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From: [email protected] [mailto:[email protected]] On Behalf Of
Sid Shniad
Sent: Monday, February 28, 2011 8:18 PM
Subject: On privatising the British health service


http://www.lrb.co.uk/v33/n05/andrew-ohagan/diary

London Review of Books Vol. 33 No. 5 · 3 March 2011

Diary

Andrew O’Hagan

Aneurin Bevan argued like someone willing to go to the wall for what he was
saying. He spoke belligerently. He spoke as though to oppose what he was
saying would be to offend against common decency. British politicians don’t
talk that way any more, even when it matters. Take Andrew Lansley, the
secretary of state for health and once the principal private secretary to
Norman Tebbit. Like so many of his cabinet colleagues, and so many of those
student politicians in the shadow cabinet, he appears to grasp the bullet
points of an argument without ever grasping the argument. There’s a little
moral seasoning to his dinner party rhetoric, a little dead-eyed flutter of
words like ‘innovation’ and ‘commitment’, but Lansley has no feeling for the
needs and fears of people who go to the doctor. He has no idea, but plenty
to say.

Lansley’s Health and Social Care Bill will summarily abolish 152 primary
care trusts in England, and GPs themselves will have to choose where to buy
services from. The NHS thereby becomes a stimulus to energetic competition
in the private sector, and the notion of universality goes out the window.
Even GPs, who are not known for hating power, don’t want power this way:
turning them into commissioners is a category error. Lansley’s proposals
borrow the sound of freedom in order to usher them into a financial prison.
It won’t work, and GPs know it. Yet Lansley’s department continues to show a
peaky disregard for sound paragraphs. ‘Liberating the NHS’ – see what I
mean? – is said to be the result of the consultation process. Here’s a
typical block of text:


To further incentivise improved outcomes and financial performance,
consortia will receive a ‘quality premium’ based on the outcomes achieved
for patients and their financial performance. Some of the outcomes from the
Commissioning Outcomes Framework will inform the premium – but not
necessarily all, since some may not be suitable for translation into
financial incentives. The Bill introduces the powers necessary for the
quality premium, and we will discuss further with the British Medical
Association and the wider profession on how to shape it.


By way of contrast, let’s look at Bevan’s speech to the House of Commons on
30 April 1946, on the occasion of the second reading of the National Health
Service Bill. ‘In the last two years,’ he said,


there has been such a clamour from sectional interests in the field of
national health that we are in danger of forgetting why these proposals are
brought forward at all … Many of those who have drawn up paper plans for the
health services appear to have followed the dictates of abstract principles,
and not the concrete requirements of the actual situation as it exists.


So far, so clear. Today’s conjurors with ‘paper plans’ might hang their
heads. Then, this:


It is cardinal to a proper health organisation that a person ought not to be
financially deterred from seeking medical assistance at the earliest
possible stage … The first evil that we must deal with is that which exists
as a consequence of the fact that the whole thing is the wrong way round. A
person ought to be able to receive medical and hospital help without being
involved in financial anxiety … If it be our contract with the British
people, if it be our intention that we should universalise the best, that we
shall promise every citizen in this country the same standard of service …
the nation itself will have to carry the expenditure, and cannot put it upon
the shoulders of any other authority.


You can hear the putter of hope and the crank of disgust in that very plain
speech. Orwell would have liked it – its lilt, its flow and its moral
transparency. But it is the quantity of solid civic ambition that resounds
now.

People who cry out for change in the NHS always cry out against the past.
They see only ugliness and failure, never success, and, like Simon Jenkins
writing in the Guardian last month, they seem content to throw out the baby,
the bathwater, the taps, along with the reservoir supplying the taps.
Jenkins is right when he says there are too many back-office staff in the
NHS, but this isn’t his real complaint: he is a Bevan-basher, not really
liking the ‘national’ or the ‘service’ ideals embedded in the National
Health Service. Herbert Morrison ‘was right’, he wrote, ‘in wanting a new
health service based on charitable and municipal hospitals, as almost
everywhere else in the world’. But it might be argued that ‘everywhere else
in the world’ offers no lovely example to Britain. Defeatism about Britain’s
health service is hard to defeat, and it’s there in the new language of
hopelessness. But in his 1946 speech, Bevan spoke for many of us, alive,
dying or yet to be born.


I believe it is repugnant to a civilised community for hospitals to have to
rely upon private charity. I believe we ought to have left hospital flag
days behind. I have always felt a shudder of repulsion when I have seen
nurses and sisters who ought to be at their work, and students who ought to
be at their work, going about the streets collecting money for the
hospitals. I do not believe there is an Honourable Member of this House who
approves that system. It is repugnant, and we must leave it behind –
entirely.


The new healthcare reforms would bring flag days back into our lives. Which
is a shame, because, despite all the talk of ‘gigantism’, and the attempts
to reduce it, lessons have been learned in the NHS and excellence is showing
its face.

Recently I began to wonder what Britain now would seem like to Lloyd George
and Churchill, Beveridge and Bevan, the not-always-eye-to-eye-seeing
visionaries of the Welfare State. And it occurred to me that when some of
them sat down to dream about an ideal future, the things that floated into
their mind must have looked – surprisingly, perhaps – a great deal like the
present health centre in Kentish Town. So I went to visit it. When you walk
in, you wonder if you’ve somehow wandered into a North London satellite of
Tate Modern. Unlike most receptions, Reception here appears eager to offer
you a decent reception, and the building is full of colour, light, optimism
and efficiency. People smile. It’s a palace, actually, or a modern church of
the common man, and I fancy that half the ailments in existence might be
alleviated or cured just by sitting here waiting your turn.

The NHS is, and will always be, an idea. It is an idea that requires
constant renewal in the face of depreciation, and some of that renewal has
clearly happened here. For those of us who remember some of those scrofulous
surgeries of old, those rooms filled with paperwork, cotton swabs, cigarette
smoke and resentment, the health centre in Kentish Town will come as a
complete surprise. Beside a meeting area is a bank of fold-up bikes for the
GPs to use on home visits. Upstairs there is a room where acupuncture can be
administered to three patients at a time. There is a gym, a library, several
patios with chairs, and soon, they hope, a café. Before the angina, aslant
the catarrh, I’m thinking of moving in.

Dr Roy Macgregor describes the building as his baby. He spent a dozen or
more years arguing for the new health centre and everybody acknowledges that
his pride in it contributes to the general atmosphere. The building alone
represents a small aesthetic triumph at the top of several streets of grey
English houses. Built by Paul Monaghan of Allford Hall Monaghan Morris, it
is green-panelled, transparent, a bright uplifting sentence in the worn
story of the street. Inside, a group of GPs were discussing preventative
measures against heart disease. Other doctors and support staff were moving
from room to room, desk to desk, fulfilling an almost Japanese-seeming
mission of ‘zero waste’. I sat down with Dr Macgregor and asked him about
Andrew Lansley’s way of talking. Is it treatable?

‘My biggest puzzle about these reforms is I don’t understand why we’re doing
them,’ he said. ‘The GP community hasn’t been balloted, they haven’t been
asked, they haven’t been consulted. They’ve been landed with this role of
suddenly holding the purse strings. I have dreaded the day when a patient
walks into my room and there’s a pound sign in front of them. And if someone
comes to see me, in the new world, and they need an endoscopy to see if
they’ve got a gastric ulcer or cancer, instead of meeting that patient’s
needs immediately, I’ll be thinking, hold on, in this practice we’ve sent 22
people this month for endoscopies, and my consortium is telling me that last
month we had too many endoscopies, so I will think twice. I will think twice
about giving this man what he needs and that will affect my clinical care.
If I fail to send him for an endoscopy and that man gets cancer, I will have
been guilty of giving that man bad care.’

There are family pictures on Macgregor’s pinboard. There are journals and a
bike helmet on the desk. He speaks about the new proposals as if their
framers didn’t understand the principles of general practice. He sees
himself as a clinician: he has to make decisions based on clinical need, and
the failure of Lansley or the doom-commentators to understand that puzzles
him. ‘I have no desire to hold the budget. I feel there’s a perfectly
competent organisation doing that. In our patch, Camden was not in debt and
was doing the job efficiently. I have two GPs currently forced to work on
this commissioning business: taking up time and not able to see patients as
a result.’

What’s the government trying to do, one might wonder. Another GP I spoke to
put it like this: ‘Everyone wants the service to be better, and to cost
less, and not to have queues, and to have fewer managers. But none of these
things can happen if they compromise people’s health. That’s the problem.
That was always a basic understanding. And I’m afraid these recent proposals
are what some of us know to be “Andrew Lansley’s Dinner Party NHS”. They are
based on the frankly passé and unthought-out notion that all administration
is a waste of time and on the idea – voilà! – that the clinicians should do
it themselves. A complete mistake. It is not a job we can do without harming
patients. It asks us to make decisions about patient care that are
extra-clinical. And that’s just wrong.’

I asked Macgregor about the argument, made by Lansley and others before him,
that GPs are best placed to make judgments about how to distribute scarce
resources. You are in the room, after all. You can assess the need. ‘The
need, yes. But not the cost of the need. If they care about our assessment,
why are they getting rid of 150 primary care trusts? Because that is how our
“in the room” experience was fed through. So now we’ll have … aha, 150
commissioning groups to replace the 150 PCTs abolished. The new groups will
have GPs obligatorily involved in costing, but the whole thing is just a
route to something much bigger and more damaging.’

‘What?’

Macgregor shifted in his seat. He looked to the door. ‘Oh, the dismantling
of the NHS,’ he said. ‘You will not be able to go on with the NHS if every
patient who comes in here is wearing a pound sign. This Lansley plan is the
first step to privatising part of the NHS and forcing people to have
“top-up” private insurance, so that I’ll be able to say: “Oh, good. Here
comes Mr Williams with his private medical insurance. I can get him that Cat
scan without worrying about the costs. And, oh dear, here comes Mrs Roper
with no insurance. I’m going to have to worry about whether we can afford to
get her hip replacement done.”’

It would be hard to argue with him, even if you wanted to. The present
proposals are a mess, and there’s no evidence that GPs will be better able
to be GPs with Lansley’s plan. ‘It’s craziness,’ Macgregor says. ‘Just think
about it. Here we are in Kentish Town. A lady with the backing of the local
newspaper wants a cancer drug, which she may need, but which costs £100,000.
So we give it and treat her as well as we can. Then a lady in Tower Hamlets
is turned down for the drug, because they can’t afford it, because there’s
no pressure on them, and the lady says, quite reasonably: “But they gave it
to a woman in Camden.” I mean, have they thought about that? Have they
thought about the impossible position that puts GPs in? It’s about
rationing, plain and simple. It’s about cutting down the service. General
practice in this country is one of the most efficient gatekeeping services
in the world. And it is being pulled apart by these plans. This government’s
commissioning proposals are blind and unthinking. They will destroy, at one
fell swoop, the doctor-patient relationship, which has been the most
important element in general practice over the last 60 years. It will
destroy the confidence you must have that when you come to see me with a
problem I will do what is in your best interest. People who don’t have
insurance, and who generally won’t make a fuss, i.e. the poor, will suffer
immediately from what can only turn out to be a messy and socially divisive
set of changes.’

Your health is now about where you live. It’s about the steps you have taken
to be middle class. A health system that once acted against inequality is
now set to enshrine it. The idea that this is a nation of equal opportunity
when it comes to personal health can only be obliterated by forcing doctors
to carry out economic rationing. I asked Macgregor to explain how provision
works when it comes to one area of the country and another. ‘OK. If you need
your cataracts done and you live in, say, Basildon, it may be that the local
eye department has set up a day surgery unit on a Saturday morning to get
rid of the waiting list. So, as a local GP, I would write to the eye
department and say, “This patient’s got cataracts, can you deal with them?”
and they’d say: “Yes, we don’t have a long waiting list at the moment so he
can have them done quickly.” Meanwhile, in Eastbourne, there are so many
elderly people and no big general hospital. I, as a local GP, send my
patient there but they cannot be seen for months, because they have no
clinic at the weekends and only do a standard operating list and the waiting
list is three months or six months. And that’s directly to do with the
resources that they have locally. Lansley’s fantasy is that the GPs in
Eastbourne would get together and say: “Let’s buy more eye services in here,
and improve the cataract waiting lists.” That’s the theory, but in reality,
there’s going to be less money than before. They’re giving “buying power”
but no money, which makes the whole “commissioning” thing a farce.’

Dr Macgregor had appointments to keep. As we walked down the corridor he
showed me work by local artists. I couldn’t get over the fact that there
were picture-rails in the corridors. It was cold outside and the winter
sunshine fell benignly through the windows. ‘I’m very proud of what we’ve
been able to achieve here,’ he said. ‘It’s involved years of work and we
have such plans for even better things.’ Before I put my notepad away, the
modern doctor looked down and there was a wee Chekhovian pause in his
confidence. ‘I wish they would just stop and think. Stop and look,’ he said.
‘If they carry on with this craziness, before long there will be an NHS
disaster. I’m frightened of the future. The world they’re forcing on us is
not the world I set out to practise in. I don’t want to be an accountant. I
don’t want to be checking the bills that come in from the hospital, seeing
if I can make a saving. I want to be careful and responsible and efficient,
that’s part of my job. But you can’t ask me to ration care. You can’t ask me
to ration judgment. This system of ours was always supposed to be about
looking after people.’ !DSPAM:2676,4d6c2d45308681479791216! 
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