Having completed my first of two stints at the food bank this week – I know, I know: what a hero! – I came upon this quote from Victoria Atkins MP who, you may not be aware, is the health secretary. When she is not laughing her head off when Rishi Sunak makes jokes about the murdered teenager Brianna Ghey, or mismanaging the NHS, Ms Atkins has her hands full suffering as she does with foot-in-mouth syndrome. The comment she makes here. WTAF, as Da Yoot might say?
“I have the privilege of some wonderful food banks in my constituency and the people running those food banks do so with the very best of intentions.” I read it over and over again, wondering if at some point a big fat BUT might appear at the end. Because without one, it makes very little sense. To work out just how stupid a comment is, just imagine them saying the complete opposite? “The people running those food banks do so with the very worst intentions.” Then it occurred to me that I should check which constituency Atkins represents and it’s Louth and Horncastle, a seriously affluent part of Lincolnshire. Atkins sits on a majority of nearly 29,000 with close to three-quarters of those voting in the constituency in the 2019 election voting for her. And yet, even in an area where the clerks don’t count Tory votes at elections, they weigh them, there are still obviously pockets of poverty.
In our food bank, here in Melchester, we see plenty of people who live in poverty, some who have been in poverty all their lives and others who, for reasons beyond their control, have run into an unexpected crisis where the money and food has run out, often without warning.
It’s assumed by some that all food bank users are from what might be deemed the working classes or even the so-called underclass of people who have fallen between society’s cracks. While that would be a fair assessment for a significant number of our callers, it’s not true for all of them.
Today, I met with people who you might consider to be middle class, but who have fallen into hard times. I spoke with two people who were suddenly made homeless and were immediately penniless, living in barely adequate temporary accommodation. And the striking thing is that neither of them – in fact, none of our callers – were complaining about their lot, all while the rest us are wallowing in a pool of self-pity about how crap the weather is. I find the experience humbling and feel privileged to be in a position to help. There were a few tears today – who on earth would want to be in a position whereby there was no alternative to coming to a food bank? – but all in all we worked well and we worked hard.
I’m not sure people who work, our paid staff, or the volunteers would recognise the very idea of having good intentions in order to do what we do. Most people go to work with good intentions, which is to say they wouldn’t normally go with bad ones. It’s not unique to us. We’re not special, not remotely, and we don’t need patronising here today, gone tomorrow politicians like Atkins to suggest we are. It’s the type of brainless bollocks we’ve come to expect by this awful government.
What I would say about intentions, how would Atkins describe hers? She is a senior figure in a government that has all but broken Britain over 14 long and miserable years. Millions more are in poverty, eight million people sit on NHS waiting lists, waiting from minor stuff like cancer treatment, some schools are literally falling apart and much of it has been caused by Atkins and her ghastly colleagues.
Actually, it’s this simple. The people who have brought about the need for food banks, people like Victoria Atkins, do so with the worst of intentions or, what’s just as likely, they just don’t care. And there’s nothing wonderful about food banks, which are just about the only places thriving in Britain. Those of us on the sharp end are there because of people like her. If she came into the Melchester food bank, I’d kick her out of the door. Metaphorically, I’d like to think. But it would be just as satisfying as the real thing.
