Making History

 I was 18 when the Berlin Wall fell; three months later, Nelson Mandela was released. What a time to be young, but I mostly remember being blasé about everything. The night after the Berlin Wall fell, I was talking with some friends. One thought it was the most exciting thing that had happened in her lifetime; I said I didn't think it would make that much difference in the long run. With 30 years' hindsight, I kind of think I was right: can we really say the world in 2020 is any better than it was before 1989? In other respects, I was completely wrong. I had absolutely no right to be so cynical at that age. I didn't know whether the world would be better or worse; it was just an opinion, plucked off the top of my head, to make me feel cooler than my friends.

Over the years, I've tried to become less cynical. On the night of the general election in 1997, I came home from work, and after I'd eaten, I had an hour or so to kill before I went out again, and I toyed with the idea of going out to vote. I lived in a safe Labour constituency, and the result was a foregone conclusion nationally, too; and, despite being desperate to be rid of the Conservative government, I didn't find Tony Blair a thrilling alternative. After some internal wrestling, I decided to vote. This was an historic night and I would probably regret not having been involved more than I would putting my cross in a box. Besides, I don't really agree with not voting anyway. Despite the way things turned out, I don't regret voting that night.

And so, back to 2020. Something big has happened. There are fireworks going off outside (although, I think this may have something to do with bonfire night). But people are thrilled to be rid of a certain, soon-to-be-ex, US President. And I am, too, despite my reservations. A few days ago, I had a good-natured (I hope) disagreement on a social media site because I'd said that a Trump victory would be more conducive to stability. I think several events suggest that Trump and his followers will not go gracefully. Had he won, we might just have shrugged, allowed ourselves a bit of wallowing, and then got on with our lives. Instead, we might be see the beginnings of another American Civil War.

Or perhaps not. I don't know. I hope that once the legal shenanigans are done, Trump finds a way to leave the Whitehouse gracefully, or at least with out too much screaming. It's too easy to imagine some kind of disgruntled 'real USA' forming a state-within-a-state, complete with their own militia. That too, might not happen, and I hope it doesn't. For now, I will allow myself to be happy. When I look back at November 7th 2020, I think I'll remember it as a good day. For all the disruption we might see in the next few months, I think the alternative would have been much worse for the next 4 years.

Queen of Hearts?

Yesterday, I had the mixed experience of watching The Diana Years. I say 'mixed' because although (as I have hinted previously) I am not a huge fan of the Royal Family, the programme documented an era of social history that I find fascinating, not least because I remember it.

Retrospective accounts of the decade often focus on Diana's death for obvious reasons: it was a tragedy that made international headlines and lead to an unprecedented show of public emotion in the UK. Personally, however, I think its significance is overplayed. For all the feeling that we were living through momentous times, nothing actually changed. The most significant (British) death of the decade has to be John Smith's.

Unlike Diana's, John Smith's death changed things. It is impossible to know what would have happened had things turned out differently, but it seems likely that Smith would have lead Labour to victory in the election that took place in 1997. He may well have had a smaller majority than Tony Blair was able to command; in this case, the Conservatives could have elected Michael Portillo as leader, something they weren't able to do in reality. The next election (the one that took place in June 2001) would have been contested by parties lead by Smith and Portillo. Would Prime Ministers Smith or Portillo have done anything different to the real-life Blair? Would they have been more reticent about, for example, invading Iraq? I don't know: that's the problem with this kind of counter-factual speculation.

The other question is what would have happened had Princess Diana not died. It's difficult to think that things would have been that different, but what of the huge outpouring of grief that followed her death. I felt at the time, cynic that I am, that it was totally out of proportion. Of course, people were sad, but a lot of people seemed to show more grief over the death of someone they had never met than they might over the death of a close friend or relative. I feel now that the grief was really about something else.

This was (in the 'real' world) only four months after the defeat of the Tories and in particular John Major, a man who seemed to epitomise a certain kind of old-fashioned Conservatism (if that's not a tautology). It seems likely that for many people the illusions of certainty and greatness that the Conservatives had relied on for seventeen years had been laid bare. Regardless of a person's opinions about these ideologies, it is understandable that many people felt disorientated and scared: Diana's death provided a focal point for these feelings. Where would these feeling have gone had Diana survived that crash?

Approximately ten months later, England were competing in the World Cup, an event that inevitably provokes an upsurge in (confused) nationalism. Predictably, they were knocked out; equally predictably, there was a scapegoat: David Beckham. Beckham became a pariah for a while. If the collective sense of grief had not found an outlet the previous September, imagine how much worse it would have been for him. It's not in the same league as the invasion of Iraq, but I'm aware that both these scenarios are nothing more than idle speculation.

A hacking great scandal?

As you might be aware, there has been a bit of a hoo-ha about phone hacking over the last few weeks. It is a story that significant enough in its own right and one that will, I suspect, rumble on for some time before we begin to see the full extent of the wrongdoing. The story is also significant, I think, because it is part of a longer-running power struggle between three large British institutions.

For a while (perhaps a long while) the press, Parliament and the judiciary have been at war (to use a tabloidism) over who holds the other to account. In the past two years, we have seen the press unveil details of MPs' expenses with varying degrees of relish. All this is justified (not unreasonably, I think) by the claim that part of the job of the press is to hold our MPs to account. The judiciary have joined in with the fun, sending disgraced politicians to prison.

The press and the judiciary, meanwhile, have been at war over privacy laws. The recent case of a celebrity footballer (no links, as you probably all know anyway) who attempted to prevent reporting of his sexual indiscretions illustrates the point well. The judiciary attempted to curb the press, granting an injunction preventing reporting of the issue (not to mention the very existence of the injunction). The press, of course, found various ways round this, aided by a certain social networking site. Ultimately, Parliament had its final say, with an MP using Parliamentary Privilege to name the player in question.

There are countless other examples of judges making decisions that press and Parliament (with an eye on their popularity ratings) find ludicrous; or, alternatively, judges mitigating Parliament's attempts to introduce outrageous or ill-thought out changes.

Ultimately, all three see themselves as the final arbiter. The press do not want to be over-regulated (or regulated at all) - who does? Most media commentators argue that a free press is vital in a democracy. This is perfectly correct and I think it could well be the case that we have to put up with a press we don't like as the price for this. It is also right to say that the press should not be above the law - written by Parliament and interpreted by the judiciary.

This seems to leave us chasing our own tails, but perhaps this is as it should be. Democracy is not perfect, but I don't think humanity has yet invented a less imperfect system. We have to accept compromises and inconsistencies. This doesn't mean, however, that we shouldn't work to improve the system, or at least our application of it.

We have heard a lot during the last few weeks about 'regulation' of the press; personally, I think 'accountability' is a more useful concept. I am wary of any attempt to stop someone publishing or saying what they like (it's a complicated debate best saved for another time). Accountability means that journalists, and proprietors, who break the law will be punished in the same way as everyone else - perhaps even more severely. The press enjoy a privileged position within a democracy and with that privilege comes responsibility. We should be able to expect the highest standards from our journalists, just as we should be able to expect them from our MPs and our judges.

A popularity contest

I am perhaps unusual – at least amongst people who don’t work for the BBC – in harbouring no serious objections to the TV licence fee. I don’t relish paying it; I don’t relish paying for anything. I do, however, think that at a little under £3 a week – per household, not even per person – it represents excellent value. I think that the principle of funding a public service broadcaster in this way is fine and admirable. And I think that because of the way it is funded, the BBC has produced innovative and envied television.

It shouldn’t be surprising then that I view Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt’s suggestion that the fee could be reduced with suspicion. His reference to the “very constrained financial situation” is an attempt to link it with wider austerity measures that is disingenuous if not outright deceitful. The finances of the BBC are in no way linked to the budget deficit the government is so desperate to cut. If Mr Hunt believes that the BBC should suffer simply because other people and other bodies are, shouldn’t he suggest some sort of pay cap across the whole of the economy?

The true motives behind this lie, I suspect, lies in the unpopularity of the licence fee. I may be unusual in not objecting to it, but I am certainly not unusual in failing to enjoy paying. This government is acutely aware that it is heading for deep unpopularity with some of its decisions. Ultimately, I suspect that in suggesting the licence fee be reduced they are attempting to offset the effects of massive spending cuts across the board.

Knives out at the New Statesman?

According to an article in today's Guardian, there is discord at the New Statesman magazine, following their recent issue, guest edited by Alistair Campbell. Apparently, staff and subscribers are unhappy that Campbell's issue represents some kind of toadying to New Labour.

I haven't read the magazine regularly since I left sixth-form in 1990. On the odd occasion I have glanced at it since, it has struck me as rather naive, and earnest in a way that would appeal to an eighteen year old wannabe socialist.

If anything, the outrage confirms this opinion. The opposition to Campbell (and Blair by obvious association) centres on the Iraq war, and his perceived involvement with the 'dodgy dossier'. I find myself asking did it really take the Iraq war to convince the New Statesman's readers that New Labour weren't all that great?

The Guardian quotes, former Statesman journalist, Nick Cohen accusing the magazine of having "a highly conformist and narrow intellectual view of the left." This may be true, but I think that the knee-jerk reaction to this issue is equally narrow. It seems there is an orthodoxy amongst the Hampstead set, from where the magazine draws its main post-sixth-form following, that anything to do with New Labour, Blair or Iraq is automatically suspect, and Campbell is the Devil incarnate.

There is certainly a debate to be had on the future if the British left; and Campbell, like him or not, has something to contribute to that. He, more than most, understands the current position of the Labour Party, not least because he played a big part in putting it there. It would be churlish, and narrow-minded, to ignore him because he has been associated with some things we don't like very much.

As he no longer enjoys an official position in the party, it does not compromise any kind of journalistic impartiality to ask him to make an editorial contribution. I was even considering buying a copy for the first time in years before this controversy blew up. I almost certainly will now, although it will largely be for the interview with Fergie.