McGarvey puts his finger on one of the key problems which contributed to the Grenfell disaster – the exclusion of sections of society from democratic decision-making. Grenfell residents had been warning for years about potentially fatal fire hazards in the tower. ‘Having been ignored – and dismissed – for so long, now suddenly everybody was interested in what life in a community like this entailed’, writes McGarvey. ‘But most people, despite their noble intentions, were just passing through on a short-lived expedition. A safari of sorts, where the indigenous population is surveyed from a safe distance for a time, before the window on the community closes and everyone gradually forgets about it.’ Poverty Safari and Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting deal with issues of poverty, deprivation and addiction in different ways – Poverty Safari through memoir and Trainspotting in fiction. Which book provides more insight and/or is more realistic?

Much as I hate to admit it, I should have taken some time to properly consider the best way to respond to Ellie's project. I'd been raised to think that any anger I felt was legitimate, merely by virtue of the fact that I was lower class. But even if this were true, the anger itself was only useful when expressed at the correct moment, in the correct way. It's only legitimate when it's deployed with the right quality of intention and even then, its utility is time-limited. Just like the booze, the fags, the drugs and the junk food, the novelty of righteous anger soon wears off, leaving you only with a compulsion to get hot and bothered, when often the solution to the problem is staring you right in the face. This isn't a popular thing to say on the left, but it's an honest one. In this case, I used righteous anger as a smokescreen to conceal something more self-serving. I had used the 'working class' as a Trojan horse to advance my own personal agenda. And I did all of this while believing myself to be well informed and deeply virtuous, unaware of how personal resentment was subtly directing my thinking." (Chapter 31: The Changeling) When one political party blames another for the problem, it creates a false impression in the public mind that this complex issue is within the competence of one political actor or group to solve. This is a dangerous oversimplification that forces us to cast one another as heroes and villains in the saga of poverty, often based on our unconscious bias, false beliefs and, increasingly, our resentments. Just as stress creates a demand for relief through alcohol, food and drugs, so too does our refusal to get serious about grappling with the complexity of poverty; creating a demand for the sort of political juvenilia that reduces every person to a caricature and every issue to a soundbite. Of course this is learned behaviour, passed down through the generations, and clearly this is a level of distrust that successive governments and prime ministers have well earned. He talks about the insidious role of the poverty industry, a murky business of bureaucracy and not speaking up against the status quo, “Where success is when there remain just enough social problems to sustain and perpetuate everyone’s career. Success is not eradicating poverty but parachuting in and leaving a ‘legacy’.”The book is divided into 32 short chapters, self-deprecatingly described by McGarvey as a “series of loosely connected rants that give the appearance of a book” (p. xxv). The result is a pleasingly accessible book for those pressed for time (such as trainee EPs) as each chapter does not take long to read. Class Matters McGarvey wants his privileged audience to see and hear the anger and frustration of poor communities who feel socially, economically, and politically disenfranchised. McGarvey doesn’t pull his punches, arguing cogently that factors such as unemployment, poorly paid jobs, poor quality housing have created the conditions for the prevalence of social maladies such as drug and alcohol abuse, violence, and mental health difficulties. These conditions have contributed to the frustrated disillusionment found amongst many working-class communities. It makes for challenging reading. Prejudicial and structural barriers Brutally honest and fearless, Poverty Safari is an unforgettable insight into modern Britain, and will change how you think about poverty. After reading a number of articles both by and about Darren McGarvey, I must admit that I went into Poverty Safari with high expectations. It’s perhaps because of these expectations that I came away from the book feeling a little disappointed.

The McGarvey warns against investing too much energy and faith to the delivery of political silver bullets, because even if you do think that a change of government/the end of capitalism/Brexit/nationalism/Corbyn/Trump/not Trump will solve many of your problems, you could still be waiting for a long time, and if you aren't prepared to work within the current political system, then it become just another protest movement that wants to keep people angry for the benefit of the movement, not the community. When you think you have nothing to lose, then hoping for the banks to fail sounds like fun, but in reality, the poorest would still end up suffering the most. McGarvey concludes that despite the social injustices and difficulties that have shaped his own life experience, the only way he has been able to affect change in his own life is to take some personal responsibility for his future and not lay all the blame at the feet of society for having failed him. There is lots that I really enjoyed here, but the structure proved somewhat frustrating: it is only until the second half of the book, and really, the very last chapter that McGarvey seems to really spell out his most important point (and the most important lesson he’s learnt for his own life): that of taking personal responsibility. But this book is also an impassioned polemic about the structural economic and political injustices endemic within British society that render swathes of the population powerless and voiceless. Part of the power and impact of this polemical account stems in part from the inclusion of autobiographical material by McGarvey, who grew up in poverty, experienced neglect, emotional and physical abuse, and wrestled with his own alcohol and drug use.

Poverty Safari

Poverty Safari does not provide easy answers. But it does offer a brave, profound critique of the nature of political debate today and mounts an at times inspiring defence of personal autonomy. ‘In the absence of real leadership’, he writes, ‘it’s time we demanded more of ourselves. Not because it’s easy or fair but because we have no other choice. We must now evolve beyond our dependence on political figures to map out reality on our behalf.’

McGarvey also wants those who seek to understand poverty within the UK to actually listen to those who live within it. To listen not only to their frustrations, but to also listen to and empower the solutions that they advocate rather than continue with the well-intentioned (or self-serving) patronisation of these communities from the outside. The book is not an easy read. It is a personal memoir about deprivation, abuse, violence, addiction, family breakdown, neglect and social isolation. But it is also a positive book, a book of hope and no little courage. At the same time, it contains both challenges to and insight for the competing ways in which both the political left and right view and seek to respond to poverty. Adam Tomkins MSP Part memoir, part polemic, this is a savage, wise and witty tour-de-force. An unflinching account of the realities of systemic poverty, Poverty Safari lays down challenges to both the left and right. It is hard to think of a more timely, powerful or necessary book. J.K. Rowling When the full wrath of working-class anger is brought to bear on the domain of politics, sending ripples through our culture, it’s treated like a national disaster. Following these political earthquakes, a deluge of condescending, patronising and emotionally hysterical social-media posts, blogs and online campaigns are launched, ruminating about the extinction-level event – which is what is declared whenever this specialist class, on the left or right, get a vague sense that they are no longer calling the shots. That they have been defied. For these people, not getting their way feels like abuse.’ Savage, wise and witty….It is hard to think of a more timely, powerful or necessary book.” J. K Rowling.McGarvey does realise that the challenges are enormous. The level of political debate today is dire, a ‘sort of political juvenilia that reduces every person to a caricature and every issue to a soundbite’. ‘Given the sheer scale of bad faith exhibited in debates on any number of issues, across the political spectrum, it’s a bit rich to pretend it’s only racists and xenophobes who are unfairly dehumanising sections of the population’, he writes. McGarvey sees identity politics – and the ‘call-out culture’ that goes with it – as part of the problem. ‘They won’t think twice about attempting to ruin a person’s reputation or disrupt their employment based on second-hand information or social-media gossip. Ultimately, while holding everyone else to account, this culture is itself accountable to no one.’ I pretty much lost interest in the book when this happened... McGarvey goes to a school for problem kids. Two boys are particularly troubled. He's going to meet with them to try to set them straight. He is a kind of social worker / rapper / icon. In rhyming verse, he explains his rough upbringing. He references cheap alcohol and gray council flats. This is how McGarvey begins the songwriting workshops he teaches to prisoners all across Scotland. Over the next few weeks, he will hear his student’s stories, too. Inevitably, they will speak of poverty, drug addiction, and abuse. They will speak of lives that make crime hard to avoid. As for the anecdote he provides of the different class-based motivations for the emotional upset of children in a playgroup - well, all I can say is that if this really happened, McGarvey has no business working with vulnerable people and children. If he has no awareness that children with "Bearsden accents" can feel emotionally upset, and that only working-class children have feelings that are worthy of attention, then I actually despair!