Why have you not killed yourself yet?

In a former life, I used to take the then Department of Health and Social Security to Disability Appeal Tribunals on behalf of Clients of the Citizens Advice Bureau. It was my task to bash down their stupid arguments for denying disabled people benefits. I was very good at it. I never lost a case.

Now and again I reel in horror at some of the stories of people being declared fit for work when they clearly are not. 

But this week, a particular aspect of the DWP assessment process stopped me in my tracks.

Picture the scene:

It’s a Tuesday morning and a disabled member of our community is attending a disability assessment.

It’s been tough getting ready for this assessment, both physically and mentally. But they must attend the meeting or they will not receive their pittance of benefit money from the UK Government. 

They’ve been up since 5am. They haven’t slept much because attending this assessment has consumed them with worry and dread. For weeks, they’ve been anxious and today’s the day a stranger with a pen decides whether they continue to receive disability benefits. 

They’ve travelled into the city. It’s been an ordeal getting there, but they are compelled to attend. If they don’t go, then the benefits application will be rejected and they’ll have to start all over again.

The receptionist greets them with a practised welcome but she will not maintain eye contact as she explains how travelling expenses are reimbursed.

At the allotted time, the assessor appears to usher the disabled person into the assessment room. The assessor seems pleasant enough and explains what will happen during the meeting. It begins…

There are general questions about mobility and capability. There are boxes ticked. There are specific questions about their ability to do everyday tasks like washing and feeding themselves. There are opinions written down. These opinions will decide the outcome of the PIP application.

Then, out of the blue, the interview takes a more sinister turn.

Already feeling intimidated by the barrage of personal questions, the assessor calmly asks the disabled person:

“So, why haven’t you killed yourself yet?”

#Boom

All pretence at being there to help the person with the disability is gone.

You what?  “Yet”?  

The addition of the adverb “yet” has turned this question into an expectation.

Let’s think about how that question would affect you:

Why

                         Haven’t

You

        Killed

                         Yourself

Yet?

All the synapses are firing. All possible interpretations of the question are being processed. Fear, panic and anxiety are all normal responses to this question if you are already geared up for an interrogation. The brain goes down a dark rabbit hole. You can’t stop the associations it will make:

You’re a worthless piece of shit.

Everyone hates you.

What is the point of you?

You’re costing us a fortune

Why don’t you just die?

Why are you even here?

Why don’t you just go away and end it all?

I never want to see you here again.

It’s probably best if you were to die.

You are a drain on society and you should kill yourself.

You should die.

You’re a waste of space.

You’d be better off dead.

You are nothing.

You mean nothing.

You are not a productive member of society.

You have no right to life.

Why should we pay for you?

I told you that you were a failure!

You're a complete failure.

Failure!

You don’t matter.

You’re not contributing.

It’s not as if anyone would miss you.

You’re a burden on the state.

You might as well put an end to this.

What sort of life do you have anyway?

Go away and do it!

Kill yourself!

No one will care.

No one cares about you.

No one will miss you.

Alice Kirby was the first person to let the world know that this question was routinely asked by DWP appointed assessors, whom the DWP describe as “health professionals”. Since her statement on Twitter, many disabled people across the UK have come forward to corroborate that this question was (and is) asked as standard during disability assessment interviews.

One in four of our people with disability in Scotland is living in deep poverty. They’re not “Just About Managing”. They are just about at breaking point. A disability assessment that includes this question is enough to send such people off the deep end of despair. 

There are members of our community here in Scotland who have told me that they seriously considered ending their lives after just such a PIP assessment.

PIP and ESA assessments should be about assessing disability, not encouraging people to top themselves.

I am comforted to hear that the Scottish Government is currently consulting with recipients of disability benefits in Scotland to radically alter the way in which our people are treated in such assessments. It's a start.

In an independent Scotland, we will be able to do so much more.

Saor Alba Gu Brath.