'Rubbish, rats and deadlock': Calls for unity as Birmingham bin strike drags on into another week

Piles of rubbish. Rats in gardens. Six weeks of deadlock.

Birmingham’s ongoing bin strike has become a daily reality for many residents—one that stinks in more ways than one.

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What began as a dispute over job roles and wages has escalated into a full-blown crisis, affecting everything from public health to trust in local leadership.

With no resolution in sight, the city finds itself trapped between a council holding firm and a union refusing to yield.

At the centre of the dispute is the council’s decision to scrap the Waste Recycling and Collection Officer (WRCO) role—a higher-paid position on the back of bin lorries. The council argues that keeping the role would trigger further equal pay claims, insisting it’s outdated and no longer essential.

Unite, the trade union representing the refuse workers, strongly disagrees. They’ve called the role “safety-critical” and say cutting it could leave some workers over £6,000 worse off annually. While the council maintains that no worker needs to lose income—offering alternative roles instead—many on the picket line remain unconvinced.

Meanwhile, rubbish continues to pile up in neighbourhoods like Sparkhill and Aston, where residents say the council’s “real progress” in clearing backlogs is nowhere to be seen. Community volunteers have stepped in to do the job themselves—removing waste ahead of events and helping elderly neighbours deal with infestations.

In response to mounting pressure, the council temporarily suspended its controversial pest control fee—nicknamed the "rat tax"—but for many, it was too little, too late.

The strike has also laid bare the city’s economic divide. While more affluent suburbs remain relatively clean, it’s the densely populated, lower-income areas that are shouldering the burden of missed collections and mounting waste.

Concerns have also grown over the use of agency workers. With nearly 500 temporary staff now covering the refuse routes, some suspect the council is using them to dilute the impact of the strike, further fuelling resentment on the ground.

Council leader John Cotton says the door to negotiation remains open. But with both sides firmly entrenched in their own realities, the prospect of meaningful dialogue feels increasingly remote.

Until compromise is reached, black bags will continue to mount—not just in alleyways and gardens, but in the minds of a weary public. The cost of this standoff is more than financial. It’s in health, in trust, and in the patience of a city tired of cleaning up after a mess not of its own making.