The following is based on a speech given at the Scottish Care Homecare Conference on the 16^th May.

Well since I picked the title of this brief talk, I’ve been told that I shouldn’t be using the word ‘crisis’ because the constant talk about social care being in a state of ‘crisis’ is a real off putter for the general public – they don’t like it – even if it might be true.

So, I could just drop the word like any good follower of research on public opinion or just go for it.

I’ll do the latter if you don’t mind and I’ll explain why.

The first reason is that anyone – never mind someone like me standing here in front of several hundred experts in homecare and housing support – who didn’t own up to the painful raw reality of a sector facing innumerable challenges would be rightly accused of naive escapism if not delusion.

The second reason for calling our current state a moment of ‘crisis’ is that I also want to suggest that because of not despite the challenges- that this moment has the potential to be like a turning point.

Dragging memory into the now I’m reminded from my old school lessons of the fact that the word crisis comes from the Greek krisis, meaning decision, turning point, or judgement.

A crisis is not the end.

A crisis is a crossroads.

It is where choices are made, values are revealed, and futures are forged.

And in that spirit, I want to speak not only of the pressures that homecare faces – but of the possibility that lives within it.

Because homecare and housing support – for all its complexity, its fatigue, and yes, its fragility, remains one of the greatest expressions of love and solidarity we have as a society and its potential as a moulder of the moment, as a shaper of society and as an economic driver for Scotland is – I believe – huge!!

But to begin with let us speak plainly:

Yes – we are operating in a climate where public finances are constrained if not drained and exhausted. Scottish Care published research earlier in the year which has shown the savage cuts which are resulting in a sharp drop of packages of care and support being purchased – a loss of essential services or at least the reduction of critical services for thousands of those who urgently require care and support – we know the fractious failures resulting in work being reduced – we know and it’s now well publicised the huge level of debt being carried by HSCPs – around £500 million – which is simply meaning that services are not being bought

Yes – there is continued uncertainty around reform, regulation, and the shape of the future National Care Service if we are even allowed to use that word – and with others Scottish Care has recently been involved in publishing a report which gives some indication of what we consider to be essential steps ahead – at the heart of which has to be an assurance that not just invited guests but all stakeholders will be around the table to make decisions and enable reform to happen ..

Yes – recruitment and retention remain critical challenges. The increase in NI together with the absurdity of thoughtless and callous recent announcements by UK Government to the care worker visa seem both designed to make it harder for businesses to be sustainable and for us to attract a workforce skilled and capable in doing the job.

Yes – too many workers are underpaid, undervalued, and overburdened – it is not enough to say the NLW is the level of our aspiration any more – fair work – employee demands – all show that we need and can do better – with terms and conditions that speak to a skilled, qualified, and professional group of women and men – that address decades of low esteem, low value and low pay – and terms and conditions that are urgently needing to change.

But despite these truths, something remarkable persists.

Care continues.

In homes across Scotland – behind tenement doors, in croft houses and city flats – human connection is happening. Dignity is being protected. Meals are prepared. Medications administered. Hands are held. Laughter echoes down hallways, and tears are shared in silence.

Despite the growing obscenity of 5 or 15-minute visits – a truth remains – care is being delivered and quality care almost against the odds and certainly not because of the system and unethical contracts and commissioning practices.

The fact of faithfulness – the truth of the dignified routine of relationships protected and compassion delivered is a light we need to hold on to.

This is not failure. This is resilience. This is the hope of homecare to transform not just individuals but communities, not just lives but society.

When we talk about homecare, we are not just describing a service – we are not talking about a set of functions, or tasks or actions – we are describing a philosophy of life.

One that says:

• People should be supported in the places they love,
• That independence is not the absence of support, but the presence of the right kind,
• That relationship matters as much as task,
• And that a home is more than bricks and mortar – it is where identity, memory, and selfhood live.

So, in this so-called crisis, what new beginnings might we choose?

Let me offer some:

1. Revaluing the workforce as the heart of homecare

Not as deliverers of minutes, but as enablers of life. Let us raise their pay, yes – but also raise their status. Let us offer them careers, not contracts. Let us listen to their wisdom and build reform around their insight.

2. Refusing the false economy of underinvestment

A stitch in time doesn’t just save nine – in homecare, it saves hospital admissions, mental health deterioration, loneliness, and loss of independence. Every hour of care at home is an investment in human flourishing. It literally saves and shapes lives with purpose and meaning. This is what prevention is all about – and aren’t we supposed to be focussing on that?

3. Create an economy which values care.

I want to quote the Prime Minister – no not that one – but Mark Carney who in his quite excellent book ‘Value(s)’ argues that shared values – such as solidarity, fairness, responsibility – should underpin economic systems AND that we need to see a clear distinction between ‘market value’  and ‘human value’ and must not assume the former should be dominant.

He has written:

“The pandemic has reminded us of the true value of essential services and those who provide them.”

But as he also highlighted a crisis like the pandemic exposes who bears risk and who benefits from value.

Those of us in the world of social care have long argued that our economic foundations are misguided – that as the fourth economic contributor to the Scottish economy – why is social care not even mentioned in our economic strategies? Why do we not see the care and support of others as an economic contributor and driver in our society, rather than continually to use the language and character of cost, drain and deficit.

There is a real danger in straitened economic times that we lose sight of this contribution and engage in a perverse drive for market results. Homecare services should be rooted in wellbeing, autonomy, and human rights, not just contracts or outputs. Carney’s push for “mission-oriented capitalism” backs models of care delivery that prioritise social value and ethical leadership.

“Purpose is not a slogan; it must be embedded in governance, strategy, and culture.”

If this is a crisis then it is also an opportunity to re-shape, renew and re-orientate – to utilise the innovation, the insight and imagination which is so abundant in the independent care sector to point to a new way of being community.

This is our hope. It is the seed of revolution and change.

It does not march through streets or always make headlines, but it changes lives every single day. It lets people remain rooted in their stories, surrounded by their familiar things, free to live – and not just survive.

So let us see in this crisis – a chance to decide again who we are, what we value, and what kind of Scotland we wish to build.

In a couple of days’ time on the 12th May we will mark International Nurses Day 2025, and once again people will be invited on the birthday of that inspirational pioneer Florence Nightingale, to celebrate the skill, the compassion, and the profound contribution of nurses across the globe.

But as we do so I want to invite us to consider a category and field of nursing that is often ignored and forgotten about – at least in Scotland – namely the contribution of the social care nurse.

They are the nurses who work not in the flashing urgency of emergency rooms, but in the quieter spaces of social care – in care homes, in communities, in the places where people live their last, their first, their everyday moments.

This is a nurse whose workplace is not always a ward but a lounge, a kitchen, a bedroom – places filled with the memories and belongings of a life.

The nurse who knows that caring is not an event or a shift but a relationship woven through countless small encounters, each one layered with trust, vulnerability, and human connection.

Social care nursing as I have written and said on many occasions is distinctive. Often, we struggle to identify that distinctiveness but for ease of argument and at risk of simplification – for me social care nursing is distinctive because of the unique emphasis on human relationships at its heart.

Social care nursing is about profound relationships rather than an encounter. It is about relationships – built carefully, patiently, respectfully over time. It is about becoming known to another human being, and knowing them not just in their illness, but in their fullness: their fears and frailties, yes, but also their laughter, their dreams, their stubborn determination.

It is not about quick fixes or hurried interventions.

It is about presence. It is about patience.

It is about bearing witness to the slow dance of ageing, the gradual progression of dementia, the complexity of lives shaped by trauma, disability, or chronic illness.

Social care nurses are not simply providers of treatment; they are companions of the soul.

They are fluent in the languages of silence, of sadness, of stubborn resilience.

They understand that true care is as much about what cannot be measured as about what can – the reassurance in a glance, the comfort of familiarity, the dignity in the smallest choice which is honoured.

The social care nurse does not simply visit a person; they come alongside a life.

They nurse not just the wound that can be seen, but the grief that lingers unspoken, the loneliness that hangs heavily in the air, the hope that flickers still.

Their practice is clinical excellence infused with human intimacy. Their care is scientific, certainly – but it is also relational, ethical, compassionate.

In a world that prizes speed and efficiency, social care nursing reminds us of another way: the way of deep listening, of consistent presence, of stubborn hope in the face of decline.

It is work that demands and achieves clinical excellence, yes – but also emotional courage, ethical clarity, and relational genius.

To be a nurse in social care is to be entrusted with lives at their most fragile and their most fierce.

It is to tread softly into the private worlds of others, carrying not only knowledge and skill but humility and respect.

It is to know that healing often looks like relationship, like recognition, like being truly seen.

So, when Monday comes – on International Nurses Day, let us say loudly and clearly:

Social care nurses are the beating heart of a compassionate society.

They hold the line of humanity when systems creak and strain.

They remind us that care is not about power but about partnership; not about managing lives but about valuing them.

In social care, nursing is a long walk alongside another’s humanity. It demands more than technical skill: it demands courage, patience, emotional intelligence, moral resilience. It demands the willingness to stay, when staying is hard; to listen, when words are few; to hope, when days are short.

To every nurse working in social care – in care homes, in community supports, in supported living, in day services – thank you.

Thank you for your patience when the world rushes.

Thank you for your courage when others turn away.

Thank you for the relationships you nurture, the rights you uphold, the dignity you protect.

Thank you that you continue despite the strain and stress, the under-resourcing and inadequacy of funding.

You show us, every day, what it means to be truly human.

You are more than nurses; you are guardians of relationship, stewards of trust, ambassadors of love.

Today, and every day, we honour you.

Happy International Nurses Day 2025.

Donald Macaskill

There are a lot of journalists in my extended family and indeed journalism and writing has always been very important within the wider family. At one time as much younger person I even toyed with the idea of becoming a journalist influenced as I was by the heroic endeavours of the Washington Post writers Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward who exposed the scandal of Watergate and played a massive part in the downfall of Nixon.

More recently in my professional life I have had more than most people’s experience of dealing with both print and other media journalists – and by in large it has been a positive experience – because I have found them to be individuals whose primary focus was to enable you to tell your story and if investigation was required for a piece they did so with an approach which was as respectful as possible.

I’ve found myself thinking about journalism as today is World Press Freedom Day or simply World Press Day – as it is each year on the 3rd of May. It is a moment to reflect on the importance of a free and independent press, the courage of journalists who speak truth to power, and the role of media in holding society to account.

Sadly, as too many know there are parts of the world where the freedom to speak truth to power is one that costs the lives of too many journalists. In 2024, a record number of journalists and media workers lost their lives while performing their duties. According to the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ), at least 124 journalists were killed globally, marking the deadliest year since the organisation began tracking such data over three decades ago.

World Press Day for me is also a moment to ask – whose voices do we not hear? Whose truths remain unspoken? Whose story is rarely told in both printed and visual media?

In the world of social care, we work every day with those whose stories too often remain hidden behind doors marked “vulnerable,” “elderly,” or “complex needs.” We serve people whose words may be soft and quiet or whose communication may not come in familiar forms. People whose voices, whether through age, illness, disability, or marginalisation, are too easily ignored in the national conversation.

In Scotland, as I have stated often – we pride ourselves on being a nation of compassion and community. But compassion must include the act of listening – really listening – to those on the margins. A truly free society is not only one where the press can publish without fear, but one where all voices are amplified, especially those who experience silence imposed not by censorship or deliberate design, but by neglect and invisibility.

I think of the individuals I’ve met in care homes who have led rich lives – teachers, poets, nurses, labourers – now facing the end of life almost unnoticed and some with so much to say but no one interested in listening. I think of the incredible care staff, often undervalued and overworked, whose experiences should shape public policy, yet they rarely find space in national debate. I think of unpaid carers who give their days and dreams to support those they love, rarely asked for their opinion by decision-makers.

Right across social care services there are stories that rarely see the light. Stories of resilience, of love and heartbreak, of injustice and of quiet triumph. Stories that tell us more about the soul of our society than any press release or political speech.

But these stories are not often told – because the individuals who live them are too often viewed as recipients of care, not as narrators of their own lives.

At the same time the media narrative about social care remains stubbornly stuck in crisis. And I must confess I probably in part have been responsible for contributing to those column inches.

Social care appears in the news when things go wrong. When budgets are slashed. When someone dies. When a ‘scandal’ breaks. Rarely are we told of the joy in care homes, of the laughter when someone is supported in their own home, of the small, sacred moments of connection between carer and supported person. They are not ‘news’ – they are the ordinariness of relationship as being in community.

I think we need a new kind of press freedom – one that seeks out not just political controversy, but human truth.

We need journalists who will sit beside someone who uses social care and ask not what’s broken, but what matters to you?

We need editors who will give column inches to care workers, who will treat the voices of people who use services with the same weight they give to ministers and CEOs.

We need a Scotland where the press plays its part in ensuring that care is not only reported but understood.

Because in a truly free society, everyone’s story matters.

So, on this World Press Freedom Day, I certainly want to fight for the protection of journalists around the world but also want to shout out for the amplification of those whose stories go untold.

The freedom of the press is not simply the right to publish. It is the duty to listen.

And if we are brave enough to listen to the voices in social care, we might just learn something profound about who we are, and who we could become as individuals and as a society.

I leave you with some of the words of an American poet Patricia A Fleming. Raised in Trenton, New Jersey, she pursued a career as a psychiatric social worker, dedicating 36 years to supporting individuals facing mental health challenges. Upon retiring in 2016, Fleming rekindled her passion for writing, channelling her life experiences into poetry that offers inspiration and solace to readers. She has argued that it is critical that those on the margins must be given opportunities to tell their story and know that it is seen and being listened to. In December 2023, Fleming published her first poetry collection titled Being Human In This Crazy World.

The following poem encapsulates the power of storytelling, especially in the context of personal experience and resilience,

The Legacy of My Words

By Patricia A. Fleming

My words are like my heartbeat.

They tell the world that I’m alive.

They recite the tale of who I am

And of all I have survived.

My words reveal my deepest pain.

They betray my greatest fears.

They share moments of my laughter,

As well as moments filled with tears.

They are the legacy I leave behind

When my time on earth is through.

They’ll offer others hope and strength

To help them make it too.

So I’ll write my words with courage,

And I’ll speak them loud and clear,

For in the telling of my story,

I find my purpose here.

https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/the-legacy-of-my-words

Donald Macaskill

“It is more than just a jag for some of us it has meant a new lease of life.”

Those were comments which I heard many years ago from someone who every year had been faced with debilitating respiratory conditions and for whom vaccinations had made a huge difference to their quality of life.

They came to mind to me recently when I read on the BBC a story which showed that there had been a massive increase in deaths this past winter as a result of the flu. National Records of Scotland data for the first 14 weeks of this year showed that the flu was the underlying cause in 463 deaths. In the same period last year there were 240. As well as these an additional 567 recorded deaths have had flu mentioned on the death certificate so far in 2025.

These are huge numbers but more than that these are lives of people of all ages some of which could have been prevented had individuals only been vaccinated. Campaign groups like Asthma and Lung Scotland argued that a decision to raise vaccination eligibility to 65 meant an additional half a million people were not offered the jab this winter. Flu deaths are at the highest number since 1979.

Information from Public Health Scotland shows overall flu vaccinations this winter are down by a fifth compared to the previous winter, with over 350,000 fewer vaccines administered. In 2023/24, almost 1.65m people received a flu vaccine, with numbers falling to under 1.3m in winter 2024/25.

This strikes me as a worrying and concerning trend which clearly needs to be addressed as a matter of urgency.

World Immunisation Week runs from the 24^th to the 30^th April. Run under the auspices of the World Health Organisation (WHO) it aims to highlight the collective action needed to promote the use of vaccines to protect people of all ages against disease. ‘The ultimate goal of World Immunization Week is for more people – and their communities – to be protected from vaccine-preventable diseases.’

There is something profoundly symbolic about a vaccine. A tiny vial. A momentary pain. And yet it speaks volumes – of science, of solidarity, of hope. This World Immunisation Week, I want to focus not just on the immunological mechanics of vaccination, but on what I personally consider to be the moral imperative it carries, especially for those who are older in our communities.

The low and declining levels of vaccine uptake are and should be a considerable matter of societal and public health concern, not least for our older population.

We have come through years in which misinformation has taken root like an invasive weed within our public discourse. Anti-vaccination sentiment has not only reared its head in dark corners of the internet and social media platforms, but it has been given a voice, if not a megaphone – even in positions of power.

The recent data which has revealed a concerning increase in deaths linked to seasonal flu are not just numbers. These are lives. Mothers, fathers, carers, grandparents. People who contributed to the common good for decades. People who have earned the right to live with dignity and with every protection that our modern world can offer.

I am increasingly concerned that despite the fact that we have the vaccines, that we have the expertise to prevent more deaths through targeted immunisation programmes that we seem to lack a clinical and political priority, and to lack, at times, the collective will to address what feels like a failure.

Let’s be clear: vaccines save lives. The data is irrefutable. Vaccination against flu, COVID-19, shingles, and pneumococcal disease drastically reduces hospital admissions, long-term complications, and yes, death. But even more than that – it protects the experience of ageing. It protects community, continuity, and connection. It protects stories, memories, and wisdom that we so often say we value – and then forget to act to preserve.

When we allow anti-vaccination rhetoric to go unchallenged – whether it comes from TikTok pseudoscience or from high-ranking officials – we risk turning a blind eye to preventable harm. We risk undermining one of the most successful public health interventions in human history. We risk failing those who trusted us to care.

This World Immunisation Week it is a matter of urgency and priority that every policymaker, every care professional, every family member: reclaim the societal narrative. Let’s drown out the noise with compassion and facts. Let’s centre older people in our public health planning – not as afterthoughts, but as equal citizens whose protection matters.

I am increasingly of the view that we need a campaign in Scotland that is bold, inclusive, and deeply human. One that does not patronise but empowers. One that is shaped by the voices of older people themselves, by care workers on the front line, and by community leaders. A campaign that does not whisper but shouts: Vaccination is protection. Vaccination is solidarity. Vaccination is love in action.

Too often in the last couple of years in particular we have whispered the benefits of vaccination and have reduced the fiscal spend on advertising and promotion. Too often I hear the phrase ‘vaccine fatigue’ without the counter argument that you address fatigue not by walking away but by enabling concerns to be addressed and improving access and accessibility. I am not at all convinced that we have made it easier to access vaccines – in fact I think we have made it harder. If I am honest the world of winter vaccines now is massively complicated whether it is for Covid or for flu. See a recent BBC information site as an example of this complexity.

The Scottish Government minister Maree Todd is recently quoted on the BBC as stating that:

‘ “vaccine fatigue” and “anti-vax sentiment” may also have played a part in reduced vaccine uptake.

The minister said there was high uptake from children and those at high risk, but there was “poor uptake from adults right across the board”.

She said the government would “certainly reflect” in the coming months on the decision to exclude the 50 to 64 age group.

“The JCVI look very carefully at the evidence and made the recommendations according to the clinical evidence,” she added.

“I think its very wise for governments to pay attention to the experts in this area and absolutely we listen very carefully to the recommendations that the JCVI gives us and follow them.” ‘

Inevitably as with any public health intervention there is a cost/benefit analysis. We have, I feel, to argue within the wider public arena that such assessments cannot solely be based on clinical benefit alone, but upon wider sociological and communitarian grounds, and in addressing systemic and subtle discriminatory practice.

Vaccines are not just a health tool. They are a human right. Let’s honour that -together. We cannot afford another winter where deaths from flu increase unnecessarily. We must protect those we can regardless of circumstance or age. That requires consistent and coordinated effort and World Immunisation Week strikes me as a good time to start.

Donald Macaskill

Photo by John Cameron on Unsplash