I WAS unable to attend Saturday’s austerity demo, but the news coverage took me back to the early days of the Thatcher government. In early 1981, unemployment was soaring to levels unknown since the 1930s, and the west of Scotland was reeling under a blitzkrieg of factory closures. I wasn’t yet 16, but was getting ready to leave school in the summer. And so bleak were these times that instead of looking forward with hope, I was bracing myself for life on the broo.

That February I joined 150,000 people on a protest march through Glasgow. For hours, a great river of humanity paraded along the route from Blythswood Square to Queens Park.

We live in a more wealthy society today than we did back then. The value of Britain’s GDP, adjusted for inflation, is six times more per person in 2015 than in 1981. Yet for those on the lower rungs of society, things have got worse rather than better.

Official unemployment might have been higher back then, but the destruction of the collective strength of the trade union movement means millions more are now living a precarious existence on low pay and zero-hours contracts.

In 1981, a 16-year-old school leaver was entitled to claim unemployment benefit. Today, they receive nothing. And those who do qualify for benefits are, in real terms, worse off than 34 years ago.

I was able to take the number five bus from Castlemilk to the anti-unemployment demo in 1981 because public transport was relatively cheap. On Saturday, many of those most affected by austerity would have been unable to afford the bus fare to travel into Glasgow city centre to join the anti-austerity march.

Child poverty, too, is on the rise. At the most recent count, in 2013, 22 per cent of Scotland’s children were living below the poverty line. By 2020, according to the Institute of Fiscal Studies, that figure will reach 30 per cent – more than the double the level of 1981.

In 1981, not only was higher education free, but students were eligible for maintenance grants worth up to £5,500 in today’s money.

But even then, for people like me, higher education seemed as reachable as Jupiter.

I used to watch a TV programme about young student lawyers. But it only reinforced my sense that this world was not mine. I didn’t have the accent, the clothes, or the desk in a warm room in which to study.

This week I graduate with a Diploma in Legal Practice, after completing a law degree last year. It’s taken three decades to undo the damage done by childhood poverty.

I’ve been lucky. Many of my pals from school succumbed to the heroin that flooded Glasgow in the 1980s, at a time when oblivion seemed to offer a faster way out.

In terms of education, I had equality of opportunity. Like the girls in the posh parts of the south side that I used to see through the window of the number five bus, I could sit exams and gain entrance to higher education.

But how can we have equality of opportunity when there are fee-paying schools?

Or when some children have nowhere to do their homework or read in peace? Or when their parents can’t afford to buy books, or to take them to museums or visitor centres? Or when students from working-class families have to work long hours to pay their way through university while others can concentrate on their studies?

Admirably, the SNP Government is crowd-sourcing ideas on how to tackle inequality. For me, that cannot just be about mitigating the effects of poverty after it has already gripped a family for years, maybe generations.

Poverty has to be abolished. That means wealth redistribution. Shying away from that should not be an option.

Bus pass eligibility is too narrow

IN 2006, Jack McConnell’s Labour-LibDem coalition introduced the National Bus Travel Concession Scheme in place of a patchwork of regional concession schemes. That should have been a good thing.

It created a uniform arrangement across Scotland, ironing out inconsistencies and ending disparities. Some local authorities had issued free bus passes to those on the lower rate of Disability Living Allowance, while others had refused.

Unfortunately, the new national scheme failed to level everyone up. Instead, it excluded those on lower-rate DLA.

Now many people whose old cards have expired and are due for renewal are suddenly discovering they don’t qualify for a new pass. For those with significant learning disabilities, this is a devastating blow. They now have to deal with the complexities of making sure they have change for the bus and explaining their destination to the driver. Many people with learning disabilities will never drive a car, or work full-time, or earn much more than the national minimum wage. Yet they will forever be forced to pay full fare on our expensive public transport.

It also means that a 60-year-old man in full-time employment can get a bus pass but his 18-year-old autistic daughter can’t.

I’m all for universality. I’d be up for a publicly funded free transport system for all. But if we are to choose who gets a bus pass, surely people with learning disabilities should be at the front of the queue?

Enable’s Stop the Bus campaign is asking the Scottish

Government to rewrite Labour’s bus-pass rules and give people with learning disabilities their passport to independence. Surely there’s room for manoeuvre here. You can find out how to get on board at www.enable.org.uk