterns were made and ready but there was a stiff onshore breeze, making it unlikely that we could get them to float into the currents that would take them down the loch. Then someone said: ‘We could ask the MoD boatmen to float them for us!’. Sniggering, perhaps a little cynical.
Then someone else said: ‘Why not?’. The question hung in the air for a moment or two as we pondered the notion of actually asking members of the opposition to help us. No objections were raised and then the third person said: ‘I’ll try to phone them right now’.
As dusk fell we went down to the shore at the arranged time and lit the lanterns. A couple of MoD ribs edged in towards the shore and a few of us waded out shoulder deep to the boats, the lanterns held aloft. The boatmen took the lanterns gently with both hands and then helped a protester on to each of the boats. They moved from the shore and the on-board protesters lowered the lanterns into the water. The current carried them slowly south – the little red, green and yellow lights growing smaller and spreading out in a long line, a beautiful and poignant scene.
We were moved by the empathy and sensitivity the boatmen had shown, as well as their trust, given our record of edgy non-violent direct action. While their response did not diminish our sense of the utter wrongness of the humming orange-lit complex up the road, the human connection their courtesy provided was special.
It was then that I recognised that non-violence is not a passive stance but is liable to spark you off into new paths at any time.
At 54 years old, Tony didn’t think it would ever happen to him. But tonight, as he has done so many nights before, Tony cautiously settles into the corner where he hopes he won’t be disturbed. Tony’s face bears no expression at all; a poignant symbol of his acceptance of what is now his reality. As a group of passers-by remark in hushed tones, ‘He probably spent all his money on drink anyway’ and ‘If only he got rid of that dog…’. Little do they realise, the drink is all that gets him by, and ‘that dog’ is all he has got left. Like us, the passers-by are shamefully accustomed to the sleeping bag, the discarded bottle and the silhouette in the corner; yet Tony’s life story remains invisible and his desperation unnoticed.
Tony isn’t alone. Rough sleepers are by far the most vulnerable and most visible of our homeless population. However, with many more thousands of people affected by homelessness, it is a problem of significant and increasing scale. But let’s not think of homelessness as a problem of scale. To do so removes the individuality and personal element of each case. Instead, consider it as a problem of complexity, where no two people lose their homes for the same reason, and where every person has a different life story.
Tony’s life story isn’t that he had a problem with drugs or alcohol. Nor is it that he had committed a crime. Tony simply lost his job. And despite his best efforts, when he couldn’t get back to work, he couldn’t afford to stay in his house and his situation soon spiralled. Not knowing where to turn for help, Tony woke up one morning to find that other than ‘that dog’, he had nothing left and his only option was to seek shelter on the streets.
Nobody chooses to live on the streets. And quite simply, nobody should have to. It’s 2012 and almost unthinkable that we still have people enduring such extreme poverty. Whilst legislation allows us to protect some vulnerable people affected by homelessness, this safety net has still allowed many rough sleepers to fall through. So, can we get to a place where help is available to all homeless people who need it, when they need it, and to ensure that nobody is left with no option but to sleep rough? A thankless task perhaps? Or simply one that is long overdue.
In an ideal world, we would prevent people from becoming homeless in the first place. But this does not help those who are already caught up in the web of homelessness. However, whilst it appears daunting, a vision to end rough sleeping is entirely achievable and sustainable. If we can put a man on the moon, why can’t we work together to put an end to rough sleeping?
saved his life. Outreach support sees beyond the silhouette in the street,
and instead, considers the life story.
In many ways, support and accommodation for rough sleepers has come a long way. It is no longer about providing a bed for a single night, or simply running a soup kitchen to provide a meal. It is about supporting that person to access the services they need, and equipping them with the tools they need to find and sustain a home. Having that safe and stable base to return to at the end of the day provides an opportunity to put down some roots and to create a positive life story.
You might think that there are people who don’t want to leave a life on the streets. This simply isn’t true. But, like Tony, for many rough sleepers the prospect of overcoming a life on the streets is frightening and the longer somebody spends living on the streets, the harder they become to reach. For Tony, it meant taking the time to help him to help himself – something that is far easier said than done. It requires commitment, patience and determination, to build a relationship of trust over time – however long it may take.
When I asked Tony what helped him, he told me that outreach support saved his life. Outreach support sees beyond the silhouette in the street, and instead, considers the life story. Entrenched rough sleepers need services. They need help to help themselves. More than anything, they need somebody to never give up.
For Tony it meant that when he had given up on the world, and he thought that the world had given up on him, somebody gave him a chance and showed him how to get things back on track step by step.
Support like this is flexible, yet persistent – regardless of a frosty reception. It acknowledges that every case is different and every person is different. It isn’t the work of one person in isolation but it starts with somebody offering a helping hand, and a chance to rebuild that life story.
The next time you see somebody sleeping rough on our streets, take a minute to think about their background and their potential when they are supported into a settled life. They haven’t chosen to live on the streets, but have drifted into a world of homelessness and simply need support to get back on track.
