How Britain shames its elders They remind us of death

And so, rather than facing the fact of death head on, we render it an abstraction. Those miserable, lonely deaths happen to those people over there who are just unfortunate; that could never happen to us. We can’t get old people out of our sight fast enough and into our crumbling care system. The unsustainable, fragmented and means-tested care “system” offers little in the way of dignity. Local authorities provide support only to those with minimal assets, and private care is prohibitively expensive. While some nations integrate elderly care into community life, Britain isolates its ageing population in underfunded institutions, often reducing their final years to a slog of survival.

Our European neighbours put us to shame: Germany, France, and many Nordic countries provide extensive support with innovative systems that do more than delay death. The aim is instead to enhance life by reducing isolation, preserving dignity, and recognising every older person still has something of value to offer their community.

Earlier this year, I glimpsed what a more humane system could look like when I visited the House of Generations in Aarhus, Denmark, for my BBC Two series, The State We’re In. This residential project fosters connection between people of all ages, offering 304 rental units for families, young people, and seniors, alongside shared facilities including a library, workshops, and gardens. I joined a community sing-along where children played with seniors, highlighting the joy and dignity possible in later life. These people were old, yes, but they were vibrant and curious and keen to contribute. Thanks to their high quality of life, they were also more independent and less prone to mental health problems, and therefore able to support their neighbours, whether visiting other elderly folk or looking after young kids for a couple of hours.

This joyous scene starkly contrasted with the isolation I witnessed in Britain. Many elderly people I met here seemed resigned to a slow and painful decline, counting the days until their passing. The UK tolerates such indignities because we collectively deny that we too, will one day face them. If we admitted that such a bleak end likely awaits us too, we wouldn’t stand for the pathetic health offer currently made to the elderly in the UK. Truth be told, I came away from my many encounters with these beautiful old souls certain that a faster life would be no bad thing.

One man I visited sat alone in a cold kitchen, staring at a TV he couldn’t move to turn on, in a puddle of his own urine. Another woman, a full-time carer for her disabled husband, came alive when talking about her love of music and theatre, which she could no longer pursue due to her life-limiting devotion to her partner. One woman, grappling with terminal cancer and early dementia, seemed energised when asked about the meaning of her life — a rare reprieve from being treated solely as a patient. She confessed her fear she was going to hell for her sins, but also that she awaited death with anticipation — quite a purgatory.

No one expects that one day they’ll end up spending Christmas day alone. What starts with a random fall, followed by a routine hospital admission, ends in institutionalisation by the dysfunctional health service and alienation from society. A once-capable human being is reduced to a growing list of ailments, waiting lists, and financial costs. And before you know it, there’s no one to pull a cracker with. This comes as an immense shock precisely because the truth of what awaits us in our third act is never broached in our cold statistical discourse. The process of collective denial that passes for “debate” about social care in the UK rarely touches upon the reality that we will one day become these “bed-blocking” old people. Instead, death is firmly put out of mind for as long as life allows it. Then one day, we are suddenly forced to realise just how old we really are, not necessarily because of the date on our birth certificate, but because society, configured for the economically active, begins shuffling our fragile frames out of view — making greater space for the productive among us.

Oddly, this approach is actually more expensive. Loneliness and neglect accelerate mental and physical decline, complicating care needs. The elderly wither away not from age itself but from the absence of community. The recent debate over assisted dying illustrated just how little we offer those nearing the end of life. Instead of providing compassionate care, we debate helping people end their lives as if this is the pinnacle of ethical progress when, in truth, that entire debate arises in the context of a dire social care system that should shame us all. We must shift the conversation about ageing and death from mere survival to dignity, community, and respect. Unless we do, many Brits will continue to face their last Christmas alone and isolated — a bleak fate that you, too, may one day endure.

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Darren McGarvey is a Scottish hip hop artist and social commentator. In 2018, his book Poverty Safari won the Orwell Prize and his new book The Social Distance Between Us (Ebury Press) is out on 16th June.

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