Rachel Reeves’s claim of a ‘moral duty’ to cut disability benefits is a hollow lie and a smokescreen for increasing poverty.
He claim is that it is a “moral duty” to get disabled people into work, as though slashing their benefits is some kind of benevolent nudge toward employment rather than a brutal act of economic violence.
She insists that “it can’t be right” to “write off” an entire generation—yet, in practice, her policy does exactly that, stripping support from a quarter of a million disabled people while offering no credible pathway into work.
This rhetoric is as familiar as it is hollow.
The idea that people on disability benefits are being left to languish is a convenient narrative for a government looking to justify cost-cutting.
In reality, many of those affected will be people who simply cannot work, no matter how much the government wishes otherwise.
Others will be people trapped in a job market that remains profoundly hostile to disabled workers—one where discrimination, inaccessibility, and lack of employer support are the real barriers, not a lack of will.
Rather than ensuring fair wages, investing in accessible workplaces, or tackling employer bias, Reeves’s approach shifts the blame onto disabled people themselves.
The message is clear: if you’re struggling, it must be because you’re not trying hard enough.
And if you lose the benefits that keep you afloat? Well, that’s just tough love.
Reeves frames her plan as a moral necessity. But morality is not forcing people into work by making them destitute. Morality would mean ensuring that disabled people who can work are supported, and that those who can’t aren’t punished for it.
Anything less is not a “moral duty”—it’s just cruelty wrapped in soundbites.
Rachel Reeves’s claim of a ‘moral duty’ to cut disability benefits is a hollow lie
Rachel Reeves’s claim of a ‘moral duty’ to cut disability benefits is a hollow lie and a smokescreen for increasing poverty.
He claim is that it is a “moral duty” to get disabled people into work, as though slashing their benefits is some kind of benevolent nudge toward employment rather than a brutal act of economic violence.
She insists that “it can’t be right” to “write off” an entire generation—yet, in practice, her policy does exactly that, stripping support from a quarter of a million disabled people while offering no credible pathway into work.
This rhetoric is as familiar as it is hollow.
The idea that people on disability benefits are being left to languish is a convenient narrative for a government looking to justify cost-cutting.
In reality, many of those affected will be people who simply cannot work, no matter how much the government wishes otherwise.
Others will be people trapped in a job market that remains profoundly hostile to disabled workers—one where discrimination, inaccessibility, and lack of employer support are the real barriers, not a lack of will.
Rather than ensuring fair wages, investing in accessible workplaces, or tackling employer bias, Reeves’s approach shifts the blame onto disabled people themselves.
The message is clear: if you’re struggling, it must be because you’re not trying hard enough.
And if you lose the benefits that keep you afloat? Well, that’s just tough love.
Reeves frames her plan as a moral necessity. But morality is not forcing people into work by making them destitute. Morality would mean ensuring that disabled people who can work are supported, and that those who can’t aren’t punished for it.
Anything less is not a “moral duty”—it’s just cruelty wrapped in soundbites.
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