State of Neglect

Whitehall, 25th November 2010. The big clear up is almost complete after a demo the previous day which despite a slew of glorious moments will, almost certainly, be remember most fondly by connoisseurs, for the 'poking of the duchess' incident. By mid afternoon when I cycled past only superficial scars remain. The serene elegance of the Foreign Office has been temporarily disturbed by three words of  graffiti fashioned out of spidery writing and hot pink spray paint - Smash The State. I know what the writer meant by this and emotionally I'm sympathetic, but intellectually I need more. I'm beginning to think that far from smashing the state what we should be giving it is a hot bath, a sharp haircut and a stiff drink. After all if you want to see the end of the state just sit back; the current government are busy sorting that out as we speak. Admittedly they won't be smashing it, but they will be systematically draining it of it's life blood, until it is left zombie like and pugnacious, capable only of the most perfunctory task, such as breaking up demonstrations of dissenters, for the sake of a handy example.

When I think of the way the state is routinely denigrated and derided it puts me in mind of those terrible stories of animal cruelty which occasionally emerge when we are treated to the harrowing sight of a poor creature, dazed and wounded staggering into harsh daylight. Open your eyes and ask what state your state is truly in. We have neglected it horribly. Starved it one day, only to force feed it the next. Allowed it to become infested by parasitical opportunists. Dragged it round the world for no clear purpose. Ignored it's successes and beaten it mercilessly whenever it failed to deliver.

It's no mystery why MPs were found with their smooth, pale hands in the public purse when you think about it. The state is being run by people who don't actually believe in it. Do we really think they would have been quite so eager to drink from it's wounds if they demonstrated, or better still, if we demanded, some degree of reverence towards the institutions we jointly own and must be ultimately accountable for?

I'm sick of the snide cries of 'nanny state' which go up now almost as often as the moronic chant 'that's it's political correctness gone mad'. One day you may actually see political correctness lose it's mind completely and on that day you'll be begging for a nanny state to come and pick you up and tuck you into bed and tell you everything is going to be alright. Until that day dawns ruminate on the fact that most of the nanny state stories are prompted by institutions attempting to protect themselves from over-litigious, greedy chancers looking to rip their lump from the carcass because they're too stupid to realise, before they get up and try and walk away, that it was their own leg the were happily tucking into all the time.

We have been sold the myth for too long that the state is incapable of fulfilling any function satisfactorily. Is that really the case? Let's glance back at recent history and ask ourselves if it was market forces which commanded the victory over fascism in the Second World War? Was it multinationals that helped to forge a sense of common purpose during the Blitz? Did they ever consider the idea of contracting-out Operation Overlord? No, it was all done by the state and overall I don't think it did do too bad a job. This may all sound uncomfortably jingoistic for some of the comrades, but it's really not. This isn't about flag waving; it's about acknowledging that a nation is a political body and that the state is the responsibly of it's citizens. It is indicative of their collective values. And if it's not indicative of their collective values then it's indicative of their collective failure to assert sufficient control over it.

The state is a fact of life and one we should all get used to. Let the far-right wing of the Tory party waste their time in constructing ideological models of just how much flesh can be cut from it's weary bones if they must. The progressives need to concentrating on how to resurrect this much maligned enterprise, transforming it into a noble beast of burden, harnessed by law and custom, piloted by the popular will, fuelled by prudent and fair taxation, charged with championing unity through diversity and protecting the social stability of the nation. Does that sound utopian and idealistic? Good. It was meant to. Since when was dreaming for more than you're likely to get something to be ashamed of?

I am not arguing that we should abandon ourselves wholesale to the whim of the state or that we should curtail our legitimate criticisms of it's deficiencies. In fact quite the reverse. However, I do think we should build it's existence into our political calculations, accept that it is not by definition a bad thing and that it is our duty to wrestle with the idea of a common good in the hope that one day our state may genuinely reflect it.

Now about those banks we own...

Political Debating Made Easy Pt 1

In this increasingly manic world it's often hard to find time to hear yourself think just to stand still. If you are of a naturally conservative disposition, but find most of your waking hours are taken up sitting in places where you make money, standing in places where you spend it and driving between the two, then you are unlikely to have the time to construct robust, coherent arguments to defend your increasingly embattled opinions. Fear not, for this is your handy guide to seeing off a chippy lefty without breaking a sweat. Simply follow these rules:

1. If they look poor, accuse them of the "politics of envy"

2. If they look rich, accused them of being a "champagne socialist".

3. If they look neither particularly rich nor particularly poor then point out that human nature is intrinsically selfish and violent and make it clear that if they don't agree with you, you'll hit them and steal their wallet, just to prove the point.

4. Now quickly retreat from the conversation happy in the knowledge that being smug and reactionary requires absolutely no effort whatsoever. Job done!

Holding Up the Bride's Train

A half-formed story floated down the polluted, yet fast flowing, river of the news media this week. It dipped and bobbed about a bit and then disappeared beneath the surface. Whether it will emerge again remains to be seen.

It was the story of a possible tube strike on the day of the wedding of William Windsor to Kate Middleton on April 29th (RSVP). Reading between the lines evidence of this threat appeared to be fairly scant, with ASLEF, the union in question declaring that although they could not rule out the possibility, they had not yet discussed the issue and that in their opinion the possibility of a walk-out on the the extra-special day was a "remote chance".

However, let's for the sake of fun assume there is traction in these rumours and that having smacked Boxing Day hard around the face, ASLEF are now preparing to give to give the royal wedding a particularly nasty Chinese burn. Pretty despicable tactics you'll probably conclude and understandably you'll find the phrase 'holding us to ransom' almost indispensable when discussing the issue. What's curious is that commentators never seem to find themselves reaching for that same phrase when discussing the bankers, who regularly remind us that their luggage is packed and they are poised to desert these shores and abandon the nation should anyone so much as consider questioning their preposterous salaries and the fat bonuses they pile on top. Instead a different phrase is deployed, this time aimed not at the bankers, but at their critics who it transpires are fuelled by the 'politics of envy'. Those who criticise the unions, however are never tarred with this ugly brush. Funny that.

Of course the two scenarios are in many ways very different and it would be absurd to not to acknowledge that, however I think valid parallels can be teased out. Consider the fact that the arguments extended in favour of the bankers are almost always pragmatic. No one seriously argues that the bankers actually deserve the money they take home in any moral sense. Oh yes, there is idle talk of how hard they work and I'm certain they do, but the point is a weak one and the cheerleaders of the square mile know it. Lots of people work hard at lots of things; few are remunerated in quite such a lavish way. No, the real argument is that if we don't let them have what they want they'll swan off to Switzerland or Dubai or somewhere equally charmless to emit their smoke and erect their mirrors, and then where would UK PLC be without all the revenue they magically generate? Buggered, goes the argument and they may well be right.

And then when we ask, why are the sums they can demand are so astronomic, the only answer that seems forthcoming is, because the deals they are coordinating are of such epic size that when they take their modest cut, the cut is, never the less, by definition, gargantuan. The thinnest slice of the largest pie is still a banquet by most peoples standards.

Explanations, but not justifications. It's not that they are attempting to justify and failing; they simply don't feel the need to try. What's fascinating is that no one seems in the slightest bit ashamed to admit their only affiliation is to financial gain. The free market is the finally arbiter of what goes and what does not. The question of whether it is just, is not even raised, because justice is a concept that is only meaningful to a community and we don't really do community any more. Not since the spell was cast.

And what of the tube drivers? Well, here's my point, why shouldn't they behave within exactly the same amoral parameters as the bankers? Why shouldn't they view the coming nuptials as nothing more than a fat pie from which they can exact a thin slice just because they're in a position to do so, just because they're capable of ruining it for the nation if we don't agree to their demands? No reason at all, unless, of course, we ask of them that which the bankers refuse to contemplate; that they consider interests other than their own. Personally, although no royalist myself, I rather hope they do.

It is not I think as easy as suggesting that we have become more greedy. People have always been greedy. It is that the cultural conventions which once fettered and muzzled that greed are, each day, worn a little weaker.

Of Cant & Incantation

There was an undeniable turbulence about the month of October 1987. In the early hours of the 16th England was pummelled by the worst storm since 1703. The hurricane force wind seemed to shriek with a malevolent glee as it ripped off terracotta roofing tiles and uprooted noble trees. Two days later, on what became known as Black Monday, the markets were spooked and rattled by circumstances which to this days have never been adequately explained and are possibly best regarded as early proof of the existence of voodoo economics. If this had been a film these tempestuous events might have acted as foreshadowing for some unholy act of sorcery, suggesting the troubled stirring of the ether before a diabolic enchantment was given voice and power by a zealous necromancer of extraordinary potency.


On the last day of that month, an interview with the then Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, was published in Woman's Own magazine. The 31st of October  is a day celebrated by some as Halloween. One phrase from the interview transcript would gain infamous status; "There is no such thing as society". 


Out of context it remains a particularly stark and shocking assertion. In context a marginally more benign light is shed on her pronouncement, for what Margaret was attempting to explore was the notion that  society can of itself be expected to solve any given problem, when it is actually nothing more remarkable than a large numbers of separate persons. She is in effect rejecting the glib response sometimes offered in the face of a prickly issue, that it is ' society's fault'. "There are individual men and women and there are families and no government can do anything except through people and people look to themselves first" she explained.  She has a point, but not, I think, a good one.  This is a bit like asserting that there is no such thing as a forest, for a forest is actually just a collection of individual trees.  Indeed if it did follow that society did not exist because it was comprised of individuals, then presumably she would happily concede that there was no such thing as an audience, a crowd, a conference, a congregation, a constituency, a party or, for that matter, a nation.  She really should have thought it through.


I'm certain after the article was published the professional politicians made of it what they could; the left using it as a stick to poke the premier, the right conceding that whilst the wording might be a trifle clumsy,  they had nothing but scorn for the way it had been twisted and spun. But I don't suppose that anyone realised the true significance; for in retrospect it now seems certain a spell was cast. Part mantra, part curse, the words permeated our subconscious and began to eat away at something fundamental about who we thought we were.  Perhaps she was right. Perhaps there was no such thing as society. Perhaps everyone else understood this and it was only you that still clung to some misguided notion of community. I bet they're laughing at you now. Sniggering behind their hands. They don't care about you. And if they don't care about you, why the hell should you give a damn about them? Any of them.


The real tragedy of this story is that however tempting it might be to portray  Margaret Thatcher as some sort of satanic manifestation, I suspect in reality she may have been closer to the character Professor Knowby who featured in the movie Evil Dead II, in that very same year.  As you will no doubt recall it is the Professor who recites a passage into a microphone and in doing so inadvertently summons all manner of demonic mayhem and grief. Like the Professor, Maggie was just too bound up in her own self delusion to understand what hellish future she was ushering in. So blinded was she by her sense of ideological destiny that she failed to understand that the rational response when faced by increasing social ills is not to deny society, but to strengthen it.

The Ghosts of Monsters

In the political sphere there are monsters and there are ghosts and then there are ghosts of monsters.


By monsters you maybe he thinking I'm referring to the despotic and tyrannical figures whose crimes pollute the pages of every historical period; cruel emperors, savage monarchs, demented autocrats all bloated with egotism and constipated by paranoia. I will not honour them with a role call. Certainly the way these leaders have acted is monstrous, but they are not monsters, at least not by my definition. Monsters are more than human and these pompous bullies were not; indeed arguably they were often less.


The monsters of which I speak may be fed and fashioned by humanity but their reach is further, their power more potent and their potential longevity vastly superior to than of any individual, for these monsters are movements, political movements. Now this is not to say that all political movements will become monsters, any more than we would conclude that all leaders are destined to be monstrous. But some certainly will.


I'm thinking here particularly of the Behemoth and Leviathan of the twentieth century; fascism and communism, strident collectivist doctrines who became synonymous with the repression of individualism and the worship of uniformity. There is not time here to go into detail of their histories, but I would argue that communism, whatever the sometimes appalling reality, was born out of genuinely noble theory, whilst fascism was always more about feeding a fear than chasing a dream. Still they both ended up rotting in the same historical dustbin. Discarded social experiments which the respectable politicians which now operate in their wake have been all to keen to avoid the stench of. And understandably; for which progressive left wing party would want to be tarred with the unforgiving brush of Stalinism and which modern right wing party would wish to be tainted by the cancerous stain of the Nazi legacy. So our politics have marched on and away from those lunatic creeds with such determination that we now have great difficulty understanding how someone could or would get caught up in such a bizarre enterprise.


However monsters, even slain monsters, throw long shadows. We may believe we have escaped their sinister pull, but look more carefully and you will find their ghosts still walk among us and exert influence, only not quite in the way you might imagine. My belief is that so hasty has been our desire to expunge the memory of these two political monsters that we have jettisoned the very notion of collective politics itself. Right and left have inadvertently conspired in the dismantling of any sense of the body politic. The Tories may pay lips service to the concept of the nation, but it always feels that they're just going through the motions for old time's sake. The Labour Party may extol the need for social justice, but always stops short of admitting that a virile state is the only body which can deliver it. So what are we left with; a tyranny of the individual, a rending of the bonds of community, the slow fading of the ink on the social contract.


The monsters do not threaten us, but their ghosts do. So terrified are we that we may forget the lesson that ideological monsters are large and strong and can quickly become intoxicated by the adoration of a crowd, we now find the idea that there is value in standing together in the name of any common cause or common culture laughable. But it is a hollow laugh and if you listen to it carefully you may hear it crack with fear.

A Theory the Length of a Street

A few weeks back I found myself cycling up Whitehall. The lights ahead of me had changed in my favour, but a man was just starting to cross. I slowed down and making eye contact indicated he could pass safely. Was there...? There was something familiar about him. Bowl me over if it wasn't Will Hutton, economic pundit extraordinaire and former editor-in-chief of the Observer. Taller than I'd imagined, but otherwise undeniably the auger and savant who regularly graces the studios of the more analytical news programmes.

"You're Will Hutton" I observed pulling over and dismounting. He agreed warily and asked who I was. No one of any great import I assured him before, in a curious moment of spontaneity and eccentricity, I began to share with him my theory. It seemed the perfect opportunity for I had a theory and a theory is a thing to be shared. This particular theory had been born out of slow rumination, frantic dialectics, ugly events, abandoned philosophy and serendipitous dreaming . Together these elements had fused and fulminated within the roomy, gloomy seclusion of my mind into something which I felt almost certain was a theory. Almost.

The question was would it, like a pit pony, ghost train or roll of old film, turn out to lose its vision, power and purpose once exposed to the harsh light of scrutiny, once spoken out loud.

I only had the length of King Charles Street - the direction in which he was heading - to try and explain it and to discover the truth. I'm certain much of what I had to say had a garbled intensity which a lesser man might have found alarming. I think it took Will a moment to get over the fact that someone was advancing a bit of home wrought political philosophy with much the same intensity that one imagines Hollywood directors are from time to time subject when cornered by frustrated fans with screenplays to pitch. I babbled on blundering from one point to another and then back again, and on and up and back and then, well then I noticed that he seemed to be nodding; not you understand necessarily in agreement, but with encouragement certainly. "Go on" he muttered when I paused for breath and so I did go on, all the way to the door to which which his business drew him. Perhaps he only feinted interest, perhaps he was just humouring me but actually I think not. In a perfect world I would be able to recall exactly what he said, whereas in truth all I clearly remember now is him using the word 'tight' in reference to my theory and recommending that I read some Hannah Arendt by way of a supplement to my embryonic musings.

This may not seem to the reader a ringing endorsement of my jumbled notions, but then that was never the point. All I needed was a chance to take them out in public and see how they behaved in company. They may not have been perfect; rude, naive and quite possibly clumsy, but I found I was proud enough of them then, to  feel confident now that it is worth sharing them with you. I will, however, refrain from the temptation do it in a garbled hysterical torrent for I am hopeful that you will have the time to come with me a little further than the length of that august side street which runs off Whitehall. However, having done me the courtesy of coming this far I think it would be churlish of me not to give you any idea of what I attempted to impart that fateful day.  I will give my theory in it's simplest and most reduced form; it's essence if you will.

And it is this; that we have forgotten how to think collectively and that that is a very dangerous thing to forget.