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Ashes long-con exposed: England's dereliction of Test cricket threatens format as a whole

If the public loses confidence in the product, then its viability will be called into question Andrew Miller in Cricinfo 

As anyone who lived through the 2008 credit crunch will remember, economies are essentially built on confidence. So long as the public has faith in the robustness of the institutions charged with managing their assets, those assets barely need to exist beyond a few 0s and 1s in a digital mainframe for them to be real and lasting indicators of a nation's wealth.

When doubts begin to beset the system, however, it's amazing how quickly the rot can take hold. Is this really a Triple-A-rated bond I am holding in my hands, or is it actually a tranche of sub-prime mortgages that are barely fit to line the gerbil cage?

Likewise, is this really the world's most enduring expression of sporting rivalry taking place in Australia right now, or is it a pointless turkey shoot that exists only to justify the exorbitant sums that TV broadcasters are willing to cough up for the privilege of hosting it… a privilege that, in itself, feeds into the self-same creation myth that keeps the hype ever hyping, and the bubble ever ballooning.

On Tuesday, that bubble finally burst. After weeks of barely suppressed panic behind the scenes, England's capitulation in Melbourne deserves to be Test cricket's very own Lehman Brothers moment - the final, full-frontal collapse of an institution so ancient, and previously presumed to be so inviolable, that it may require unprecedented emergency measures to prevent the entire sport from tanking.

For there really has never been an Ashes campaign quite as pathetic as this one. Crushing defeats have been plentiful in the sport's long and storied history - particularly in the recent past, with England having now lost 18 of their last 23 Tests Down Under, including 12 of the last 13. But never before has an England team taken the field in Australia with so little hope, such few expectations, so few remaining skills with which to retain control of their own destinies.

Nothing expressed the gulf better than the performance of Australia's Player of the Match, Scott Boland. Leaving aside the rightful celebration of his Indigenous heritage, of far greater pertinence was his international oven-readiness, at the age of 32, after a lifetime of toil for Victoria in the Sheffield Shield. Like Michael Neser, 31 on debut at Adelaide last week and a Test wicket-taker with his second ball in the format, Boland arrived on the stage every bit as ready for combat as England's Test batters used to be - most particularly the unit that won the Ashes in Australia in 2010-11, which included four players with a century on debut (Alastair Cook, Andrew Strauss, Jonathan Trott and Matt Prior) and two more (Kevin Pietersen and Ian Bell) with fifties.

The contrast with England's current crop of ciphers could not be more galling. It is genuinely impossible to see how Haseeb Hameed could have been expected to offer more than his tally of seven runs from 41 balls across two innings at the MCG, while Ollie Pope's Bradman-esque average of 99.94 at his home ground at The Oval, compared to his cat-on-hot-tin-roof displays at Brisbane and Adelaide, is the most visceral evidence possible of a domestic first-class system that is failing the next generation.

Even on the second day at the MCG, England's best day of the series had finished with them four down for 31, still 51 runs in arrears, as Australia's quicks punished their opponents for a fleeting moment of mid-afternoon hubris by unleashing an hour of God-complex thunderbolts. It stood to reason that the morning's follow-up would be similarly swift and pitiless.






Watching a bowed and beaten troop of England cricketers suck up Australian outfield celebrations is nothing new, of course. But this is different to previous Ashes hammerings, because despite the Covid restrictions and limited preparation time, never before has a series loss felt further removed from the sorts of caveats that sustained previous such debacles Down Under - most particularly the 2006-07 and 2013-14 whitewashes, both of which were at least the gory dismemberments of England teams that had previously swept all before them.

The 2021-22 team, by contrast, has swept nothing before it, except a few uncomfortable home ruths under a succession of carpets. Despite the enduring magnificence of James Anderson - whose unvanquished defiance evokes Curtly Ambrose and Courtney Walsh's noble upholding of West Indies' crumbling standards at the turn of the millennium - and despite Joe Root willing himself to produce a year of such cursed brilliance it deserves to be inducted into Greek mythology, the rabble that clings to their coat-tails is little more than the zombified remains of the side that surrendered the urn so vapidly back in 2017-18.

They travelled to Australia with the same captain, for the first time on an Ashes tour in more than 100 years (and Root is destined for the same 5-0 shellacking that JWHT Douglas achieved in 1920-21); the same core bowling unit of right-arm medium-pacers, and by this third Test, the same outgunned middle order, with Root, Dawid Malan and Jonny Bairstow on this occasion physically united with Ben Stokes, compared to the spectre at the feast that had haunted the team's endeavours four years ago.

Nothing in the interim has progressed for this generation of players, in spite of a vast amount of hot air about how exhaustive the planning for this campaign has been - most particularly from England's dead-man-walking head coach, Chris Silverwood, whose epitaph deserves to be the same fateful phrase that he used to announce England's Test squad to face New Zealand at the start of the summer.

"The summer of Test cricket will be fascinating," Silverwood wrote back in May, shortly after he had taken over selection duties from Ed Smith to become the single most powerful supremo in the team's history. "Playing the top two teams in the world, in New Zealand and India, is perfect preparation for us as we continue to improve and progress towards an Ashes series in Australia at the back end of the year." Well, that aged well, didn't it?

And yet, Silverwood is just another symptom of English cricket's wider malaise. From the outset, and irrespective of his theoretical influence, he was only ever an uninspiring over-promotion from within the team's existing ranks - more than anything, a recognition of how undesirable the role of England head coach has become in recent years.

"All attempts to keep English Test cricket viable essentially ground to a halt from the moment that Tom Harrison was appointed as ECB CEO in 2015"

In an era of gig-economy opportunities on the T20 franchise circuit - when barely a day goes by without Andy Flower, the architect of England's last truly great Test team, being announced as Tashkent Tigers' batting consultant in the Uzbekistan Premier League - who wants or needs the 300-hotel-nights-a-year commitment required to oversee a side that, like an overworked troupe of stadium-rock dinosaurs, fears that the moment it takes a break from endless touring, everyone will forget they ever existed in the first place?

English cricket's financial reliance on its Test team has been holding the sport in this country back for generations, long before the complications of Covid kicked in to make the team's relentless touring lifestyle even less palatable than ever before. It was a point that Tom Harrison, the ECB chief executive, acknowledged in a moment of guard-down candour before last summer's series against India - and one that he will now be obliged to revisit with grave urgency as the sport lurches into a new crisis of confidence, but one that is effectively the reverse side of the same coin that the sport has been flipping all year long. English cricket's ongoing racism crisis, after all, is yet another damning expression of the sport's inability to move with the times.

"It is the most important series, then we've got another 'most important series' coming up, and then another directly after that," Harrison said of that India campaign - which, lest we forget, also needs to be completed next summer for the financial good of the game, even if the players would sooner move on and forget. "The reality is, for international players, is that the conveyor belt just keeps going. You want players turning up in these 'most important series' feeling fantastic about the opportunity of playing for their country. They are not going to be able to achieve that if they have forgotten the reasons why they play."

The issue for Harrison's enduring credibility, however, is that all attempts to keep English Test cricket viable essentially ground to a halt from the moment that he was appointed as CEO in 2015.

That summer's team still had the latent talent to seal the last of their four Ashes victories in five campaigns, but on Harrison's watch, the ECB has essentially spent the past six years preparing the life-rafts for the sport's post-international future - most notably through the establishment of the Hundred, but also through the full-bore focus on winning the 2019 World Cup, precisely because it was the sort of whiteboard-friendly "deliverable" that sits well on a list of boardroom KPIs… unlike the lumpen, intangible mesh of contexts by which success in Test cricket will always need to be measured.

It was a point that Root alluded to his shellshocked post-match comments, where he hinted that the red-ball game needed a "reset" to match the remarkable rise of the white-ball side from the wreckage of that winter's World Cup. But what do England honestly believe can be reset from this point of the sport's degradation?




It feels as though we've all been complicit in the long-con here. For 16 years and counting, the Ashes has been sold as the most glorious expression of cricket's noble traditions, when in fact that self-same biennial obsession has been complicit in shrinking the format's ambitions to the point where even England's head coach thinks that a magnificent home-summer schedule is nothing but a warm-up act.

Perhaps it all stems from the reductive ambitions of that never-to-be-forgotten 2005 series, the series upon which most of the modern myth is founded, but which was more of an end than a beginning where English cricket was concerned.

The summer of 2005 marked the end of free-to-air TV in the UK, the end of Richie Benaud as English cricket's voice of ages, the end of 18 years of Stockholm Syndrome-style subjugation by one of the greatest Test teams ever compiled. If English sport was to be repurposed as a series of nostalgic sighs for long-ago glories, then perhaps only Manchester United's "Solskjær has won it" moment can top it.

Sixteen years later, what are we left with? The dreadfulness of the modern Ashes experience has even bled into this winter's TV coverage, every bit as hamstrung by greedy decisions taken way above the pay-grade of the troops on the ground. It's symptomatic of a format whose true essence has been asset-stripped since the rivalry's heyday two decades ago, with those individual assets being sold back to the paying public at a premium in the interim.

It's not unlike a Ponzi scheme, in fact - a concept that English cricket became unexpectedly familiar with during a Test match in Antigua back in 2009, when the revelations about the ECB's old chum, Allen Stanford, caused a run on his bank in St John's, with queues stretching way further down the road that any stampede to attend a Caribbean Test match of recent vintage.

The warnings about Test cricket's fragility have been legion for decades. But if England, of all the Test nations, doesn't remember to care for the format that, through the hype of the Ashes, it pretends to hold most dear, this winter's experiences have shown that the expertise required to shore up those standards may not be able to survive much more neglect.

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How did Britain get its response to Coronavirus so wrong?

As the warnings grew louder, the government was distracted by Brexit. On testing, contact tracing and equipment supply, there was a failure to prepare by Toby Helm, Emma Graham-Harrison & Robin McKie in The Guardian



By late December last year, doctors in the central Chinese city of Wuhan were starting to worry about patients quarantined in their hospitals suffering from an unusual type of pneumonia.

As the mystery illness spread in one of China’s major industrial hubs, some tried to warn their colleagues to take extra care at work, because the disease resembled Sars (severe acute respiratory syndrome), the deadly respiratory disease that had killed hundreds of people across the region in 2002-03 after a government cover-up.

One of those who tried to raise the alarm, though only among a few medical school classmates, was a 33-year-old Chinese ophthalmologist, Li Wenliang. Seven people were in isolation at his hospital, he said, and the disease appeared to be a coronavirus, from the same family as Sars.

In early January he was called in by police, reprimanded for “spreading rumours online”, and forced to sign a paper acknowledging his “misdemeanour” and promising not to repeat it.

Many early cases were linked to the city’s Huanan seafood and fresh produce market, which also sold wildlife, suggesting that the first cases were contracted there.

FacebookTwitterPinterest The Wuhan hygiene emergency response team leave the closed Huanan seafood wholesale market on 11 January. Photograph: Noel Celis/AFP via Getty Images

Scientists would discover the disease had probably originated in bats and had then passed through a second species – in all likelihood, but not certainly, pangolins, a type of scaly anteater – before infecting humans.

But the infections were soon spreading directly between patients, so fast that on 23 January the government announced an unprecedented lockdown of Wuhan city and the surrounding Hubei province.

Two weeks later, on 7 February, Li, who had contracted coronavirus himself, died in hospital from the condition about which he had tried to raise the alarm. He had no known underlying conditions and left behind a wife and young child.

Li became the face of the mysterious new disease. The story of his death and pictures of him in a hospital bed wearing an oxygen mask made media headlines across the globe, including in the UK.

The world, it seemed, was slowly becoming more aware of how lethal coronavirus could be, that it was not just another form of flu with fairly mild symptoms.

But while UK scientists and medical researchers were becoming more concerned, and studying the evidence from China, those among them who were most worried were not getting their messages through to high places.

Distracted by Brexit and reshuffles

The Conservative government of Boris Johnson had other more immediate preoccupations at the start of this year.

Johnson was still basking in his general election success last December. After he returned from a celebratory Caribbean holiday with his fiancee, Carrie Symonds, the political weather for the prime minister seemed to be set fair. It was honeymoon time.

Three and a half years on from the Brexit referendum, the UK was finally about to leave the EU on 31 January. The fireworks and parties for the big night were being planned, the celebratory 50p coins minted.

Minds were certainly not on a developing health emergency far away, as Johnson prepared to exploit the moment of the UK’s departure from the European Union for all it was worth. “I think there was some over-confidence,” admitted one very senior Tory last week.

The prime minister and his chief adviser, Dominic Cummings, wanted to make an early impression at home in other ways too, as domestic reformers. Cummings was waging a war on civil servants in Whitehall, throwing his weight around and deliberately upsetting the Westminster applecart.

While he made the headlines, briefing about his iconoclastic ambitions, Johnson was preparing a big Cabinet reshuffle to assert his own authority in other areas now Brexit was done and dusted.

With Labour effectively leaderless after its fourth consecutive election defeat, there was little opposition to trouble Johnson on any front at all – and certainly no-one of note asking tough questions about coronavirus.

The prime minister duly recast his cabinet team on 13 February – five days after Li’s death in Wuhan. He made big changes but unsurprisingly retained the hitherto safe pair of hands of Matt Hancock as his health secretary.

FacebookTwitterPinterest Boris Johnson speaking about the EU on 3 February. Photograph: Reuters

In a sign of where priorities lay – and the lack of concern that a potential crisis might be heading our way from the east – Hancock wasted no time recording a video of himself grinning with delight on reshuffle day.

He smacked his right fist into his left palm saying he could not wait to “get cracking” and that he relished the chance to deliver the Tories’ manifesto promises, reform social care and improve life sciences. And lastly, in a more sombre voice, he spoke of “dealing with coronavirus and keeping the public safe” before adding, as the grin returned: “Now let’s get back to work!”

It is perhaps too early to conclude for sure that Johnson, Hancock and the government’s entire team of scientific and medical advisers were caught asleep at the wheel. But the fact that Johnson and Hancock themselves, in common with much of the Downing Street staff, would go on to contract the virus or suffer symptoms, further suggests that people at the top had not been sufficiently on their guard.

Now, 11 weeks on from the first cases being confirmed in the UK on 31 January – a period during which more than 14,000 people (and probably several thousands more once care home fatalities are counted) in the UK have died from Covid-19 – and with the country in lockdown, the economy facing prolonged recession as a result, schools closed, and no sign of an end in sight – hard questions have to be asked.

We already know with some certainty that other countries, such as Germany, South Korea, Taiwan and New Zealand, will emerge from this crisis having performed far better than the UK. A few weeks ago the government’s advisers crassly said that fewer than 20,000 deaths would be “a very good result” for the UK.

As we fast approach that grim tally, many experts now believe the UK may come out of this crisis, whenever that may be, with one of the worst records on fighting coronavirus of any European nation. Once the full tally is counted, few expect the number of deaths to be below 20,000.

By contrast, on Friday, Germany was saying it thought it had brought coronavirus largely under control. It had had 3,868 deaths, less a third of the total in the UK (and Germany’s population, at 83 million, is far higher), having conducted widespread testing for Covid-19 from early on, precisely as the UK has failed to do.

How, then, did it come to this? How did coronavirus spread across the globe, prompting different responses in different countries? Did the UK simply fail to heed the warnings? Or did it just decide to take different decisions, while others settled on alternative actions to save lives?

The warnings grow louder

David Nabarro, professor of global health at Imperial College, London, and an envoy for the World Health Organization on Covid-19, says one thing is for sure. All governments were warned how serious the situation was likely to become as early as the end of January. Ignorance of the danger that was coming can be no excuse. Yet it would not be until late March – later than many other countries – that Johnson would announce a complete lockdown.

“WHO had been following the outbreak since the end of December and within a few weeks it called a meeting of its emergency committee to decide if this outbreak was a ‘public health emergency of international concern’,” said Nabarro.

“That is the highest level of alert that WHO can issue, and it issued it on January 30. It made it very clear then – to every country in the world – that we were facing something very serious indeed.”

Well before the end of January, the WHO had been tracking the growing threat minutely: 14 January was a key day in the spread of the disease that would become known as Covid-19. The first case was confirmed outside China, with a woman hospitalised in Thailand.

A WHO official warned then that it was possible that human-to-human transmission had occurred in families of victims – a sign that the disease had potential to spread far and fast – and, inside China, officials were quietly told to prepare for a pandemic.

There was little international attention on the day, though, because Beijing’s dire warnings about a pandemic were made in secret, and a WHO spokesman rowed back from his colleague’s claim.

Officially, China had not seen a new case of the coronavirus for over a week; the outbreak appeared to be fading. It took another six days for China to publicly acknowledge the gravity of the threat, time that scientists believed meant a further 3,000 people were infected.

But on 20 January, officials announced more than 100 new cases and admitted the virus was spreading between humans, a red flag for concern to anyone who works on infectious diseases. The virus could no longer be contained by finding the animal source of the infection and destroying it.

Two days later, the scale of the challenge was made clear to the general public when Beijing locked down millions of people. All transport into and out of the metropolis of Wuhan was cut off, an unprecedented modern quarantine that would come at huge human and economic cost.

On 29 January, the UK would have its first two confirmed cases of the disease. There was little sense that China’s dilemma and its approach – shut down life as we know it or watch the death toll spiral out of control – might have to be our nightmare within weeks.

In early February, Donald Trump announced a ban on travellers who had passed through China in the previous 14 days. Europe began focused testing of people with symptoms and travel histories that linked them to the disease, but little else. 

Johnson, it seemed, still had Brexit and free trade much more on his mind. Any hint of draconian action to fight coronavirus that might hurt the economy was the last thing he was entertaining.

In a speech on Brexit in Greenwich on 3 February, he made clear his views on Wuhan-style lockdowns. “We are starting to hear some bizarre autarkic rhetoric,” he said.

”Humanity needs some government somewhere that is willing at least to make the case powerfully for freedom of exchange, some country ready to take off its Clark Kent spectacles and leap into the phone booth and emerge with its cloak flowing as the supercharged champion of the right of the populations of the Earth to buy and sell freely among each other.”

‘Herd immunity’: UK goes it alone

By early March it was abundantly clear to many academics and scientists that the approach being adopted by the UK was markedly different from those followed by other countries. From South Korea to Germany, governments had invested heavily in expanding testing capacity from the first weeks of the epidemic.

Hong Kong, Taiwan and Singapore had brought in controls on travellers from infected regions and strict contact tracing to help understand who could have been exposed, inform them and require self isolation. Face masks became widespread in east Asia, long before it was recommended elsewhere.

Testing and contact tracing has been at the heart of the approach advocated by the WHO, so that countries can establish how transmission chains were occurring, in order to break them.

Many also brought in some social distancing measures, banning large gatherings, closing schools or extending holidays, and encouraged those who could do to work from home. None were as extreme as China’s shutdown, or the European and American lockdowns that would follow.

Writing in the Observer last month, Devi Sridhar, chair of global public health at the University of Ediburgh, noted the distinct UK approach. “Rather than learning from other countries and following the WHO advice, which comes from experts with decades of experience in tackling outbreaks across the world, the UK has decided to follow its own path. This seems to accept that the virus is unstoppable and will probably become an annual, seasonal infection.

“The plan, as explained by the chief science adviser, is to work towards ‘herd immunity’, which is to have the majority of the population contract the virus, develop antibodies and then become immune to it. This theory has been widely used to advocate for mass vaccination for measles, mumps and rubella. The thinking is that, if most of the population is vaccinated, a small percentage can go unvaccinated without cases emerging.”

It was not just the UK whose politicians and scientific advisers were, arguably, slow to act in the early stages. Others countries, including Spain and France, were caught out too, but it was Italy’s tragedy that alerted Europe to the scale of the threat it faced.

European governments and citizens were forced to reckon with the reality that in an age of global travel, the thousands of miles separating them from China meant almost nothing at all. Thousands of Britons were holidaying in Italy the week that it shut down. They were advised to go into self-quarantine on return, but were not registered by the health authorities, nor were their contacts tracked.

Italy and the UK had both had had their first case a day apart at the end of January, but cases rose faster in Italy. The country may just have been unlucky that carriers of the disease flew to its northern cities and ski resorts rather than to other European capitals.

Whatever the reason, cases and then deaths started climbing sharply in northern Italy in late February. Dozens of towns were locked down from the 21st, but in the rest of the country life carried on as normal.

It was soon clear that the problem had not been contained. On 8 March, the prime minister, Guiseppe Conti, quarantined 16 million people across the north of the country, and the next day extended the lockdown to all of Italy.

FacebookTwitterPinterest Russian biological warfare troops, called in by the Italian authorities, disinfect the Pope John Paul I care home near Bergamo. Photograph: Russian Defence Ministry/TASS

The measures saved lives, but came too late for thousands of Italians. The death toll outstripped China, and the world looked on horrified as hospitals were overwhelmed, doctors forced to choose who should have a chance on a ventilator and who should die. On 11 March, the WHO declared a global pandemic. On 14 March, Spain went into lockdown, and three days later France did the same.

But in the UK there appeared to be greater reluctance to act decisively with lockdowns: the banning of mass gatherings and the closure of pubs and restaurants. The government’s scientific and behavioural science advisers were warning ministers that the public might react badly to draconian measures and would not tolerate them for long.

In an apparent show of defiance against the lockdowners, Johnson and Symonds attended the England v Ireland rugby match at Twickenham on 7 March. The Cheltenham Festival, attended over three days to 13 March by 250,000 racegoers, was allowed to go ahead.

Shutdown: Johnson changes tack

The tone was about to change. In a Downing Street press conference on 12 March, Johnson, who had said a few days before the first UK death that the disease was “likely to spread a bit more” suddenly became the deliverer of grave warnings.

Previous talk by his advisers of avoiding lockdowns and developing “herd immunity” had been banished and replaced by a brutal honesty. “I must level with you,” Johnson told reporters. “More families, many more families, are going to lose loved ones before their time.” On 18 March – just days after Downing Street had suggested it was not on the cards – the government announced the closure of all schools until further noticed. Pubs and restaurants were ordered to shut on 20 March. The UK had come late into line.

One former cabinet minister last week described the change of approach as a “screeching U-turn”. Johnson and his ministers were now, even more than before, taking cover behind, and advice from, their scientific and medical advisers. Many of these advisers had become increasingly concerned that the UK had become out of step with other countries because of political resistance from ministers to measures that would hit the economy. The Observer has been told that at least two senior government advisers were on the brink of of quitting before Johnson switched his approach.

The government has found itself unable to escape the consequences of a wider failure to prepare. As hospitals threatened to be overwhelmed before orders were given to massively expand capacity, ministers came under intense criticism over the lack of protective equipment for frontline NHS staff, over the lack of ventilators for patients in intensive care, and for a failure to test more widely for Covid-19, particularly among NHS workers.

The lack of preparedness and instances of chaotic planning has shocked many in and outside the NHS.

Last week, Dr Alison Pittard, the dean of the Faculty of Intensive Care Medicine, the professional body for intensive care practitioners, said the minimum specifications for the government’s own homegrown ventilator scheme would produce machines that would only treat patients “for a few hours”. “If we had been told that that was the case… we’d have said: ‘Don’t bother, you’re wasting your time. That’s of no use’,” she told the Financial Times.

Last month the government missed an EU procurement deadline for ventilators because, minister said, an email went unnoticed. The NHS had said 30,000 more would be needed, Hancock reduced this to 18,000. Pittard said her faculty had been warning for years about a shortage of intensive care capacity and intensive care nurses in hospitals.

FacebookTwitterPinterest Boris Johnson and partner Carrie Symonds with the England captain Owen Farrell at Twickenham on 7 March. Photograph: Facundo Arrizabalaga/EPA

Normally each intensive care patient would have one intensive care nurse in attendance all the time, she said. Now there was one nurse to six patients, although other staff had been redeployed to intensive care units to plug the gaps and the new system was working because of heroic efforts. Although she was reluctant to criticise the government, she said that if the faculty had been listened to, “we wouldn’t be starting from this place”. Germany, she pointed out, has 29 intensive care beds per 100,000 people, compared with six in the UK.

The Tory MP and former health minister Dan Poulter, who works part-time in the NHS, said that given the enormity of the challenge facing government “it almost seems wrong to be critical”.

But he believes part of the problem is that insufficient advice has been sought from experienced NHS clinicians who would have warned of problems with PPE early on, of the shortage of ventilators and would have told ministers of the urgent need to test NHS staff.

“An early over-reliance on academic modelling also resulted in a lack of experienced frontline NHS clinicians – in other words, the people who really understand the day-to-day challenges our hospitals and health service face – from feeding into the initial Covid-19 action plan,” he said. “This has manifested itself amongst other things in the slowness of providing adequate PPE for frontline NHS staff and in the lack of virus testing for healthcare staff in the earlier part of the outbreak.”

How the scientists reacted

When the investigations into the UK’s response to Covid-19 come to be written, there is widespread recognition among experts that this lack of long-term strategic planning will be at the centre of it. So too should be the need to ensure that the views of experts are fed into government more efficiently and widely. The prospect of a previously unknown disease spreading catastrophically around the globe and infecting millions is, after all, not a new one.

Indeed, many warnings have been given in the past about the viral dangers facing humanity. “Given the continual emergence of new pathogens ... and the ever-increasing connectedness of our world, there is a significant probability that a large and lethal pandemic will occur in our lifetime,” Bill Gates predicted several years ago. “And it will have the impact of a nuclear war,” he warned, while urging nations to start stockpiling antiviral drugs and therapies. If only.

For its part, the WHO prepared – several years ago – a list of viruses with no known treatments or vaccines, illnesses that could one day trigger that pandemic and kill hundreds of thousands. Prospective killers included nipah disease and lassa fever as well as an ailment it simply called “disease X” – “a serious international epidemic caused by a pathogen currently unknown”.

As to the most likely nature of that mysterious virus, most modelling assumed that disease X would be flu-like in behaviour, says Dr Josie Golding, the epidemics lead at the Wellcome Trust. After all, influenza had caused so many deadly global outbreaks in the past. As a result, a lot of investment went into making influenza vaccines in preparation, she says. “But have we been thinking about diseases other than influenza that might become pandemics? I don’t think we have. There has been a real gap in our thinking.”

Then came the appearance of Covid-19 – caused not by a strain of influenza but by a coronavirus – in November. Initially, only a few cases were highlighted, a trend that began to change early this year with a rise in numbers of infected ill people.

“The report that really grabbed my attention came out in mid-January,” says epidemiologist Professor Mark Woolhouse at Edinburgh University. “It said 41 cases of this new respiratory illness had now been diagnosed in one small area of China, around Wuhan. And that set the alarm bells ringing for me.”

For Woolhouse, the cluster of cases in one place showed this was not a matter of a few people scattered around China picking up an occasional infection from an animal such as a bat or a chicken. “Forty-one cases in one small area at the same time could not be explained that way. People are not picking this up from animals, I realised. They are actually spreading it to each other. It was already heading out of control.”

Ewan Birney, head of the European Bioinfomatics Institute in Cambridgeshire, also noted the significance of the new disease at the time. “I presumed, at first, that this one would also burn itself out, probably somewhere in Asia,” he says.

His reasoning was straightforward. The outbreak of Sars that appeared in 2003 in China was caused by a coronavirus and killed more than 10% of those it infected. “In fact, it killed or hospitalised so many of those it infected the chain of transmission from one person to others was cut. It was too lethal for its own good. So I thought this might happen with this new disease. But it turns out Covid-19 is much milder and incapacitates fewer individuals, so there is no cut in its transmission. When that became apparent – around mid-January – I became very worried.”

Then there was the infectiousness of the new virus. A person with Sars generally starts to display symptoms before they infect other people. That makes it much easier to contain. But this was not the case with Covid-19. Early data from China – again released in January – showed the virus was being spread from people who were displaying only the mildest symptoms, or in some cases no symptoms. This was making the condition very difficult to track, says virologist Professor Jonathan Ball of Nottingham University.

FacebookTwitterPinterest The County Oak Medical Centre in Brighton was closed on 10 February after a member of staff was infected with coronavirus. Photograph: Glyn Kirk/AFP via Getty Images

“At that point I realised this outbreak was going to be very serious,” he added. “I sent a tweet to a colleague in Australia. It simply said: ‘This one is out of the bag properly’. He sent one back agreeing with me.”

Around this time, Paul Nurse, Nobel laureate and head of the Francis Crick Institute, recalls attending a conference where he met Mark Wolpert, head of UK Research and Innovation, the organisation that funds a vast slice of British scientific research.

“He had just received a text message from a colleague about the outbreak and we started to discuss the implications,” Nurse recalls. “It did not take us long for us both to realise this was going to be very significant. It took another two or three weeks to confirm these worst fears – by mid-February.”

By this time, Birney had realised the virus had a real sting in its tail and could cause serious illness among the elderly and those with other underlying serious ailments. “It was half-term and I was on holiday with my parents. All I wanted to do was to get the holiday over and then get them back to their house in the country where they could keep themselves isolated.”

In February, sporadic cases of Covid-19 were appearing round the country, recalls Tom Wingfield, a clinician and infectious disease expert based at the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine. “These were cases that had been brought into the country, mainly from China or Italy. Then there was an outbreak in Brighton and I realised that the virus had established itself in a community there. It was a turning point.”

Britain was still doing quite well in containing the disease by testing, tracing contact and setting up quarantine for those suspected of being infected with Covid-19 at this time. “Then, in March, the government decided to abandon this approach and shift from containing the disease to delaying its progress,” says Wingfield. “I would really like to know why the decision to give up testing and contact tracing was taken.”

Many other researchers also question why the government took so long to react to their warnings. “Part of the trouble was there were other virologists who were saying this was going to be like Sars or flu and there was not too much to worry about,” says Ball. “But Sars happened in 2003. The world is much more connected now than it was then. More to the point, Covid-19 was also much more infectious than Sars. And so it started appearing in lots of other countries. 

“Perhaps some of us should have got up in front of BBC News and said you lot ought to be petrified because this is going to be a pandemic that will kill hundreds of thousands of people,” adds Ball. “None of us thought this was a particularly constructive thing to do, but maybe with hindsight we should have. If there had been more voices, maybe politicians would have taken this a bit more seriously.”

“There is no question that we were insufficiently prepared,” Nurse says. “We had been warned a few years ago when reports made it clear that the UK was not ready to combat a major flu pandemic and we did not take up that warning. As a result, we were caught out.”

He and many others say an inquiry into Britain’s Covid-19 preparedness will have to be held at some point but stress that this should not be started until the crisis has been dealt with in the UK.

Professor Ian Boyd, a former chief scientific adviser at the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, agrees. “There is a great danger there will be a lot of looking back with the benefits of hindsight and poking fingers of blame,” warns Boyd. “But when you are in the middle of things you have to make a lot of very hard 50-50 decisions, and sometimes you make the wrong call. On the other hand, there is no harm in making sure that we learn as many lessons as we can.”

The lessons from the rest of the world …

Boris Johnson, after his own brush with death at the hands of Covid-19, will presumably no longer take the gung-ho attitude to illness that he has always has. A former Tory minister said: “If Boris had any sense he would take control of the inquiry and lead it.”
One conclusion that experts are already drawing is that it was those countries close to China, with memories of Sars, or cultural ties to their neighbour, which were much faster to act in response to Covid-19. Perhaps most notable in its success was Taiwan. Closely linked by economic and cultural ties to mainland China, Taiwan could have been at high risk of a major Covid-19 epidemic. Tourists and business people travelled regularly back and forth.

But helped perhaps by having an epidemiologist as vice-president, the government set up a gold standard regime of testing and contact tracing that means that nearly three months on from its first confirmed infection, it has registered fewer than 400 cases and six deaths.

Taiwan’s extensive testing and thorough contact tracing are precisely the kind of action that the former health secretary Jeremy Hunt is demanding before the UK lockdown is lifted. Hunt points out that it is one of the essential conditions set by the WHO to avoid a second wave resulting from an easing of restrictions.

Hong Kong, which also suffered from the Sars crisis, also moved early to enforce quarantine and social distancing, as well as widespread mask wearing, and today has registered just over 1,000 cases and only four deaths.

FacebookTwitterPinterest A man in Wuhan on 10 February, the 19th day of the transport lockdown. Photograph: Getty Images

In late February, South Korea looked like it was on a trajectory to disaster, with the highest number of confirmed cases outside China, and numbers rising rapidly. But after the country’s first infection, the government met medical companies and urged them to start developing coronavirus test kits on a massive scale.

The results were impressive. When the epidemic hit, it was ready to deploy largescale testing. Its measures allowed South Korea to become the second country to flatten its coronavirus curve, without the sweeping shutdowns of society and economic activity that China had pioneered and the west would be forced to adopt.

China’s experience should have provided a grim template for western countries to use to prepare. The speed with which Wuhan’s crisis had intensified showed that a relatively advanced medical system could be swamped. Within three weeks there were over 64,000 people infected and 1,000 dead.

The pleas for help from Wuhan’s residents and doctors were to be echoed by those from Italy a few weeks later, and soon after the UK.

Look back three months, and in China there were not enough tests to work out who had coronavirus, there was not enough protective equipment for medical staff treating patients, and then, soon, tragically there were not enough hospital beds and ventilators for sick patients. These are exactly the challenges faced by authorities from New York to Rome, London to Madrid.

… and the other country that didn’t listen

If the UK has serious questions to answer, the country that so far has seen the worst of the outbreak, the United States, was slowest of all to act. Trump for months ignored, played down or lied about the threat posed by coronavirus, leaving individual states to act unilaterally as it became clear it had already taken hold on US soil.

On 17 March parts of California issued “shelter in place” orders, effectively a lockdown. By the end of that week New York City had also shut down, along with a dozen states, and the majority of the rest of the country had put some restrictions in place. Only five states had few or no controls.

There have now been nearly 700,000 confirmed cases in the US and over 33,000 deaths; actual numbers are likely to be higher for both. The economy has also been devastated, with more than 22 million out of work as businesses collapse or shrink under the strain.

The US was slowest of all to act, but Donald Trump is preparing to lift restrictions already. Photograph: Alex Brandon/AP

Trump insists the US is turning a corner, and has tried to blame – among other targets – the WHO for failing to fully raise the alarm, and has stripped it of its US funding.

There have certainly been questions about the organisation’s strong praise for China and the exclusion of Taiwan, which may have contributed to the delay in recognising human-to-human transmission was occurring. But it began daily briefings on 22 January and had declared a global health emergency by the end of that month.

While initially sceptical about China’s distancing measures, it urged other countries to adopt them once there was evidence they were working. It warned about shortages of PPE over a month ago, and since the beginning of the outbreak has urged countries, including the UK, to “test, test, test” to contain the virus – a strategy followed by almost all countries that have managed to suppress it.  

A senior Whitehall source with detailed knowledge of the UK’s response and those of other countries said: “The fact is that those countries who knew a lot about Sars quickly saw the danger. But in the UK the attitude among politicians and also scientists was that it was really just some form of a flu. All the government’s pandemic planning was based on a flu scenario. And then it turned out to be something different and far, far worse and the response was completely inadequate.”

And we are going to be living with the consequences for a long time. Don’t expect a vaccine to come to the rescue in the short term, says Nabarro. “For the foreseeable future, we are going to have to find ways to go about our lives with this virus as a constant threat to our lives. That means isolating those who show signs of the disease and also their contacts. Older people will have to be protected. That is going to be the new normal for us all.”

Only a monumental effort of political imagination can end lockdown

The methods – whether it’s mass testing or contact-tracing – matter less than the huge shift in thinking that is required writes Jonathan Freedland in The Guardian

Illustration: Matt Kenyon


Sometimes you’re just asking the wrong question. On news programmes and at daily briefings, politicians across the world face versions of the same query again and again: when will the lockdown end? But that’s the wrong question.

Imagine a family has escaped a rampaging bear in the woods, seeking refuge in a log cabin. After sheltering there for days and weeks, they’re desperate to know when they can come out. But they wouldn’t simply be asking “When?” They would be asking “When will it be safe?” which is a different and tougher question, one whose answer would depend on several other questions: has the bear been tamed? If it hasn’t, do we have the weapons to destroy it or at least protect ourselves against it? And are those protections strong enough that we won’t have to rush back inside the cabin the moment we’ve ventured out?

We should be clear on one thing. Impatience to see an end to this mass, global quarantine is understandable. It’s not just boredom or lack of stamina that prompts it. There are people struggling to put food on the table; there are people whose mental health is faltering; there are people for whom a day stuck at home is a day stuck with a domestic abuser. For them lockdown is a jail sentence and they need it to end.

So of course it makes sense to long for an exit strategy. But it has to begin with an understanding of what lockdown is and what it is not. It’s tempting to see it as a solution: everyone stays at home, we “flatten the curve” and then, slowly and gradually, we lift the restrictions and return to normal. But that’s not how it is. Instead, lockdown is merely the crudest, bluntest instrument we could reach for when the coronavirus first struck. Its primary objective was to keep the number of people infected sufficiently low that the health service could cope. Judged by that standard, preventing, say, the NHS in Britain being overwhelmed, it has succeeded.

But essential though it was and is, lockdown could only ever be a first step. It enjoys remarkable support – still backed by 91% of Britons, according to a YouGov poll – but it was always going to be dropped the moment a better option became available. The ideal would be a vaccine, equivalent to removing the bear’s claws and teeth, but that, we are warned, is 18 months away at best. So what’s the other route out of hiding?

Read the expert plans, and they all come back to one thing. Sure, social distancing will have to endure, in one form or other, but the key will be the one identified by the World Health Organization at the start: testing, testing, testing.

And yet here, too, there is a misconception, and it is one of scale. So far, testing has been limited to those with symptoms and in hospital. But the Nobel laureate Paul Romer – admittedly his prize was for economics rather than epidemiology – has got a lot of attention for a plan that argues that for the economy, and human life, to return to anything like normality, testing will need to be conducted for millions of people, all the time. He imagines health workers being tested at the start of a shift; the same would go for care workers, pharmacists, police officers and bus drivers. You might add teachers and restaurant workers. Romer wouldn’t bother testing people who already have symptoms: they should be presumed positive and immediately self-isolate. It’s the “asymptomatic spreaders” you need to identify, stopping them in their tracks. The logic underpinning the plan is clear: there will be no point in reopening shops, pubs and restaurants if people feel too scared to visit them. As virologist Prof Nicolas Locker puts it, “You can’t lift the lockdown as long as you are not testing massively.”

Do the maths and the numbers are colossal: Romer estimates some 22m tests would be necessary every day in the US alone, the equivalent of testing every American once every two weeks. Consider that there’s still no sign that Matt Hancock will reach his goal of 100,000 tests a day in the UK, and you realise how many orders of magnitude stand between where we are now and where we would need to be.

The obstacles are huge and obvious, though Romer reckons he has answers for all of them. Shortage of swabs? Move to saliva tests instead. Shortage of the key chemicals known as “reagents”? The test kits that rely on them are not the only option. The sheer numbers of tests that would have to be produced? The world’s manufacturers could do it; it just requires the political will. Which, given that our lives depend on it, should be there.

If that seems daunting, there is another approach. It would still require testing – though not on the same scale – followed by contact tracing: finding all those who’d been in close proximity to someone who’d tested positive and isolating them. “Test, trace, isolate” also has logic on its side, but it, too, takes lots of money and people. It’s thought one contact-tracer is required for every four cases of infection.

That means using the hiatus of lockdown to recruit and train people now in the mechanics of contact tracing. With no leadership from the top – on Thursday Donald Trump effectively announced that the buck stops with the 50 states – the likes of Massachusetts are already assembling their own squads of contact-tracers. San Francisco is doing the same, deploying a combination of librarians and medical students. The UK government could follow their lead immediately, putting to work some of the thousands of people currently at home and itching to help. Tech can play a role, too: note this week’s announcement that Apple and Google will join forces to see if they can produce the app that will make tracing easier and faster, though the threat to privacy of such surveillance is obvious.

What specific methods are deployed matter less than the bigger shift that is required, which is one of imagination. Governments need to realise that what’s coming is not a decision about easing this or that rule of social distancing, but rather a massive political, industrial and collective drive unseen since the last war. It may well mean repurposing factories to mass-produce testing kits. At the very least, it should mean a dedicated cabinet minister for testing.

This demands a huge shift by the UK government, which wasn’t even testing people coming out of hospital and going into social care until this week. But nothing less will be enough. It’s not enough to flatten the curve; we have to get ahead of it. It’s true that we cannot stay in lockdown for ever. But we cannot leave until it’s safe – and that requires a monumental effort, starting right now.

How wealthy Americans ‘get their kids into university'

 Joshua Chaffin in The FT

William McGlashan had to make his son a football player. And quickly. 

In exchange for a $250,000 payment, a California-based university-admissions consultant had arranged for the younger McGlashan to skirt the normal application process at the University of Southern California and be accepted as a prized American football recruit. A “side door” into the university, the consultant, William Singer, called it. 

The problem was that the boy did not play football. They did not even have a football team at his secondary school. “We have images of him in lacrosse. I don’t know if that matters,” offered Mr McGlashan, a top executive at the private equity firm TPG and co-founder with rock star Bono of the Rise Fund, a socially conscious investment vehicle. 

“They [USC] don’t have a lacrosse team,” Mr Singer responded. Then he took matters into his own hands. “I’m going to make him a kicker/punter,” he decided, listing specialist positions in the sport often occupied by the slight of frame. “I’ll get a picture and figure out how to Photoshop and stuff.” 

“He does have really strong legs,” Mr McGlashan joked. 

The two men bantered about the deal, and how Mr Singer had made other applicants appear to be champion water polo players for the same purpose. Months earlier, the 55-year-old Mr McGlashan had paid Mr Singer $50,000 to have someone doctor his son’s university entrance exam. “Pretty funny. The way the world works these days is unbelievable,” Mr McGlashan observed. 

"I can do anything and everything, if you guys are amenable to doing it"   William Singer, founder of The Edge College & Career Network 

Those discussions are reproduced in a criminal complaint filed by the Justice Department on Tuesday after an investigation into bribery in college admissions that resulted in charges against 50 individuals — including prominent actors and investors — and involved some of the most prestigious names in US higher education. 

At the centre of the scheme was Mr Singer, 58, who was fired in 1988 as a high school basketball coach in Sacramento because of his abusive behaviour toward referees. He later reinvented himself as a svengali in Newport Beach for his apparent mastery of the increasingly cut-throat university admissions game. On Tuesday Mr Singer pleaded guilty to federal charges including racketeering conspiracy and obstruction of justice. 

“OK, so, who we are — what we do is help the wealthiest families in the US get their kids into school,” Mr Singer told one prospective client, Gordon Caplan, the co-chairman of the prominent US law firm Willkie Farr & Gallagher. 

In extensive phone conversations authorities recorded with 32 parents, Mr Singer comes off as an indispensable problem-solver and quasi-magician — a man able to spare one client, the actress of Lori Loughlin, the apparent indignity of having to send her daughter to Arizona State University. 

“I can make [test] scores happen, and nobody on the planet can get scores to happen,” he boasted to one client of his consultancy, The Edge College & Career Network. 

“She won’t even know that it happened. It will happen as though, she will think that she’s really super smart, and she got lucky on a test, and you got a score now. There’s lots of ways to do this. I can do anything and everything, if you guys are amenable to doing it.” 

All told, Mr Singer collected about $25m in bribes over a seven-year period, according to authorities. 

 US college admissions are supposed to be a merit-based business. But it has always had its set-aside places for legacy applicants and the children of those willing to fork over enough money. 

At a time when the affordability of university education is emerging as a major political issue, the revelation that the moneyed elites had gamed the system for their children — at the expense of more deserving candidates — is likely to be seized on by politicians. 

Daniel Golden won a Pulitzer Prize for his book, The Price of Admission, which detailed the underside of the business at a time when globalisation was raising the value of a prestigious university degree — and making it evermore competitive for students to access them. 

Writing for The Guardian newspaper in 2016, Mr Golden called it the “grubby secret of American higher education: that the rich buy their underachieving children’s way into elite universities with massive, tax-deductible donations”. 

He claimed that President Donald Trump’s son-in-law Jared Kushner — not regarded as a brilliant scholar in high school — was accepted by Harvard not long after his father Charles made a $2.5m donation to the university. 

Mr Singer called that “the backdoor”. At The Edge, he came up with a “side door”: arranging bribes for tennis, sailing and soccer coaches so that they would sneak his applicants into school as ostensible sports stars. 

As the criminal complaint noted, many of the schools reserve admissions spaces for their athletics department: “At Georgetown, approximately 158 admissions slots are allocated to athletic coaches, and students recruited for those slots have substantially higher admissions prospects than non-recruited students.” 

USC, a school that was once considered more expensive than selective, was one of Mr Singer’s best bets. With the alleged connivance of the school’s senior women’s athletic director, Donna Heinel, he wangled spots for applicants supposedly destined for its water polo, basketball, football and rowing teams. Ms Heinel and the water polo coach, Jovan Vavic, were dismissed by the school on Tuesday and also criminally charged. 

Running through the complaint is the angst of affluent parents caught up in a school admissions process that is increasingly viewed as a make-or-break gateway to future success. 

One of those charged, Agustin Huneeus, a California vineyard owner, appears tormented that his daughter is losing out to Mr McGlashan’s son, a schoolmate. 

“Is Bill [McGlashan] doing any of this shit? Is he just talking a clean game with me and helping his kid or not? Cause he makes me feel guilty.” 

Mr Huneeus paid $50,000 for someone to doctor his daughter’s college entrance exam. She ended up scoring in the 96th percentile. 

Like Mr McGlashan, Mr Huneeus also opted to pay Mr Singer $250,000 to buy her admission to USC — in this case as a star water polo player. The girl was late in sending a picture so Mr Singer found one of an actual water polo player and submitted that instead.  

On one occasion Mr Singer had two different clients unwittingly sitting fraudulent entrance exams in the same testing room. In order for the scheme to work, he repeatedly emphasised to parents it was essential that they petitioned for medical exemptions so that their children could be given extra time to complete the test — ideally a few days. That way proctors bribed by Mr Singer would have occasion to adjust the results. 

“What happened is, all the wealthy families that figured out that if I get my kid tested and they get extended time, they can do better on the test. So most of these kids don’t even have issues, but they’re getting time. The playing field is not fair,” Mr Singer explains to Mr Caplan, the lawyer, as he markets his services. 

“No, it’s not. I mean this is, to be honest, it feels a little weird. But,” Mr Caplan responds. 

Ultimately, one thing that Mr Caplan and the parents shared was a determination to keep the scheme secret from the children they were desperate to help. It was no easy feat since, in some cases, test scores would be massively inflated for mediocre — even poor — students. 

There was also the need to secure the medical waivers and then petition for the students to take the test at specific facilities in Houston or Hollywood controlled by Mr Singer. (He often advised parents to tell authorities their students had to travel on the appointed date for a wedding or bar mitzvah.) 

“Now does he, here’s the only question, does he know? Is there a way that he doesn’t know what happened?” Mr McGlashan asked of his son at one point. 

Mr McGlashan — who was placed on “indefinite administrative leave” by TPG on Tuesday and did not respond to requests for comment — seemingly managed to put aside his reservations. 

So did another parent, Marci Palatella, the chief executive of a California liquor distributor. She and her spouse paid Mr Singer $500,000 to secure their son’s admission to USC after apparently hearing about his services from “people at Goldman Sachs who have, you know, recommended you highly”. 

As Ms Palatella later confided to Mr Singer, she and her partner “laugh every day” about the scheme. “We’re like, ‘It was worth every cent.’”




FBI affidavit: overview of the conspiracy 


Parents paid about $25m in bribes between 2011 and 2018.

Colleges and universities involved included Yale University, Stanford University, the University of Texas, the University of Southern California, and the University of California Los Angeles, Georgetown and Wake Forest 

Bribes to college entrance exam administrators allowed a third party to assist in cheating on college entrance exams, in some cases posing as the actual students, and in others by providing students with answers during the exams or by correcting their answers after they had completed the exams 

Bribes to university athletic coaches and administrators to designate students as purported athletic recruits regardless of their athletic abilities, and, in some cases, even though they did not play the sport they were purportedly recruited to play 

Having a third party take classes in place of the actual students, with the understanding that grades earned in those classes would be submitted as part of the student’s college applications 

Submitting falsified applications for admission to universities that included the fraudulently obtained exam scores and class grades, and often listed fake awards and athletic activities 

Disguising the nature and source of the bribe payments by funnelling the money through the accounts of a purported, tax-deductible, charity, The Key Worldwide Foundation, from which many of the bribes were then paid

In excruciating pain. Unable to sleep. Yet John is still ‘fit for work’

Aditya Chakrabortty in The Guardian

 

Illustration: Andrzej Krauze


John’s world was torn apart on a Monday morning three weeks ago. First came a text message that read: “We will ring you within 2-3 hours to discuss the outcome of your work capability assessment.” Then the phone went. A “decision maker” at the Department for Work and Pensions told John he’d been judged fit for work – despite his extreme pain, despite all his doctors had said. One of the benefits he needed to live on – employment and support allowance – would stop immediately.

Maximus fit-for-work tests fail mental health patients, says doctor



You may have seen the new film I, Daniel Blake; John is living it. Just like Ken Loach’s character, he’s in his late 50s. He too is in no condition to hold down a full-time job, yet has been told by his own government that he must find work. His story tells you that the nightmare depicted by Loach and the scriptwriter Paul Laverty is neither fictional nor historical – but is being visited right now on our friends, our neighbours and us.

Just like Daniel Blake, John is slowly being crushed between the twin forces of a lumbering, unsympathetic, tick-box, brown-envelope bureaucracy, and a Tory government hellbent on slashing social security. The result is that a disabled man is today being forced to look for jobs that he can’t possibly do, purely to get benefits that won’t even keep a roof above his head.

John doesn’t want his full details made public. “A mauling by the rightwing press would be more than I could bear.” But he’s funny, good on Victorian novels and gentler than I would be in his position. His life has been shaped by an attack he suffered one evening in London 30 years ago. It left him in hospital for three months – and with major injuries to his leg, back and shoulder. They’ve got worse over the years, causing him to give up work about 15 years ago. He recently had a knee replacement; doctors are now contemplating a tricky operation on his spine.

He’s on Tramadol and other heavy-duty painkillers, yet even on the best of days he still has constant pins and needles. At other times, “it’s like someone is stamping on my spine in heavy hobnail boots and smashing nails into my feet and up my leg.” Even on sleeping pills, he hasn’t managed more than three hours a night for over 15 years.

This spring the government decided to test John’s capability for work. I’ve seen the forms myself: in his best exam-boy handwriting, John answers the questions with an almost painful trustingness. No exaggeration, no flinching from admitting that he sometimes wets himself. When it came to assessment day, he took along a local councillor, Denise Jones. At the testing centre run by Maximus – the outsourced provider of assessments – he faced the usual robotic questions about whether he could lift an empty box.

Then came the physical examination. The table was so high John can’t believe he managed to climb on it; Jones says he did, just. Both say the effort cost him visible struggle and pain – and both recall that the “healthcare professional” said she didn’t want to examine him. But the report stripping John of his ESA says it was he who “declined examination”.

That’s not the only discrepancy. The report talks of “lower back pain” – nothing about the legs or feet. It claims he can stay in one place for an hour – no mention of John’s need to move every 10-15 minutes. Other details that John and Jones remember coming up – the hours it takes him just to stretch out in the morning; his habit of falling over; the fact his pain is constant – are simply missing. Jones says in puzzlement: “The report looks like it was just cut and paste.”

I put these and several other detailed points to the DWP last week, but was advised on Monday that John’s was now a “historic claim”. Maximus would need to write to the DWP, then await the details to be posted back – a process that could take about a week. “A giant bureaucracy,” the Maximus spokesman said. If that’s how the head of communications for the company at the centre of this bureaucracy sees things, what hope for the likes of John?

I received instead a “generic response”, which states in part: “We will look into the issues raised in this particular case. All of our healthcare professionals – doctors, nurses and physiotherapists – are fully qualified with a minimum of two years’ postgraduate experience and they receive ongoing training.”

None of this helps John, but it’s not meant to. While awaiting the “reconsideration” of his claim, he’s been to the jobcentre and signed a declaration that he can work for 40 hours a week and commute 90 minutes each way. Both claims are a lie – the stupid, necessary lies John must now tell to get money. Perhaps he should have lied like that in the first place, rather than getting into debt just to keep going. This is for a man who doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke and hasn’t been to the cinema in two years.

His “coach” has lined him up for computer training and a course on how to do a CV. John doesn’t need either, but then this Kafka-meets-IDS bureaucracy in which Britons hand cash to private companies to frustrate other Britons isn’t about what anyone wants or needs. It has more in common with a correctional process – complete with nonsense tasks, the aggressive emphasis on procedure, and the disregard for people. There is only the occasional pinprick of humanity, like the DWP official who at the end of one phone call thanked John “for not shouting at me”.

John’s story is part of a much bigger national process, in which austerity Britain is narrowing down who deserves to live here. On the reject pile go “shirkers”, “benefit tourists” (however many they are), refugees fleeing the bombs of Syria who look insufficiently childlike. And disabled people who, according to the Centre for Welfare Reform, have been hit nine times harder by the Tories’ cuts than has any other group.

Loach’s film ends in defiance. “When you lose your self-respect you’re done for,” says Daniel Blake. But I wonder what it takes to keep your self-respect in a system intent on dehumanising you. I met a couple earlier this year; the husband faced a cut to his disability benefits. Paul Chapman remembered what he’d told his wife, Lisa: “The best thing we can do now is … I’ll clear off and I won’t take my tablets. And it’ll be over then. I won’t be here.” All for the sake of £49 a week.

Denise Jones can see how knackered John is, how often he wells up. “In three weeks, he’s collapsed,” she says. John knows it too. “I don’t want anybody to know how bad this is,” he tells me. “I don’t want anybody to see me so weak. I just feel beaten.” Not for the last time that morning, he breaks down crying.