It's embarrassing to suddenly feel yourself crying in front of another person at work.
An hour in, an Iranian refugee. What she went through, I won't repeat, but she must, over and over, to government departments forever. Post traumatic stress disorder, manifesting in her wrist rubber band, pull and release, pull and release, pull and release, over deep scars and stitches on both. Her refugee status granted 4 years ago, thank god, but her family, no such luck. Now, here, alone.
And the state, how does it respond now it has, in its grace, given her permission to flee here. The same brutality as everyone else. The house she was finally able to get, too big, bedroom tax, and for what, there are no cheaper options, already in a mouldy flat. Her sickness benefit stopped, appealed, stopped, appealed, because claiming is too easy. Even when it's in payment, £73 a week to cover bedroom tax, 26% of her council tax bill, food prices increasing - unprecedented in the history of the welfare state, utterly impossible, ever worsening. And now, after today, what more is to come. £12 billion more silent slashing. The cost of 'difficult choices', left at the door of a woman, a refugee, alone, half dead. It's not just refugees, it's millions more, and she's nowhere near the worst.
And in all this, tearfully and sincerely, she says how thankful she is to speak to someone. These problems, we aren't solving them. But thank you, thank you so much for listening.
Impotent, but I cried, and fuck you.
