Ian Duncan Smith wants to know if I'm fit for the workplace, but is the workplace fit for me?

Ian Duncan Smith’s (IDS) one-man mission to get Britain back to work continued apace yesterday when he provoked debate about whether there are individuals who could do some work for their benefits. I applaud his efforts.
At the heart of IDS’s critique of the system as was, is that it encouraged a black and white distinction between those fit to work and those unfit to work, without acknowledging that there is a massive heap of people somewhere in the middle: people who can work intermittently, people who could theoretically do something else with a bit of training, and people like me, who can work but have a more limited choice of jobs because of a disability or illness.

Yet much as I applaud IDS’s work, my own experiences in employment – and the public sector at that – show me how far, in certain arenas, we still have to go before we can give a satisfactory answer to the question that IDS never mentions. Yes, by all means ask me if I’m fit for the workplace, but is the workplace fit for me?
I have real reservations writing this blog. I don’t want to downplay the many positives. My first job (private sector human resources) was brilliant: it was an internship that turned in to a contract. I was met at the station by a colleague who accompanied me to the office every day, was fully part of decision-making appropriate for my level, and shared tasks with other colleagues in a way that allowed me to pull my weight, make my contribution and focus on the many things I could do, rather than those I couldn’t (and with my IT skills less well-developed than they are now, there were rather more of those than there has ever been in any other job). At the time, it was highlighted as a case study of excellence.
I did have another placement where I was similarly well-treated, where all the adjustments were in place by the time I arrived and where there was a genuine desire to understand what, if anything, people could do to assist me to carry out my work effectively. So when I focus on the negatives, I worry that I’ll downplay the importance of this, and the friendships built up in the good jobs and the bad ones. Many people have helped me, encouraged me, or just been a tonic to have around in difficult times. The colleagues with whom I trained are great, and give me every confidence that my sector can do nothing but improve in how all employees are treated. These are good people, and their integrity and decency will remain with them throughout their careers.
My second reason for questioning whether to write down my experiences is that I don’t want to come across as whining, ungrateful, unduly negative, wishing to crush anyone else’s enthusiasm, or seeking attention or sympathy. The truth is, I know things can be better, and if people don’t tell their stories, we’ll never find out how.

Like most things in the workplace, a disabled person’s experience is shaped largely by the people. The best of them saw me as an asset to the team. They recognised my value and contribution, and the importance of getting the most out of me. To others, however, I felt like nothing more than a burden, a pain in the arse who presented a series of problems. Oversensitive? I doubt it, because it was barely disguised. I have lost count of the amount of times I’ve said something might be a bit more tricky or might take me longer, and been told nothing can be changed, or simply received an agonised sigh. I once tried to ask for support in prioritising my tasks to prioritise the ones for which I would require the assistance of an Access to Work support worker on the days I had one (they are amazing, by the way), only to be told “It’s not a part-time job you know.” When I did speak up, I began to talk about some-one, not nastily, but in the third person. It was only when they chimed in that I realised they were in the room all the time, listening to everything. Nobody told me who was in the resolution meeting. I’d been shamelessly set up to be uncomfortable.

Everyone can only take so much and, months ago, in my last job, I hit my limit. IT wasn’t the many occasions I had to point out that I couldn’t operate a touchscreen printer, or the numerous times I was told a coloured chart or complex PowerPoint that took us several hours should have only taken me 20 minutes, or the constant complaining that things didn’t look well-presented, even where I’d been helped to make it look pretty (yes, I get that this stuff matters). It was the fact that, now quite senior and on an unjustifiably high salary that would send the Daily Mail in to a spin, the cruel perception that I was a burden and a problem was brought home to me ever-more sharply and culminated in a veiled threat to ‘performance manage’ me. I must be fair and state that I was told that there were causes for concern and that we needed to discuss what more could be done, but I’d already made clear that I couldn’t suggest much more, so the underlying message of ‘shape up or ship out’ wasn’t lost on me. I had a full-time support worker who was doing a wonderful job, and I had a computer. I was running 4 projects, an office and all of its administration and effectively serving as a team secretary single-handed. I was a senior manager doing the jobs of several levels below me as well, I’d defy anyone to keep up even if they could run around and weren’t a bit slower. My contract wasn’t a long one, and I at least had the self-respect to go before pushed, only to be required to work 3 months of notice unless I went off sick. When I mentioned that I was considering doing that, the response I got was: “You seem fine to me, but I’m not an expert.” Well, why did you see fit to comment like that then? I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been fine for a while. I was exhausted, having often worked until 11 at night, slept badly and got up at 6 to start all over again. I had a near-constant headache, which I now know was probably the result of undiagnosed glaucoma. With any disability, you have to accept that the commute’s also going to really take it out of you more than it does others: you can’t change it, but you have to factor that in to looking after yourself. I started having panic attacks – horrible sensations of impending disaster, accompanied by Asthma and shaking. Shortly before Christmas I was helping to organise a big event that had required lots of persuasion to secure the attendance of the required guests. One essential speaker had refused to definitively confirm and so 2 days before I was mercilessly harassing the poor chap to get an answer. I explained to my boss that I’d not been able to get hold of him. “So,” he replied in an unmistakably patronising tone, “What do you think you ought to do next?” I couldn’t believe it. Going to find him was the obvious answer, and he must have realised that I knew that, but it happened to be a day I was on my own, and we’d discussed my restricted mobility many times previous. I know I should have stuck up for myself, but I just said “Well obviously bus to his (places of work) and try to find him, but I can’t.” That sigh, that turn away (I can sense movement without being able to see), that horrible silence that said it all: ‘you’ve fallen short, once again.’ Somehow the defence that it wasn’t my fault didn’t matter. Then I knew I’d done the right thing, then I knew I had to walk away and then I knew, without question, that this was passive aggression that I didn’t deserve. I’d finally got it.

Things didn’t immediately get any easier. I was then advised by some-one else that because “you don’t take notes, you don’t look like you’re in control.” Hold on, I can’t take them. I can’t chair a meeting, and listen to a computer speaking aloud, but I had help. What had this senior colleague been told about how I was performing? I don’t suppose they knew I’d already been refused permission to record meetings to avoid making anyone feel uncomfortable, though one day when I was in charge I asked some of the people if they wouldn’t mind to see if this was a reasonable objection, and of course they readily agreed to let me record them. That Christmas I ended up drinking more than usual in the hope it might reproduce the cheeriness it usually causes in me, but it didn’t. My misguided attempt to try and not put a dampener on things in the end led to me shamefully losing my temper at a family gathering at an innocent joke at my expense. But walking away will yet be the making of me. True, I find job applications harder now because I’m so worried that it’ll all go horribly wrong again, but I’ve also been able to see that, wherever I have been given (or taken for myself) any decisive control over services, they have got better or been set up with infrastructure to run sustainably. I’ve often heard after the event that advice I gave was followed and resulted in a successful outcome, or was rejected and people came a cropper in exactly the ways I predicted. I’m not amazing, but I’m good at what I do and frankly, for the little help I ask of an employer (and really it is minimal in terms both of time and especially cost), I’m rather like L’Oréal – worth it. Shortly after I’d left my last job, I took dinner with one of the guys I worked for in my first job, with whom I’ve remained firm friends. When I told him about what had gone on, and how sharply it had contrasted with other employers I’d had, he said: “I loved working with you,” and that I hadn’t deserved that humiliation. It was kind, but it was also genuine, I don’t doubt that.

The question I am left with, is why I allowed it to happen? “Why did I let the bastards do that to me?” I’ve said many times since. The truth? They weren’t bastards. They were stressed, they operated in tough environments that took no prisoners that felt to me like sink or swim arenas. It’s not like they never said a kind thing, or that they are so mean that they would read this and not feel any bones about it. I realised that, but I also realised that they had shut themselves off to doing things any differently. They had stopped thinking and become completely absorbed in their own problems, and if my having any problems created more problems for them, they simply gave in to their anger, frustration and need to deflect. Did they really wish me ill? I don’t think so for a second, and there was certainly acknowledgement that the nature of the environment had been difficult and unhelpful and I did leave with their good wishes, and having extended my best wishes to them. That’s why I’ve not named names or organisations. Perhaps part of me tried to be the bigger person, knowing escalating it formally would make things harder for them and me. I don’t think, though, that I just toughed it out. Disabled workers, in my experience, are very conscientious and self-conscious about their limitations, and enthusiastic to do everything they can to pull their weight. That’s why I was already my own toughest critic. That’s why I worked until 11 p.m., because if it took me hours rather than minutes, that wasn’t an excuse to not get it done. . That’s why I got support arranged through Access to Work well ahead of start dates where possible, to hit the ground running straight away. If I felt like others didn’t think I was doing enough, I just internalised it and took it upon myself to prove that wrong, never thinking I should instead complain. The blunt reality is that half of the organisations I’ve worked for simply didn’t recognise that a disabled worker who is qualified for the job, is a resource worth investing in (investing effort, not money). The other half did, clearly showing an understanding of what research has highlighted about disabled workers: we work harder, stay longer and don’t go off sick as much.
Last, I was still resisting what I thought was a narrative of victimhood and grievance. Sometimes I’ve spoken up, but often quite late in the day. I think there are a couple of reasons for it. First, I’ve never wanted to play the so-called ‘disabled card.’ To paraphrase the parody, “Is it ‘cause I is disabled?” Actually, it often isn’t, and I’ve always tried to assume criticism is fair, constructive and should be taken on the chin. I’ve had to learn through a lot of reflection, that there were times where my chin didn’t take it, but got truly punched in, and I should have separated out the fair from the unfair. That takes confidence, though, and despite a successful career, I’m afraid work is the one area where I just don’t naturally have it.
The second reason I resisted the victimhood narrative is that it was easier to feel like I was doing something wrong, given that in previous jobs I’d done so well, been so appreciated, respected and felt so happy.

So that’s me, but how does it answer my question: if IDS thinks I’m fit for work, is work fit for me? Well, when some-one has a disability, an illness or has taken a serious career knockback, the first thing they can rapidly lose is confidence. As a co-Chair of the Sight for Surrey Employment Group – a brilliant and growing Surrey-based project, I hear this all the time. People lose their sight, perhaps are unable to do the job they used to, and become depressed or overwhelmed. Others become increasingly disheartened when (as happened to me), having no experience they are hit with rejection after rejection. Others simply need mentors and to speak to people who’ve been there, to reassure them that (as I think my story demonstrates), whilst it’s no bed of roses, there are many opportunities out there and organisations that can help, not to mention that many employers don’t just say the right things about disabled workers, but have real policies and strategies behind a genuinely open and inclusive culture.
I have written about my lowest moments because they occurred where the working environment brutalised all of us too much to give anyone any consideration, kindness or support. The best time to emphasise when things go wrong, is when you can point to a much better alternative so that we can work towards something else. I have experienced that too. I’ve failed big-time, but I’ve also flourished, achieved and made a difference. I’ve had managers and colleagues who have encouraged me to move on with confidence to the next venture, with good wishes extended at wonderful leaving doos organised by friends and colleagues genuinely sad to see me go. It is the knowledge that things were good once, that gives me absolute confidence that, however long it takes me to find the right path, they will be again and why, despite my own problems, I don’t feel in any way a hypocrite still telling people that it can be done, or why, despite my destructive capacity to quickly accept my own apparent failure and viciously blame myself for my troubles, I know that the figure of 66% of blind and partially sighted people of working age not working is a scandalous and avoidable one, and that I should not be part of that statistic when I have been so fortunate in receiving an excellent education and the best start to working life.
The figure vividly illustrates, with reference to a single disability, quite how big the challenge of addressing avoidable unemployment is. I don’t think IDS alone can sort it out, because it requires real, meaningful engagement at regional level with employers and organisations supporting disabled people. I do wonder, though, why IDS never suggests that job centres be given capacity to audit local employers to find out answers to some of the questions that might give us a clue as to how good the employer is when it comes to disability. For instance, do they survey to find out how many local businesses have heard of Access to work? Do they have any contact with organisations that can offer them services from awareness training, to recruitment support? Does he know if his job centres or work capability assessors present disabled people with a list of such organisations? From what I’ve heard of job centre visits, I doubt it. Do his job centres help equip younger disabled people with the advocacy skills to stand up for themselves, to know their rights and constructively challenge injustices? If I can be defeated by people, when I have a good education, a good command of language, have myself been a manager and previously had a brief but highly informative background in HR, anyone can, and it’s important to instil in people that they shouldn’t have to experience that.
Instead, I think people are assessed, fitted in to a box and told to get on with it. I’ve even heard of disabled people applying for jobs that they know they can’t do, just to fill their quota of applications. I don’t attend a job centre because I don’t claim ESA, but I have done in the past and found the place to be utterly hopeless. IDS wants to stretch people, to push them, and to give them the satisfaction of working, and amen to that! But shove them to hard, too soon and with no support, and they’ll have to keep faking the stories for their leaflets. For some people, work will always be an uphill struggle, and I’m not naïve enough to believe that those of us with long-term disabilities can ever really expect a completely level playing field. That’s nobody’s fault, and nobody’s duty to fix, but IDS has to understand that it takes a lot of work and is a difficult transition for many people, so don’t expect any brilliant headline-grabbing stories next week. I’m sure he knows this. He’s not aggressively trying to kick people even further down, but how far does he really understand that the people who aren’t working only have half the answer in their resolve, willingness and determination?