Getting Mobile
We’re always learning — or at least we should be. But judging by the noise in the UK press lately about Motability cars, a lot of people would rather stay angry than spend a minute understanding how the system actually works.
Recently we had Kirsty Allsopp kicking off because Michael Rosen claimed a free bus pass, while conveniently ignoring that her friend David Cameron, when he was Prime Minister, claimed disability benefit for his son despite being extremely wealthy. And he was absolutely entitled to it, because disability benefits are needs-based, not means-tested. The mobility component of PIP works the same way, but people seem determined to forget that because it doesn’t suit the outrage narrative.
The mobility component gives a fixed monthly amount to help a disabled person get around. It doesn’t have to be used on a car. It can go to taxis, accessible transport, or running a vehicle they already own. Some people choose to lease a car through the Motability scheme because it’s predictable, reliable, and handles maintenance and insurance. It’s very straightforward: you check what’s available, go to a dealer, and order. Motability simply takes your mobility payment as the lease cost.
The bit that always seems to set people off is when someone gets a BMW or an Audi. But the reason is simple: Motability cars come with either zero advance payment or an advance payment that the claimant pays themselves. If someone has savings—or supportive family—they can put down a bigger advance payment to get a higher-end car. If they don’t, they’ll choose something with no upfront cost. It’s not a case of “being given a luxury car”; it’s a case of “using your benefit plus your own money to lease something suitable.”
There’s also a financial reality people ignore: higher-value cars retain their value better. When Motability sells them after three years, the scheme earns more money. That money helps run the scheme and reduces the cost to the government. Removing those cars would actually cost more, but instead of learning that, a lot of people jump straight to: “They’re getting something I’m not.” That’s where politics slides into resentment instead of understanding.
Motability has actually become more restrictive over the years. People used to be able to extend their lease to five years, and they could even buy the car at the end. Those options have been removed. Now leases are fixed at three years, the car must go back, and if someone has expensive adaptations, they have to get them reinstalled every time. That’s not a luxury—it’s a disruption for disabled people whose needs haven’t changed.
Electric cars add a whole other layer. Everyone likes to pretend EVs solve everything, but small EVs often don’t even reach 200 miles per charge, and in cold weather that can drop to around 120. The charging network isn’t where it needs to be. Meanwhile, a tiny petrol car like my Aygo comfortably does 350–400 miles on a tank. For many disabled drivers who rely on routine, predictability, and not being stranded, EVs simply aren’t practical yet.
Rachel Reeves is painting those with a mobility car as problematic if they drive higher-end cars, and seems to in turn not give a favourable or honest vision of those claiming benefits. It feels like shallow political point-scoring aimed at clawing back voters from Reform by feeding into resentment rather than correcting it. It certainly doesn’t help the public understand the scheme.
Modern politics has become Soundbite City. Outrage travels, nuance doesn’t. And the people who rely on these systems get caught in the crossfire.
The truth is simple: the Motability scheme is a needs-based, tightly controlled system that gives disabled people independence. It’s funded partly by reselling the cars. It includes higher-value brands because they financially benefit the scheme. It’s actually more restrictive than it used to be. And for many disabled people, it’s a lifeline, not a luxury. Turning that into a moral failing is dishonest, cruel, and wildly out of touch.
In these times its easy to forget that we should treat others the way we’d like to be treated.
Recently we had Kirsty Allsopp kicking off because Michael Rosen claimed a free bus pass, while conveniently ignoring that her friend David Cameron, when he was Prime Minister, claimed disability benefit for his son despite being extremely wealthy. And he was absolutely entitled to it, because disability benefits are needs-based, not means-tested. The mobility component of PIP works the same way, but people seem determined to forget that because it doesn’t suit the outrage narrative.
The mobility component gives a fixed monthly amount to help a disabled person get around. It doesn’t have to be used on a car. It can go to taxis, accessible transport, or running a vehicle they already own. Some people choose to lease a car through the Motability scheme because it’s predictable, reliable, and handles maintenance and insurance. It’s very straightforward: you check what’s available, go to a dealer, and order. Motability simply takes your mobility payment as the lease cost.
The bit that always seems to set people off is when someone gets a BMW or an Audi. But the reason is simple: Motability cars come with either zero advance payment or an advance payment that the claimant pays themselves. If someone has savings—or supportive family—they can put down a bigger advance payment to get a higher-end car. If they don’t, they’ll choose something with no upfront cost. It’s not a case of “being given a luxury car”; it’s a case of “using your benefit plus your own money to lease something suitable.”
There’s also a financial reality people ignore: higher-value cars retain their value better. When Motability sells them after three years, the scheme earns more money. That money helps run the scheme and reduces the cost to the government. Removing those cars would actually cost more, but instead of learning that, a lot of people jump straight to: “They’re getting something I’m not.” That’s where politics slides into resentment instead of understanding.
Motability has actually become more restrictive over the years. People used to be able to extend their lease to five years, and they could even buy the car at the end. Those options have been removed. Now leases are fixed at three years, the car must go back, and if someone has expensive adaptations, they have to get them reinstalled every time. That’s not a luxury—it’s a disruption for disabled people whose needs haven’t changed.
Electric cars add a whole other layer. Everyone likes to pretend EVs solve everything, but small EVs often don’t even reach 200 miles per charge, and in cold weather that can drop to around 120. The charging network isn’t where it needs to be. Meanwhile, a tiny petrol car like my Aygo comfortably does 350–400 miles on a tank. For many disabled drivers who rely on routine, predictability, and not being stranded, EVs simply aren’t practical yet.
Rachel Reeves is painting those with a mobility car as problematic if they drive higher-end cars, and seems to in turn not give a favourable or honest vision of those claiming benefits. It feels like shallow political point-scoring aimed at clawing back voters from Reform by feeding into resentment rather than correcting it. It certainly doesn’t help the public understand the scheme.
Modern politics has become Soundbite City. Outrage travels, nuance doesn’t. And the people who rely on these systems get caught in the crossfire.
The truth is simple: the Motability scheme is a needs-based, tightly controlled system that gives disabled people independence. It’s funded partly by reselling the cars. It includes higher-value brands because they financially benefit the scheme. It’s actually more restrictive than it used to be. And for many disabled people, it’s a lifeline, not a luxury. Turning that into a moral failing is dishonest, cruel, and wildly out of touch.
In these times its easy to forget that we should treat others the way we’d like to be treated.
