Poverty in the United Kingdom is often reduced to statistics and headlines, yet behind every number sits a person navigating fragility, rising costs, and decisions that would test any of us. Our conversation with Judith Moran, director of Quaker Social Action, opens a clearer view: poverty as insufficient resources to meet minimum needs, including social participation. That framing matters because it moves the focus from survival alone to dignity and agency. Judith’s early life in a pit village, shaped by caregiving and precarity, informs an approach rooted in empathy and practical action. QSA’s 150-year arc from Victorian philanthropy to co-creation with communities shows how services evolve when curiosity replaces certainty and when listening guides design.
This ethos shows up in how QSA funds innovation. Unrestricted support from Quaker donors buys time to experiment, research, and iterate—gold dust in a charity sector bound by restricted grants. The result is agile responses to entrenched problems: the “Down to Earth” service helps people on low incomes arrange affordable, meaningful funerals, born from listening to a young man whose grief collided with rent arrears and job loss. That single story revealed a system gap: after a death, the only consistent guides were funeral directors, not independent support. By mapping that gap, QSA built a national service and then pushed for wider change, moving from frontline advice to policy influence with credibility built on data and lived experience.
The cost of living crisis and post-pandemic fallout have deepened not only material hardship but also what Judith calls a poverty of hope. When energy bills, housing costs, and insecure jobs intensify strain, empathy can either grow or shrink. Here, language matters. Shifting from blame to systems thinking helps the public see that many who struggle are navigating shocks rather than personal failings. QSA’s practice is to treat people as whole humans with preferences, passions, and potential. The “Turn a Corner” mobile library for people experiencing homelessness works on this principle: reading is not a luxury, it is connection, learning, and self-respect. A book can be a bridge to a conversation that isn’t about a problem label but about taste, curiosity, and trust.
Leadership threads through this work. Judith points to a Quaker maxim—think it possible you may be mistaken—as a compass for decision making, culture, and accountability. It leads to consensus-seeking without paralysis, a refusal of blame culture, and the courage to admit errors quickly. Integrity is not an abstract word here; it shows up in honest communication, attention to human cost, and a willingness to name hard truths. The same stance powers QSA’s long-term approach to equity, diversity, and inclusion: unlearning, learning, and inviting more voices into design and feedback. Rather than a checklist, DEI becomes a practice that reshapes who speaks, who decides, and how services adapt.
Frontline insights only reach their potential when they travel. With Fair Funerals, QSA translated casework into national advocacy, pressing for transparent pricing, fairer public health funerals, and improvements to the funeral expenses payment. Cross-party support and a CMA investigation followed, showing how small charities can move policy when they hold the evidence and the story. Yet the sector now faces a fundraising crunch and existential questions: who should lead, when to collaborate, and when to step back. QSA’s answer is to keep its North Star fixed on dignity, curiosity, and practical impact. Anyone can help: donations, gifts in kind for the mobile library, jobs, volunteering, or corporate partnerships that create value on both sides. The throughline is simple and challenging: listen first, act with care, measure what you can, and trust the ripples you cannot count.