Content note: mentions of death, suicide, ableism
“My name is Philippa Day I’m a good person” reads a line from a suicide note shared on the first page of The Department. It shatters me; the first death mentioned in the book. I have to sit and pause for a few minutes after reading it, and it comes back to me again and again as I continue reading. I’m glad it does: it’s a reminder that everyone who has been murdered at the hands of the government did not die in vain. It’s a reminder to me too, to not die under the hands of oppression. We can get caught up in there being “good” and “bad” people, a dangerous dichotomy that makes human behaviour too simplistic and confusing. One thing is for certain, there are people that transcend this category in their expression of pure evil, and they are shown in this book.
The Department is an incredible piece of work by journalist John Pring, highlighting the hundreds of disabled people who have died at the hands of the DWP (Department for Work and Pensions). Alongside a historical and political archive, The Department tells the stories of 12 individuals who died at the hands of broken and intentionally violent systems, and their families’ ongoing fight for justice. There is no assumed knowledge needed to engage with the work. John is a fantastic writer, accessibly sharing a history of failed systems and their impact without making the reading experience overly complicated or jargonistic. An index is provided with content warnings on some of the topics discussed, and reader safety is clearly prioritised over engagement with the book. It’s an approach which is very well done and hard to accomplish.
When reading The Department, I felt either complete solidarity in my struggle, or — in my own terms — complete insanity. The work is full of unquestionable, comprehensive evidence of the DWP’s horrifying practices and tactics, from those who have designed it to be so, and those who have experienced its impact. We are not crazy, and there is evidence behind our victimisation and the DWP’s structural gaslighting. They don’t care if we are sick or suicidal, they watch over us and wait, hoping for our deaths. The oppression and inequality is so obvious it made me feel as though I am living in a different reality: how can the same things be repeated without consequence? For decades, we have witnessed the DWP and associated media using disabled people as scapegoats and malingerers, calling us “lazy” as distraction to their failure to provide adequate support. The Department shows that years later the narrative hasn’t changed and so many of us are still carrying the internalised ableism that has been forced upon us.
If you take anything from this book, it is that the state will never be there to protect you. A running theme in The Department is the effect of slow and calculated violence; the impact of austerity builds and is like a sudden tsunami, flooding our systems with further destruction. One of the most prominent failings is that of our mental health system. The Department highlights the views of those who work in these systems or in positions of power; they acknowledge how broken their systems are. They know things won’t work, that no system can address the complicated human experience without radical overhaul of all our systems. It’s clear that UK governments have been against us and our existence, and unsurprisingly the spite of Conservative rule is what stays in my mind as we enter a new Labour government. A quote from David Cameron reads: ‘If you really cannot work, we will always look after you. But if you can work, and refuse to work, we will not let you live off the hard work of others.” This punitive ethos lives on in recent announcements of benefit reforms.
I was faced with further philosophical questions when reading John’s work. Why aren’t we thinking more about how we can find meaning and purpose for all of us? Why are we not focused on creating a more compassionate world in which we all have a place? There is so much suffering in this book beyond assessments and interactions with systems like the DWP, the wider impact and intersectionality of oppression is evident throughout. I feel and share the suffering of those that are in this book deeply; it breaks my heart how many of us are denied a peaceful existence in this world.
The Department holds something for everyone. I found the most powerful parts of the book to be the explorations of the lives and families of those who have died under the hands of the DWP. John does an incredible job at creating a fully immersive, sensitive, and humane picture of each individual. They are not their suffering and their death, they are real people with real lives. John notes his work won’t provide justice for those who have died, but it honours them and is a privilege to read. The families of those who have contributed to The Department are incredibly generous, and on reading I found myself wanting them each to know that their loved ones did not die for nothing. John gives them this power, and I carry all of them with me too.
For some this book might be too much to read. There are explicit and horrifying descriptions of human suffering and death, but these are never sensationalised and are needed reminders. While I am someone that was prepared to read them, I did feel a need to pause and take a moment to reflect on each one, while acknowledging the book’s impact on the fear that I already carry as a disabled person who is terrified of the system. But ultimately, this work gave me courage and strength. Despite the atrocities, The Department is full of disabled power in all its glory. The campaigning and justice sought by disabled people and their families is phenomenal.
The Department should be read by everyone and anyone that is able to. It’s an incredibly important and necessary piece of work, one which I hope lives on as a history of state harm rather than an ongoing reality. But if not, I have no doubt that we will all still be fighting.
The Department by John Pring can be bought here (£16.99 paperback, $11.99 ebook).
Jay (they/them) is a queer, neurodivergent, disabled person of London/Welsh heritage. Their life revolves around and is driven by social justice. As a longstanding expert by experience in the mental health sector, they aim to challenge narratives around mental distress and highlight the impact of systemic oppression. Alongside freelance writing and ‘silly’ art, they also aim to help others to use their experiences to empower themselves through involvement work.