Only obeying orders

It is touching to hear that Margaret Thatcher had to be “urged” to abandon Liverpool to economic decay. And astonishing to be told that this was motivated by the desire to maximise help for the North-East. (See www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-16361170 .)

I could hardly have been more surprised if you’d told me that President Botha and Governor Wallace had to be “urged” into apartheid policies – against their own judgment and conscience, and contrary to their deep love and respect for their black fellow-citizens.

We recall the effects of Thatcher's "help" on the North-East and elsewhere, and her mantra: “There is no such thing as society.” And we always saw in this the economics of Cain – “I am not my brother’s keeper.” But now we learn that the cuts, the vindictive closures, the confiscation of hope, were all forced on her by her advisers. The Iron Lady herself, it turns out, had a heart of gold. Bless.

Countdown and out

Eight years ago BBC Birmingham relocated from Pebble Mill to the Mailbox. BBC boss Greg Dyke enthused staff with the benefits of the move, using catchy slogans such as Project Countdown and Making It Happen. It turned out to be the trumpeting of a white elephant.

Pebble Mill had plenty of studios and a nominal rent. The Mailbox has a swanky city-centre location. Sadly, the joys of sharing a wind-tunnel with Harvey Nicks have not compensated for spiralling costs and the loss of studio space. My sources tell me the Beeb has now decided to close BBC Birmingham (who’d have guessed it) and move things to Bristol.

I wrote a piece at the time of the move from Pebble Mill, which a friend proposed to post on a Tolkien fan website. It may be there (I haven’t looked) but it is certainly here.

One Ring

Obi Nobi knocked the scroll out of the flames with his stick.  “You see,” he said, “it cannot be destroyed so easily.” 

He carefully unrolled the parchment, and read out the mystic words which appeared.

“One ring to fax them all, two rings to phone them.”

“But what can it mean?” exclaimed Beebo.

“It’s part of a longer document called Project Countdown,” replied Obi.

“Project Countdown!  It sounds exciting and awesome,” said Beebo, wide-eyed.

“It is,” nodded Obi.  “It is thrusting and innovative.”  And a strange stillness came over the room as the old man, as if in a trance, recited the words:

            Four for the nation’s favourite Aunt;

            Three for her emergence from the Age of Stone;

            Two for Public Service with a nice new slant;

            One for the Dyke Lord on his Dyke Throne -

            In the land of Mailbox where the studios aren’t.

            One ring to fax them all, two rings to phone them,

            One call to axe them all and have the exit shown them,

            In the land of Mailbox where the studios aren’t.

“Gosh,” whispered Beebo, suitably impressed.

“As you so succinctly express it: Gosh,” said Obi Nobi.  “We don’t quite know what it all means, but it is clearly a prophecy of some sort, and we are committed to making it happen.”

“Whatever it is,” said Beebo.

“Whatever it is,” agreed Obi. 

“There’s just one thing - ”  began Beebo hesitantly.

“And what is that?”

“What does the W stand for?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The notice on your door,” explained Beebo.  “It says: Obi W. Nobi.  I’ve always wondered: what does the W stand for?”

“Some things it is better not to ask,” said Obi Nobi.

Ten days to save the Euro

The headline above appeared in yesterday’s newspapers. It makes me think of a James Bond figure arriving as the clock ticks down, and saving the world by shooting the bad guys. (45 minutes to disarm the Weapons of Mass Destruction.) Sadly, this approach may not be helpful on this occasion.

Tory MP Douglas Carswell has said that the break-up of the Euro is inevitable. This may or may not be so. The pros and cons of the Euro (and indeed of the EU and Britain’s participation in it) have long been debated. I am struck, however, by what Carswell said next. 

He said: “Adding debt to countries simply makes them even more impoverished. ... I hope eurozone leaders will begin the process to allow countries to default on their debts.”

This seems reasonable and humane. It is also what the Jubilee Debt Campaign has been saying for 15 years about our dealings with the world’s poorest (and most indebted) nations. If Greece is in a financial pickle, what about Liberia?

(The Jubilee campaign takes its name from a set of commandments in Leviticus. Debts were to be cancelled, slaves set free, and land restored to those who had lost it. These laws reflect a care for the poor which is evident on every page of the Jewish Scriptures, and bear careful reading: by churches claiming to believe the Bible, and by nations claiming the Bible as part of their heritage.)

Countries in the developing world are paying many times more in interest on their debts than they ever receive in “aid”. We are also able to bully them into adopting our favourite economic policies. The debt and the bullying contribute to frustration and instability in regions of the world where we might prefer to see peace. (They also incidentally contribute to starvation.)

And, as we are discovering, the economic policies themselves turn out to be of dubious value.

Let's get our priorities right. Save the Euro, by all means. Yippee. But let's get serious about debt cancellation. I don't often agree with Tory MPs: but it is surely time "to allow countries to default on their debts". 

Alive and well and sharing a flat with Salman Rushdie

I’ve just seen an advert describing Lee Evans as the Elvis of comedy.

I saw the same thing said about Bernard Manning after he died. Which I thought was ridiculous. Fair enough, he was a fat clapped-out has-been: but he wasn’t a junkie.

Then when Michael Jackson died, people were comparing him to Elvis Presley, too. “Outrageous dance moves,” they said of Jackson, or it may have been Presley. “White man with the voice of a black man,” they said of Presley, or possibly Jackson.

Still, at least in Jackson’s case we are comparing like with like. But comparing Lee Evans to Presley? What next? Stephen Hawking – the Napoleon of astrophysics. Bernard Matthews – the Gabriel Garcia Marquez of turkey farming. Moses – the Ronnie O’Sullivan of Jewish lawmaking.

Even within a field, I’m not sure of the value of this kind of comparison. For twenty years after his retirement, English cricket looked in vain for “the next Ian Botham”. Any youngster who could bowl a bit and bat a bit was laden with near-messianic expectations.

(India seems to do this differently. Tendulkar is so revered – indeed, worshipped – that they specifically do not look for anyone like him to appear. Instead, a promising young batsman will be spoken of as potentially “the next Dravid” or “the next Laxman”. It is taken for granted that there will not be another Tendulkar.)

Did I say “messianic” just now? Jesus (unlike Elvis) has promised that He will return: but neither has been seen on earth recently. And in both cases, some folks have difficulty with this. And so sects grow, investing messianic hope in a living individual. I don't envy that person. If it is hard to be touted as the next JK Rowling, how much harder to be hoped on as the returning Christ.

Of course, if the man the Moonies look to turns out not to be Jesus, after all – well, it won’t be the end of the world.

Sons and daughters

16 Commonwealth nations have decided, without fuss, to allow sons and daughters equal rights to succeed to the British throne. The lack of fuss was surprising and quite pleasing. It is notoriously difficult to get nations to agree – and commit themselves legally – to anything.  (Other than fat subsidies to French micro-farmers.) Kyoto? Jubilee? Even something as self-evidently splendid as the invasion of Iraq didn’t get the nod.

The decision itself, it must be admitted, doesn’t affect most of us (except paparazzi or assassins, who in pursuit of their quarry are now equally likely to have to hide in the Ladies or the Gents): but it feels like the fair and “modern” thing to do.

Mind you, questions have been asked about the fairness or modernity of having an unelected monarch in the first place. And it’s a funny sort of “equality” that allows a certain thing to him (or indeed to her), but not to me.

But I believe our monarchy in fact safeguards our democracy. It is extremely useful to have a head of state who is chosen randomly (or providentially) but clearly and unequivocally: and for that person to have no actual power.

Like it or not, the head of state embodies the state. That function is a very useful one, and needs insulating from real power. A Blair or a Thatcher cannot claim to embody the state, since the Queen does that. This limits the damage they can do – compared with a Stalin or a Mugabe, who in the absence of a monarch can claim that their opponents are enemies of the state. 

(Incidentally, check out the role of Juan Carlos II during Tejero’s attempted coup in Spain in 1981. The attack was upon the parliament, not the King: and the King, in defying the armed insurgents, had nothing to gain politically – since he was committed to returning Spain to democratic rule after the Franco years. But if the king had been killed, Spanish democracy would have died with him.)

The smoking gun

“Teenagers who watch films showing actors smoking are more likely to take it up,” says the BBC today. The experts who discovered this amazing fact say that it should be reflected in film classification.

There are some surprising things in this news story, but the central claim is not one of them. The whole advertising industry – and possibly our whole envy-driven economy – is built on the premise that our choices can be influenced by what we see. To devote research resources to stating the obvious looks crazy ... until we see the pro-smoking flat-earthers trying to deny it.

The question is rather one of nuts and sledgehammers, or gnats and camels. Should films depicting smoking carry a 15 (or 18) rating? The same debate has been heard in relation to on-screen violence, where the issue is perhaps more worrying. DVD boxes also routinely warn us about sex and swearing.

But what about vengeance, bullying, financial greed? To take one example of many: there’s a film called The Heist, in which the main character (I won’t call him a hero) sees his friend killed and his wife run off with another man. But he is shown as the winner – partly because he has killed his enemy, but mostly because he ends up with the gold. I suspect we are meant to share his satisfied smile: to approve the goal he pursued, the means he used, the cost he deemed worthwhile.

Indeed, what about the general level of unpleasant behaviour seen in most soap operas? This seems to escalate of its own accord, like inflation or bankers’ bonuses: but even before it reaches GBH and arson, there is a constant undercurrent of selfishness, scheming, lying, cheating, and just plain hatred. Without a censor's rating to worry about.

(Oh, and don't get me started on the daytime chat output: freak-shows in which all manner of stuff is "normalised". 100 housewives who have shagged the milkman discuss why it's a good idea.)

And now the TV channels bring an argument opposite to the one we started with: that programme-makers who see certain patterns of behaviour in society are more likely to include the same in their TV shows.

I am reminded of the story of the TV forecaster who warned of a severe winter, because he had seen Native Americans gathering a lot of wood. And he kept seeing them gather more and more wood. So his weather warnings became more and more severe: because the Native Americans obviously knew something. And eventually he asked them: “How do you know it’s going to be a bad winter?” And they replied: “From watching your forecasts.”

But of course the story must be a myth. Because if it were true, it would mean that we can be influenced by what we see. And we know that’s not true. Right, children?

The plot thickens

The ribbon headlines on yesterday’s TV news were intriguing. First, they said that rebels had entered Gaddafi’s compound, but there was no sign of Gaddafi. Later, they said that Gaddafi’s golf buggy had been found in his compound.

I’m not sure how much the story is advanced by the second piece of news. I suppose we can conclude that he isn’t at one of Libya’s many golf courses – which narrows the search. All the rebels need to know now is: which of Gaddafi’s recreational vehicles isn’t there? Then they can just comb the area for his toboggan or his skateboard.

Unless of course it’s a double-bluff. He could be roaming a Tripoli golf course in a borrowed (or stolen) buggy. Have they found his membership card?