I, Daniel Blake: This, that and The Other
Anyone who has ever had a hobby they truly loved might understand the sublime feeling they get when they're in the zone. It doesn't have to be one of those gruelling or trendy sporting hobbies that you take up to impress other people on social media. It can just as easily be something you really love doing. It speaks a bit to some of my privileges that my favourite hobby has always been videogames. I love watching films, I used to put 'Driving' on my CV under leisure interests and at one point I used to run and enjoy it.
There is a point at which what you're doing can take on a feeling of the sublime. There was a happy juncture where I used to run; a combination of pace, exertion and being able to see, smell and hear the things I was running past that triggered the right endorphins to lull me into another place. Videogames can sometimes be an act of lining up your senses with your skill levels, and when it goes right, it feels a grinning sort of right. Before the roads became occupied by other people at all times of the day or night, I experienced a gleeful mix of speed, the feeling of the road and a selfish enjoyment in finding how much uncertainty your tyres are prepared to accommodate.
Some of my film-watching can feel a little bit academic There are forms and skills and techniques in film-making that people who are more dedicated viewers than I am would pick up while I'm still giggling at visual jokes. I'm not focussed enough to be a film critic, but I have a half-decent grasp of the concept of the referential. I can also be pretty annoying about pointing out what other things actors have been in. It properly annoys Mrs Gershon, especially when I'm wrong.
I, Daniel Blake is not that sort of film. There are no obscure nods to Akira Kurosawa's Hidden Fortress here. Nevertheless, I experienced that feeling of things fitting into place while I watched it. A feeling of getting the balance of pace and breathing and touching on reality just right. The film is infuriating, but only because of the issues it highlights.
What struck me most, as I watched the film and then swore loudly in the car while I drove home, was just how much the problems for the film's protagonists are caused by their housing situations. Much of the detail isn't spoon-fed through lazy exposition, but we learn it from snippets of telephone conversations Daniel Blake is forced to have with the ever-present monster of the entirely inhuman Department for Work and Pensions.
There have been a few suggestions already from people who ought to know better that the film is a work of fiction. That they peddle this myth demeans them. Unlike the demeaning of people having to engage with the DWP around issues of work and housing, the politicians who have come out to defend government policy only demean themselves.
Before the film's release, Kwasi Kwarteng, who might have learned more from the time he spent with the Work and Pension Committee on “Support for housing costs in the reformed welfare system” if he had not been apparently playing games on his shiny new iPad, claimed that it would be wrong to suggest there were no problems with the system, as sometimes he had to deal with problems from his own constituents. On BBC's Question Time, former Secretary of State for the Department of Local Government Greg Clark made exactly the same assertion, almost word-for-word.
Much like the obtuse media output of the DWP over their provenly dysfunctional policies, government ministers and MPs appear to have been fed a line that they must repeat in the media to discredit the premise of I, Daniel Blake as if it was pure fiction.
Except it isn't. As the other people from the packed cinema screening quietly left the cinema I shared with them, I blinked back my own tears as I pondered the very real points of reference the film held for me. I was reminded of my own Dad, who having survived cancer for much longer than his consultant had believed possible, kept being hassled by automaton DWP staff who implied that as he had not died as soon as they were expecting, he must be a fraud.
At a time when he should have been concentrating on getting better, we were comparing notes about how much work is required to claim the pittance of various UK benefits. He had to fight continuously to retain his DLA, essentially his only way of paying his mortgage, by organising repeated correspondence from his oncologist at I was compromising care arrangements for my wife so that we could fit into the narrow exemptions for bedroom tax. It was enormously frustrating for each of us to hear tales of the other, I'm sure.
We may even have drawn some solidarity from each having to put up with the monotonous, heartless phone operators the DWP employs, or from the bait-and-switch of local tax and benefits officers who were powerless to do anything other than send threatening letters on behalf of the DWP, but this, like the support of immediate acquaintances of Daniel Blake, was not the plucky, community-spirited kind of solidarity it is painted as under the auspices of any Big Society, it's a desperate and frustrating clutching at any bit of flotsam in the shipwreck of deliberately cruel conditionality imposed from policies decided by ideological beliefs that deal with social security claimants from the default position that they must be criminals, liars, or out to game the system.
I felt a sense of guilt at the people I haven't been able to help. The couple I know who were charged bedroom tax even though both disabled and unable to share one of their two rooms. I tried to get them help, but they were exhausted as a result of their conditions and feared the repercussions of challenging their local authority landlord. After being found fit for work, shortly after a kidney transplant and awaiting a hip replacement, they were cowed into a submission I couldn't seem to help them with.
I attended a Work Capability Assessment with my friend and witnessed the industrial processing of people that was portrayed so vividly and accurately in the film's Kafkaesque JobCentre Plus, where an institution that once helped people find work has been re-purposed to stop people claiming money they are entitled to.
I thought of one of my neighbours, who was sanctioned for the most trivial of reasons, in ignorance of the fact they have Type 2 Diabetes controlled by diet. They went without food while their foodbank referral took place, and offered me some tins of food that they didn't like shortly after, pretending that they'd bought them in error because they couldn't bear to admit the situation they'd been pushed into by people at the other end of a phone who wouldn't listen.
I thought of another person I know found fit-for-work when they clearly aren't, and what's really happened is that my faith in housing providers as rational and helpful enablers for their tenants has been shaken. I've always been a big supporter of associations, ALMOs and councils who have schemes genuinely geared towards helping people find training and employment that's suitable for them, but something has changed.
I've also been a detractor of the sort of comms-led, jargon filled fantasies that some housing providers have in the past peddled. Conditional tenancies where not signing up to an unregulated equivalent of a Claimant Commitment means some people will not be offered tenancies. The same impersonal gatekeeping that the DWP employs that ensures poverty is something blamed on the individual rather than understood in its real context. Providers going along with organisations whose use of what has become known as “workfare” haven't even raised an eyebrow.
Jules Birch highlights the way that language has been used to dehumanise the very real issues that people are facing, as represented in I, Daniel Blake. The prevalence of words like 'Client, Customer and Service User' have become excuses to stop seeing the people that need houses as human beings.
The slightly rabid adoption by the National Housing Federation of Conservative Party policy, flying in the face of any of the plethora of evidence about how to address both supply and affordability of housing, now stands as a prime example of how the machine of government segregates its imaginary shirkers from the deserving people who are wealthy enough to afford homes that are not by any reasonable description affordable when taking household income into account. All the arguments about people being workshy, about the efficacy of sanctions, about the reasons that houses are not affordable, about the need to provide accessible homes as an environment where people can thrive, have been swept aside to support an ideological drive for more homes at any cost, of any tenure.
There has been a lot of focus on 2016 being the 50th Anniversary of Cathy Come Home, but I can see why Ken Loach didn't want to make another film in the same mould. There's no point. Little has changed for people who need housing support. They are still vilified and blamed and seen as 'the other'.
Where once the broader housing association movement was thought to step in where councils have had the resources to deal with this need taken away, now those housing associations in a position to build are building homes for rent, private sale, rents that are not affordable or shared ownership packages that are not affordable. The idea that the profits from these developments can support the provision of homes people can actually afford is demonstrably untrue.
Somehow this makes it right that Ken Loach has taken the opportunity to highlight ordinary working people, or ordinary people who can't work, and the dehumanising abuse they receive at the hands of faceless, corporate bureaucrats. It would have been pointless for Loach to have made another film about housing when so much of the abuse people who need homes but can't afford them face is wrapped up in the commercial, corporate culture of the new political reality. Organisations that openly baulked at commenting on campaigns around food poverty and the senseless cutting of vital support to disabled people because they were 'too political' are now happily propping up a purely political ideology based around home ownership as an aspiration that people who aren't successful enough can't attain.
I know that there are housing organisations out there that are still on the side of their tenants. Some are quietly and diligently increasing the amount of money that their residents are entitled to in social security, but had never previously thought to claim. Some are offering support for people to get involved with their landlords, or to get training and work, without ramming it down anyone's throat as a crude indicator of worthiness. But the overall message has become one that only values people when they have full-time paid employment, and much of the celebrations of housing providers to highlight this is to pander to the system within government, specifically the DWP, that judges and deliberately fails people












