Karen Adam: How we treat the elderly tells us much about our society

The National

2 days ago

I was welcomed with open arms and heard shared stories of lives spent raising families, working locally, and caring for others. Some of them had gone to school in the very places they now live in, worked in the fishing and farming industries, supported the NHS and education sector, or were familiar faces in local community shops before retiring. Many of them had spent their entire lives contributing to their communities. And now, in their twilight years, they ask for just one thing, and that is to stay in the homes and communities they know, with support nearby and companionship around them.
And yet, they're facing the threat of closure, and told, in some cases, by nothing more than a flyer or a vague noticeboard announcement about a 'presentation'. People with hearing impairments. People with cognitive decline. People who didn't fully understand what the 'presentation' was about until they arrived and were told, quite bluntly, that their homes may be closed, and they could be moved elsewhere, perhaps 20 miles away, alone. It's heartbreaking. And it's enraging.
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This, though, highlights something bigger. About how we, as a society, measure our worth. About what kind of Scotland, we are building. Because, for all the policy debates and budget spreadsheets, the real test of a government or a country is how it treats its most vulnerable. And that of course includes our elderly.
I have spoken many times about how we don't wait until independence, how we can create what we want now and let our current values and policy shape our independent nation. And this should be a priority, for our wellbeing economy.
In those complexes, what I saw wasn't just bricks and mortar. It was a community. It was resilience. It was, dare I say it, exactly the kind of future many of us hope for. One of the workers I spoke to said it reminded her of The Golden Girls, these strong, funny women living together, supporting one another, full of spirit and kindness. But behind the humour is something deeply serious, and that's that these women, and men too, were not just living there, they were thriving.
That kind of support, peer support, community care, shared spaces, warm chats in communal lounges, cannot be replicated by handing someone a grant and sending them to live alone in a private flat miles away. And yet, that is the direction some local authority decisions are taking us.
We are told closures are about saving money. But that's a false economy. Because we know that loneliness and isolation among older people have a direct impact on health, leading to more GP appointments and higher hospital admissions. According to the Campaign to End Loneliness, loneliness increases the risk of dementia by 40%, and the impact of chronic loneliness is comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes a day.
So I have to ask, what are we saving, really, if we end up paying so much more in health and crisis support down the line? One crucial point that an activist who is fighting to keep these complexes open made is that these decisions made in budgetary isolation may save a housing budget some cash, but what about the impact on other areas to pick up costs? Surely this should have a holistic spending approach.
Instead of shutting the doors on sheltered housing, we should be flinging them open. Investing in them. Modernising them. Replicating them across Scotland as part of our vision for a wellbeing economy.
An economy that values not just profit, but people's quality of life, health, happiness, and community connection.
Scotland has an ageing population. It's a fact. And it's one we need to plan for not with fear, but with compassion and vision. What if we saw assisted living not as a burden, but as a brilliant idea for the future of care? What if we offered that model, not just to the elderly, but to others too? What if intergenerational living spaces, communal kitchens, shared gardens and social hubs were part of how we solved housing issues, isolation, and mental health decline all in one go?
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The Scottish Government has been leading in embedding well-being into policy thinking. And we've made progress.
But stories like the ones I've heard this week remind me how fragile that progress is when local council decisions, or Westminster-imposed funding constraints, undermine the values we hold dear. We can't build a wellbeing economy on crumbling foundations. We must fight to protect and enhance the community infrastructure that delivers that wellbeing in real terms. Sheltered housing is one part of that.
Community centres, libraries, bus routes, local surgeries, and social care are all other. They're not extras, they're the glue that holds people together, especially in later life.
And this isn't just about 'doing the right thing' for older people, it's also about asking ourselves what kind of future we want. Because all of us are growing older, and most of us, I suspect, would rather spend our later years in a warm, welcoming, communal space with friends than in isolated private accommodation miles from everything we've ever known.
One of the women I met said to me: 'We've looked after others our whole lives. Now we just want to be allowed to look after each other.'
That stayed with me. Because it speaks to something we sometimes forget, that people are not passive recipients of care. They are active citizens with stories, strength, and something to give.
A truly caring society doesn't shut that down. It nurtures it. It invests in it. It sees community living not as a relic of the past, but as a blueprint for the future.
Let's not abandon the spaces where people find joy and dignity. Let's build more of them. Let's value what really matters.