Jersey Labour and the Jersey Poor
There is a passage in the Father Brown story, the Queer Feet, where a waiter comes to the that select club, "The Twelve True Fishermen” which rings very true to me:
“The waiter stood staring a few seconds, while there deepened on every face at table a strange shame which is wholly the product of our time. It is the combination of modern humanitarianism with the horrible modern abyss between the souls of the rich and poor.”
“A genuine historic aristocrat would have thrown things at the waiter, beginning with empty bottles, and very probably ending with money. A genuine democrat would have asked him, with comrade-like clearness of speech, what the devil he was doing. But these modern plutocrats could not bear a poor man near to them, either as a slave or as a friend. That something had gone wrong with the servants was merely a dull, hot embarrassment. They did not want to be brutal, and they dreaded the need to be benevolent. They wanted the thing, whatever it was, to be over. It was over. The waiter, after standing for some seconds rigid, like a cataleptic, turned round and ran madly out of the room.”
I was reminded of this at a public meeting of the Ministers last week. There were lots of questions, all good questions, but nothing too raw and personal.
And then a lady whom I will called K spoke. She explained that she was a nurse, working in the acute wards of the hospital, and how they had no pay rise above the cost of living for many years. Her husband held down two jobs, neither that well paid. They had two children, and needed – because of the ages and gender of the children, separate bedrooms for the children.
There is a passage in the Father Brown story, the Queer Feet, where a waiter comes to the that select club, "The Twelve True Fishermen” which rings very true to me:
“The waiter stood staring a few seconds, while there deepened on every face at table a strange shame which is wholly the product of our time. It is the combination of modern humanitarianism with the horrible modern abyss between the souls of the rich and poor.”
“A genuine historic aristocrat would have thrown things at the waiter, beginning with empty bottles, and very probably ending with money. A genuine democrat would have asked him, with comrade-like clearness of speech, what the devil he was doing. But these modern plutocrats could not bear a poor man near to them, either as a slave or as a friend. That something had gone wrong with the servants was merely a dull, hot embarrassment. They did not want to be brutal, and they dreaded the need to be benevolent. They wanted the thing, whatever it was, to be over. It was over. The waiter, after standing for some seconds rigid, like a cataleptic, turned round and ran madly out of the room.”
I was reminded of this at a public meeting of the Ministers last week. There were lots of questions, all good questions, but nothing too raw and personal.
And then a lady whom I will called K spoke. She explained that she was a nurse, working in the acute wards of the hospital, and how they had no pay rise above the cost of living for many years. Her husband held down two jobs, neither that well paid. They had two children, and needed – because of the ages and gender of the children, separate bedrooms for the children.
They were going to lose their home because they rented, and the landlord wanted to sell it, so they had to move. They didn’t want to end up in some of the slum dwelling that exist in this island, with black mould and mildew on the walls, but there was so little for them to afford. They might have to end up if they could find a two bedroom flat, with themselves sleeping in the lounge so the children could have proper bedrooms. They may have to put up with mildew and mould if they can’t find anything better, and rental and living costs are increasing all the time, while public sector wages have stagnated.
It was a desperate cry for help, and I felt like one of those people Chesterton described. I was numbed with the raw shock of this. And there was a certain air of embarrasement in the room (much as Chesterton describes), and it seemed that there was nothing immediate that the Ministers could do either.
I hope that one of them met her afterwards, or at any rate is trying to chase up the problem. It is certainly the same kind of issue highlighted by the children’s commissioner when she was talking about children and poor housing conditions. K should certainly contact her. But there are lots of people like K, and it is only occasionally that we hear the cries for help expressed in such a visceral way. To give them credit, not one of them came out with the political mantra of not being able to discuss individual cases.
Meanwhile, the States of Jersey Development Company are building luxury properties, some of which have already been sold for investment on the waterfront, despite there being a desperate need for more social housing
Henry Mayhew collected and published around 1865 a book entitled “London Labour and the London Poor” . He is one of the great often forgotten social reforming pioneers, but he will always be one of my political heroes.
It was a a groundbreaking and influential survey of the city's poor which allowed the conditions and plight of those struggling on the poverty line to be heard. We need something like that for Jersey, so that stories like that of K cannot be dismissed. We need to hear these stories, and then maybe something will be done.
What Mayhew wrote is still as relevant for today as it was then. Sadly, we still live in a troubled, divided society, between wealth and poverty, and the chasm is growing ever wider.
He said:
“My earnest hope is that the book may serve to give the rich a more intimate knowledge of the sufferings, and the frequent heroism under those sufferings, of the poor—that it may teach those who are beyond temptation to look with charity on the frailties of their less fortunate brethren—and cause those who are in “high places,” and those of whom much is expected, to bestir themselves to improve the condition of a class of people whose misery, ignorance, and vice, amidst all the immense wealth and great knowledge of “the first city in the world,” is, to say the very least, a national disgrace to us.”
It was a desperate cry for help, and I felt like one of those people Chesterton described. I was numbed with the raw shock of this. And there was a certain air of embarrasement in the room (much as Chesterton describes), and it seemed that there was nothing immediate that the Ministers could do either.
I hope that one of them met her afterwards, or at any rate is trying to chase up the problem. It is certainly the same kind of issue highlighted by the children’s commissioner when she was talking about children and poor housing conditions. K should certainly contact her. But there are lots of people like K, and it is only occasionally that we hear the cries for help expressed in such a visceral way. To give them credit, not one of them came out with the political mantra of not being able to discuss individual cases.
Meanwhile, the States of Jersey Development Company are building luxury properties, some of which have already been sold for investment on the waterfront, despite there being a desperate need for more social housing
Henry Mayhew collected and published around 1865 a book entitled “London Labour and the London Poor” . He is one of the great often forgotten social reforming pioneers, but he will always be one of my political heroes.
It was a a groundbreaking and influential survey of the city's poor which allowed the conditions and plight of those struggling on the poverty line to be heard. We need something like that for Jersey, so that stories like that of K cannot be dismissed. We need to hear these stories, and then maybe something will be done.
What Mayhew wrote is still as relevant for today as it was then. Sadly, we still live in a troubled, divided society, between wealth and poverty, and the chasm is growing ever wider.
He said:
“My earnest hope is that the book may serve to give the rich a more intimate knowledge of the sufferings, and the frequent heroism under those sufferings, of the poor—that it may teach those who are beyond temptation to look with charity on the frailties of their less fortunate brethren—and cause those who are in “high places,” and those of whom much is expected, to bestir themselves to improve the condition of a class of people whose misery, ignorance, and vice, amidst all the immense wealth and great knowledge of “the first city in the world,” is, to say the very least, a national disgrace to us.”
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