A reflection on my Atos review and thoughts about economic sanctions

When I went for my ATOS review in Brighton 3-4 years ago, I had never seen so many broken people (mostly men) of my age range in one place. Most had either alcohol or drug issues. That was very plain to see. Some were seriously disabled. Some were mentally disabled. For some some it was invisible condition  like mine.
It seemed to me -at the time- and in reflection now that this generation -my generation- were scrapped by the system. 
These people were broken. They were grown men crying into their hands. Shaking in despair. The room itself was like a huge Dr's waiting room, filled with molded plastic chairs and broken cushions the floor was tiled brown, and the lighting came from florescent tubes embedded into the ceiling. Along the right hand wall were four sets of doors and one glass panel behind which where one over thin woman with auburn hair looked decidedly stressed swearing at anyone who approached her; and muttering into her phone. 
The smell of the room was the hardest thing.It smelt like rotting meat. Rotting pork. I have never smelt decaying human flesh before, but if it had an odour that would be the smell I would equate with it. I engaged with two men, one who could barely speak the other shaking violently. I tried to explain that it would be alright, but my words sounded hollow. 
There was another feeling in the room too, and looking back, I can identify it with how I feel -or have felt for the last few days- It was the sensation of defeat, despair and hopelessness. It was palpable, and it tasted horriffic.
When I faced my review, it was not by a doctor or any one medical. It was by a computer screen who had a plump greasy skinned woman in front of it. I recall she wore her hair in a tight bun on top. I still can still recall the tiny room. No medical equipment, not even a set of scales. Just blue walls, a window at the far end, to the busy Brighton streets outside. The same brown tiles on the floor, and a single veneered desk on which the PC screen rested and the woman sat opposite it.
I was not asked to sit, I simply sat down. 
Taped to the the desk, with cellofix was a sheet of white paper, upon which were sentences of various sizes. I was asked to give my National insurance number and read from the paper, which I did. I was also asked to read from another piece of paper on the wall, to the left of the door, which I did not see when I entered the room but became visible once I sat down. Again I did. When I mentioned my condition- epilepsy- she said: 
"Its not my job to discuss conditions" 
I still recall her long teeth glistening from the light coming from the window. Her receding gums and the cold distant eyes in her mocking tone as I tried to explain my condition. 
The "interview" lasted less than five minutes, after which I was thrown into the chaos of the waiting room once more. To my shame I didn't stay that long. 
Why? That is the real question. Why were we left to die? Were we a threat? what was it that we had done that was so wrong? I still don't understand the  why and I don't believe that its about lazy people. That is simply  simplistic; because  if this artice  (Guardian Monday 29/914)  is true, then these people now face even more economic sanctions.
Only one thing comes to mind. It is  that this generation: our generation,  is the generation of the battle of the l Beanfield it is the generation who fought the poll tax and the same generation that wanted the same change a generation before wanted but again failed to do.  The  System hates us, it  loathes  us and wants  us removed.
Being of this age and seeing this was really sad. These people were broken, desperate and left to rot. They were trapped not only by their circumstance and their inability to free themselves to get what they wanted for themselves  or from their self destructive behavior. They were  also  broken  by a system that said "well if you don't  like  business, then fuck off because we don't want you."
This is not one generation but two, possibly three. All now destined -not for support- but for destruction. 
Its easy to say pull your britches up and move on. But that will not make jobs appear, for people who simply don't know how to fit in, because for the last 25 years they were told that they didn't matter.Moreover, If you have this feeling of worthlessness perpetuated by the state, then you end up believing it and essentially giving up, because what is the point of living if no one wants you. 
The fact is these people matter. In turn I matter. I have something to contribute.It might not be what the system wants, but I do. I MATTER AND SO DID EVERYBODY IN THAT ROOM. 
Finally its one thing to "police" this. Its another to do something credible to make these people feel value once more. I still believed that Labour's ideas could have worked. It just needs someone with guts to come up with something. We need an Oscar Shindler.