Writing frightening verse

The papers have been all over Will Reader‘s presentation at the British Association Festival of Science; the Guardian alone has run two separate stories by James Randerson, headed “Social networking sites don’t deepen friendships” and, more bluntly, “Warning: you can’t make real friends online”.

I’ve been socialising online for over ten years now, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made (and lost) some real friends in that time, so I think that second headline is a bit silly. More to the point, I think presenting the story that way risks creating controversy rather than debate: I know that I’ve made friends online, you know that they can’t have been real friends, we shout at each other in comments boxes for a few days and entertainment results. (Possibly. Traffic results, anyway.)

What Reader is reporting is more nuanced and more tentative than that. From the Graun‘s story (the one with the ‘warning’ headline):

The team asked more than 200 people to fill in questionnaires about their online networking, asking for example how many online friends they had, how many of these were close friends and how many they had met face to face. The team found that although the sites allowed contact with hundreds of acquaintances, as with conventional friendship networks, people tend to have around five close friends.

Ninety per cent of contacts whom the subjects regarded as close friends were people they had met face to face. “People see face to face contact as being absolutely imperative in forming close friendships,” added Dr Reader. He told the British Association Festival of Science in York that social networking sites allow people to broaden their list of nodding acquaintances because staying in touch online is easy. “What social network sites can do is decrease the cost of maintaining and forming these social networks because we can post information to multiple people,” he said.

But to develop a real friendship we need to see that the other person is trustworthy, said Dr Reader. “What we need is to be absolutely sure that a person is really going to invest in us, is really going to be there for us when we need them … It’s very easy to be deceptive on the internet.”

The results are interesting – although ‘more than 200′ sounds like a pretty small sample – and Reader’s interpretation seems pretty reasonable. But I part company with him in the last couple of sentences quoted here: the major problem with online sociality is not the lack of identity verification. I’ve been on a couple of mailing lists for several years; there are fifty or sixty people I’ve known, online, for longer than I’ve known many of my real-world friends. We use our real names on those lists; we talk about work, family and relationships; we occasionally arrange meetings.

All in all, the scope for deliberate deception is very limited. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t call every one of those fifty or sixty people a close friend. The point isn’t that online relationships are a fraudulent imitation of emotionally real relationships, which are demanding and require commitment; the point is that online relationships have their own emotional reality, which is relatively uncommitted and relatively undemanding. There’s a broader truth to Clay Shirky’s pessimistic comments about the Howard Dean campaign, which I wrote about back here:

the pleasures of life online are precisely the way they provide a respite from the vagaries of the real world. … the difference between “would you” and “will you” is enormous — when “would you use this product?” changes to “will you use it?”, user behaviour frequently changes dramatically. “Would you vote for Howard Dean?” and “Will you vote for Howard Dean?” are two different questions, and it may be that a lot of people who “would” vote for Dean, in some hypothetical world where you could vote in the same way you can make a political donation on Amazon, didn’t actually vote for him when it meant skipping dinner with friends to drive downtown in the freezing cold and venture into some church basement with people who might prefer some other candidate to Dean.

Similarly, with the best will in the world there’s a difference between Would you put yourself out for a friend? and Will you put yourself out for a friend? – particularly when you’ve never actually met the friend in question. In other words, the point is precisely not that we can’t be absolutely sure that a person is really going to invest in us [and] is really going to be there for us when we need them: the point is that we can’t assume that those two things go together. This disjuncture between emotional investment and binding, push-comes-to-shove mutual obligation isn’t entirely new – think of penfriends or AA groups – but I think it’s fair to say that the spread of online sociality has made it a much more widespread experience.

What’s going on – or rather, what’s specifically not going on – is summed up by the phenomenologist Alfred Schutz, quoted here by Ulises Mejias:

In order to observe a lived experience of my own, I must attend to it reflectively. By no means, however, need I attend reflectively to my lived experience of your lived experience. On the contrary, by merely “looking” I can grasp even those of your lived experiences which you have not yet noticed and which are for you still prephenomenal and undifferentiated. This means that, whereas I can observe my own lived experiences only after they are over and done with, I can observe yours as they actually take place. This in turn implies that you and I are in a specific sense “simultaneous,” that we “coexist,” that our respective stream of consciousness intersect

Simultaneity, the ability to experience our consciousness in parallel, is a defining feature of face-to-face interactions. The outcome of this inter-subjectivity is not that we are able to “read” the other person’s mind. It is simply a realization that ‘I am experiencing a fellow human being.’

I suspect that this experience of continuous mutual presence – what Schutz called the ‘We-relationship’ – is the distinguishing feature of close friendships. It’s a relatively rare experience – and social networking software doesn’t make it any less so.

One final thought. What would a collective We-relationship – the experience of the consciousness of time passing, of an event unfolding, shared and reflected within a group of people – look like and feel like? Something like a really good meeting? (Physical presence, again, is hard to do without. I’ve attended multi-site Access Grid meetings; it’s great being able to see people’s faces, but it’s impossible to meet anybody’s eye.) Or something like this?

Modern religions demand ‘belief’, an act of the imagination; traditional ritual didn’t need to demand any such thing as it offered direct experience of ‘god’, ie, of society, of social solidarity.

But you don’t know me

I don’t know Tilda Swinton. At all.

There are, of course, many people I don’t know; the list could be extended more or less indefinitely, potentially forming the basis for a rather unchallenging game (“Yeah? Well, I don’t know Charles Kennedy, Jason Orange or Hufty from the Word…”) The point about Tilda Swinton in particular is that, if you stopped me in the street and asked me if I knew her, I’ve got a horrible feeling I’d say Yes. (At least, I used to… Well, when I say ‘know’, I met… actually no, I never actually met… sorry, what was the question?)

Obviously, the image of anyone you’ve seen a lot on the screen can get painted on the back of your mind, to the point where they seem as familiar as a friend or neighbour (“In the street people come up to Rita/It’s Barbara Knox really but they’re still glad to meet her” – Kevin Seisay). I suppose something similar’s going on here, assisted in this case by the fact that I was at the same university as Tilda Swinton for at least one year; I even saw her in a college theatre production once, playing opposite a friend of a friend of mine. (I think. It may have been someone else.)

I’ve never even had any contact with Tilda Swinton, if it comes to that. I did once try to get in touch with her, for a series of brief interviews we were running in Red Pepper at the time. A friend gave me the number of a friend, who she thought had known her and might be able to put me in touch. I duly phoned the friend’s friend, who was a bit taken aback and suggested that if I wanted to speak to Tilda Swinton I should probably go through Tilda Swinton’s management. Nothing ever came of it.

In short, whatever fantasies I may half-consciously harbour, the real world is unanimous on this one: I don’t know Tilda Swinton, at all. I’ve got a friend who’s got a friend who may once have known her, and I had a friend at college who had a friend who may once have acted with her, but none of that adds up to anything.

Or it didn’t, until LinkedIn.

LinkedIn is a social networking site for people who want to make their social network work; it’s designed to enable members to exploit “the professional relationships you already have”. You join LinkedIn by writing a ‘profile’ (a c.v., more or less). You then ‘build your network’ by exchanging emails with existing members of LinkedIn who you already know; the software helpfully provides lists of LinkedIn members who are, or were, at your workplace, former workplace or university. When your emailed invitation has been accepted, the user you invited becomes one of your ‘connections’, while you become one of theirs. Ultimately you end up with a network “consist[ing] of your connections, your connections’ connections, and the people they know, linking you to thousands of qualified professionals”. ‘Thousands’ is no exaggeration: after a month’s membership I’ve got 41 ‘trusted friends and colleagues’, and many LinkedIn users have five or ten times as many. It adds up, or rather multiplies out: if you count “[my] connections’ connections, and the people they know”, I’m connected to over 200,000 people. Woohoo.

There are two main ways to make money out of social software – adding advertising or charging a fee for a premium service – and I’m generally in favour of the latter. This is the route LinkedIn have chosen. Annoyingly, the result in this case is not simply that fee-paying users benefit but that free riders are penalised. The profiles of users outside your network are only shown in full if you’ve got a paid-for account, which can be frustrating. Worse, the highest echelons of power-networking users can opt out of receiving common-or-garden email invitations, so that they can only be contacted using the network’s ‘InMail’ facility – which is, of course, only available on paid-for accounts. There’s being linked in, and then there’s being linked in. I suppose this says something about the nature of the service they’re providing: a professional social network is one with lots of people excluded from it.

The bigger question is what LinkedIn actually provides (apart from the warm glow of knowing that somebody else has been excluded). I wrote last year that tagging, for me, is more an elaborate way of building a mind-map than anything to do with bookmarking pages and finding them again; I’m interested to see that Philipp has reached a similar conclusion (“Let’s put it straight: Using tags to find my bookmarks later just doesn’t work. I give up.”) Similarly, I suspect that one of the main benefits of LinkedIn – at least for us non-power-networkers – is the capacity it gives you to contemplate the scale and plenitude of your own network: all those people I know, sort of! I mean, I know someone who knows them, or else there’s a friend of a friend who knows them… So I sort of know them, really, don’t I, just a bit?

But Tilda Swinton’s not on LinkedIn. So I don’t know her at all.

Who’s the fool now?

“There’s only one thing worse than a folk singer, and that’s a Stalinist folk singer.” – Ian Birchall

Hmm.

Several years ago I was enthusiastically involved in getting Red Pepper to publish a piece by Steve Higginson (of the estimable Soulpool), demolishing the myth of progressive, national-popular folk music.

When we look at the various collectors, mediators and transmitters of folk song, we are not talking about the sons and daughters of the downtrodden proletariat. We are dealing with a group of people who did what radical intellectuals have always done: tell us what is good for us … Folk music was invented, altered, or expunged and re-written based on the collector’s conception of what working people should have been singing. … Meanwhile, another kind of folk music – the music that the “folk” themselves listened to and identified with – was belittled and ignored.

It got a bigger reaction than anything else in the cultural pages that year. Mostly, it has to be said, not positive. Still, I liked it. Apart from anything else, it confirmed my gut feeling that awkward, scruffy music that’s directly inspiring and culturally assertive is more radical – as well as being more fun – than a tidy three chords with a political message. I’ll take the Clash (or the Mondays, or the Fugees) over Leon Rosselson, any day of the week. This isn’t to say that Leon Rosselson sings what working people should have been singing, any more than Roy Harper or James Blunt does: as Rob says in comments, his songs are all his own and don’t pretend to be anything else. But what I think radical singer-songwriters can often be accused of is singing what working people should have been thinking. This is where the post-Cecil Sharp tradition of well-meaning song-collecting connects up with the radical (or at least Communist) tradition of agit-song: the song has to say the right thing, which inevitably means limited scruffiness and high predictability. Sometimes, to say a song has a radical edge seems to mean that everything else about it has been polished smooth.

So I might be tempted to agree with Birchall, were it not that I’m now a folk singer myself (at least, I’m a regular at the local folk club). I don’t think traditional music is especially true and pure and proletarian; I do think it’s reached me by a different route from the music of Kylie or Arctic Monkeys, and a route that involves a lot less centralisation and a lot less commerce. I don’t think singing without amplification is a sanctified relic of an unspoilt past; I do think it’s more direct, more immediate and more involving than amplified music. (You can’t talk over it, apart from anything else.) And I don’t think folk is the Art-Form of the People; but I do think it’s an art-form made by people, and specifically people who I might see in the street or on the bus the following day. I think all of these are good things; even if Frank Sinatra was proved to be more of a working-class hero than Woody Guthrie, they’d still be good things.

Apart from that, when I talk about folk music I doubt that Birchall and I are talking about the same thing. Personally I’m thinking of my local folk club, which has an eclectic floor policy; the MC may at some time have turned away some aspiring performer as inappropriate, but if so I don’t know what they were planning to play. I’ve heard piano there and harmonium (performer’s own), as well as mandolin, banjo, pipes (both bag and bellow), double bass, didgeridoo and on one occasion a trumpet. People play from sheet music; sometimes people read poems.

We don’t get many message songs down there, but we do occasionally hit the broader problem of predictability – knowing where the song’s going, and how it’s going to get there, the moment it starts. To put it another way, it does sometimes get a bit Radio 2. I think of it like this:

Level Type Description
1 The Trier Turns up, has a bash, gets polite applause
2 The Regular Turns up week after week, can be relied on to put a bit of thought into it & do something listenable
3 The Real Thing Actually good enough to get paid for this stuff
4 The Pro Nice songs, nice performance. Very consistent, very professional.
5 The Star Jaw-droppingly brilliant. Everyone should be listening to this stuff. No, really.

The consistent, dependable Pros have their fans – they wouldn’t do it otherwise – but personally I think it’s a wrong turning; think KT Tunstall as opposed to King Creosote (although KT’s new album is supposed to be a bit of a return to form). In the absence of Stars I much prefer the edgier, more unpredictable Real Things and Regulars. Of whom there is, at least in this neck of the woods, a plentiful supply.

So, yes, some folkies – some singer-songwriters, to be more precise – get a bit samey, whether they’re carrying political baggage or not; but no, this isn’t true of all of them (or rather us). And yes, some inflated and problematic claims have been made for folk music, particularly regarding its class basis; but no, this doesn’t mean that folk music has no distinctive value. The point is not to set up Elvis against Pete Seeger or Guthrie against Sinatra, but to step away from the CD rack and look at the conditions in which folk music is played and heard. So get down that folk club. (Only not ours – at least, not all at once. I had a hell of a time finding somewhere to sit last week.)

Next: the radical case for Morris dancing.

Anyway, I hate divorces

I turned 47 recently. Yes, that is quite old. Lines from Krapp’s Last Tape come to mind, as they do from time to time.

I’ve never linked to the Metro before, and never expected to. But this made me laugh out loud:

At this weekend’s Bestival, a three-day music event on the Isle of Wight, the Government will be promoting a ‘text a condom’ service. Festival-goers can text the word condom to 88800 and will receive a return text. They can then visit a number of different tents in the main campsite to receive a free pack.

So, if you thought a draughty tent and a muddy field would prevent people having sex, you would be wrong. A survey by NME released after Glastonbury in 2004 found that, out of the 112,000 crowd, 36,500 people had sex. And it wasn’t just young people.

The age of the average Glastonbury-goer is getting older and even organiser Michael Eavis has criticised his festival for being too middle-aged. Barry Ashworth, of London band Dub Pistols, will be performing at Bestival. He knows a thing or two about festival environments: ‘It’s pretty easy to lose your inhibitions when you’re in a field for three days with nothing to do but watch bands and drink booze. It’s like being on holiday. If you’re ever going to go off with a stranger it’s going to be then and your age is irrelevant. Free love is free love, whether you’re 20 or 35.’

Cheers, Barry.

Cooler than being cool

I happened to watch Matt Weddle’s acoustic cover of “Hey ya” today, courtesy of whoever posted it on YouTube. The video’s great, if you like watching bearded men playing acoustic guitars. After watching it I spent a happy five minutes reacquainting myself with the video for the original song, which is still a very fine piece of work – as, indeed, is the song. I don’t think Matt Weddle does anything very exciting with it, but he does demonstrate – almost by a process of elimination – that the song’s extraordinary catchiness doesn’t derive from the gospel backing singers or the sproingy bass line or that strange keyboard riff or the handclaps or the back-chat, fun though all of these are. Take all of those away and you’ve still got a song that loops round and round in a way that seems somehow wrong, to the point where it takes up residence in your mind like an unsolved crossword clue.

I think it’s a matter of an unexpected chord change, and in particular of an unexpected bar of 2:4. This, interestingly enough, is a feature which “Hey ya” shares with another infuriatingly memorable song – as you can see below.

One, two, three, four!

1 2 3 4
  My baby doesn’t
Post- man Pat,  
1 2 3 4
mess around be- cause she
Post- man Pat,  
1 2 3 4
loves me so and this I
Post- man Pat and his
1 2
know for    
black and white    
1 2 3 4
sure…      
cat…      

Coincidence? You be the judge.

Some time, maybe

I’ve been away for a week & come back to a letter from my MP, Tony Lloyd. Who writes:

Whilst I do not think there should be a blanket policy for all Iraqis working for the UK Government, we need to give proper consideration to the many Iraqis whose lives are at risk. It is important that they are given asylum as protection as well as gratitude for risking their lives for the UK.

As Alex said the other day, the debate seems to be moving on to the definition of the word ‘many’. Which is a good start.

I also missed this when I was away:

Mr Cameron told the Today programme: “We are not going to deal with anarchy in the UK unless you actually strengthen families and communities in the UK.”

David Cameron was born on 9 October 1966 and was educated at Eton and Brasenose College, Oxford.

Honestly. These youngsters, they know nothing…

Low and high

I’ve just updated “Still haven’t found” – my running list of recent search strings – to include

Jim Khambatta
Douglas Reed

Yes, this blog is your number 1 source of “Jim Khambatta” “Douglas Reed” information. Best “Jim Khambatta” “Douglas Reed” site on the Web. Accept no substitute.

As for the person who came here looking for “Phil Edwards” “Socialist Society”, yes, that’s me. Hi. Drop me an email, why don’t you. (Gmail account, three guesses.)

And young boys

If not his epitaph – that would be a bit harsh – it was his epithet; the film posters only spelt it out. Ian Curtis: genius. Shaun Ryder: poet. Tony Wilson: twat.

The Evening News recalled this at the front of their tribute, but missed the catch by printing the ‘polite version': Wilson was nobody’s prat. I don’t want to spend too much time rummaging about in the lexicon of sweary, but it seems to me that a prat is someone who lets you down because of their stupidity or improvidence or, well, general prattishness. A twat is someone who lets you down because of their selfishness – because whatever they’ve got planned is more important than anything you might want. In particular, a twat is someone who prioritises their own plans over you, and expects you to agree.

But what this means is that a twat is actually someone who aims to please – even if their idea of aiming to please is throwing some nonsense of their own at you. Some selfishness goes in disguise, dressing up inadequacy and neediness as a public service – look at me, look at this, it’s just what you want! Twattishness is frankly, openly selfish – look what I’ve got! isn’t it brilliant? – and that makes it oddly generous. If nothing else, a twat will always give you something to talk about – and will always keep coming back. Calling Vini Reilly “the Durutti Column”, so that he could release an album called The return of the Durutti Column. Actually building somewhere called the Hacienda, then spelling it with a cedilla. Those Saville designs, those packages, all the wilful obscurity and mystery (I remember reading on the NME letters page that the colour code on the album sleeve actually reads POWERCORRUPTIRNANDLIES, and I’m not sure what’s sadder – that letter-writer poring over his colour-wheel or me for remembering it after all these years). All those bloody FAC numbers. Indulging Hannett. Losing Hannett. Pouring the label’s finances down the Whitworth Street drain. “Anthony H. Wilson” (what was that about?). Making the money back on the Mondays, then handing it over to them to spend on crack in Barbados. That office (beautiful place, mind you), that bar. Signing the Wendys. Walking away from the wreckage, and resurfacing in a million-pound loft conversion. And then supposedly he was “Mr Manchester” – did anyone call him that, apart from the Evening News? All that North-West regeneration stuff (baggy suits and wavy buildings), and all that nonsense with the flag. I mean, really, what a twat.

He was, always, a bit of a joke – but he was always, partly, in on the joke. Look back at that interview:

Factory has a certain arrogance about it… we have a scattiness – we have a night-club, I think having the Hacienda is significant, which is a pretty crazy and by and large rather stupid thing to do.

The thing about pop music is it can be continuously new. You know, some people are excited by that which is new, some people are excited by that which is going to sell because people have heard it before. By and large we have the problem that we’re excited by stuff that’s new.

My bosses at Granada, some of them are younger than me, they’re grown-ups, they behave like grown-ups. Some people are 22 and are grown-up, more’s the pity for them.

Arrogant, wayward, wilful, childish even, but at the same time always intelligent, reflective, self-aware. (Which prompts the question of why he kept on being so arrogant wayward etc – but that prompts an answer with four letters, beginning with T.) He was a bullshitter, a loudmouth, an egotist and an operator par excellence, and I suspect that having him as a friend was a very mixed blessing, but he knew what he was doing – at least, he seemed to know what he was doing – and he kept on making things happen. I wouldn’t say we’d “grown up together” (I never knew him, and he never grew up), but he’s been part of my imaginative landscape for nearly thirty years. The skyline’s going to look different without him.

Bernard, Bernard, disait-il, cette verte jeunesse ne durera pas toujours: cette heure fatale viendra, qui tranchera toutes les espérances trompeuses par une irrévocable sentence; la vie nous manquera, comme un faux ami, au milieu de nos entreprises. Là tous nos beaux desseins tomberont par terre; là s’évanouiront toutes nos pensées.

“It never vanishes without a trace.”

Tony Wilson, 20/2/1950 – 10/8/2007

melt into men

I heard the news about 8.30 last night; my wife saw it on the BBC Web site. I spent some time looking for hastily-assembled tribute programmes in the schedules – you’d think Granada would have something at least – but nothing. There was a discussion on Newsnight between Stephen Morris, Paul Morley, Peter Saville and Richard Madeley; they gave him a pretty good send-off. (Yes, I did say Richard Madeley.)

I’ll write more about how I feel about the guy later. For now, here’s one I prepared earlier. I interviewed him for the short-lived radical newspaper socialist in 1991. Looking for the text of the interview, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I’ve also got my original transcript – and here it is. I don’t recognise all the references myself at this distance, but there’s a lot of interesting stuff there. I particularly like the distinction between ‘avant-garde’ and ‘experimental'; mostly his borrowings from the Situationists still strike me as random fandom, but this is a coherently Situationist position (nous vivons en enfants perdus nos aventures incomplètes…) The other thing that strikes me now is just how up for it he was – I had a list of for-all-our-socialist-readers questions and another list of never-get-another-chance-to-ask-him-this questions, and he engaged with them all quite happily. We didn’t hang out or socialise, unless you count a brief chat about doing English at Cambridge (we were at the same college, several years apart). It was an interview, it was a job, and he got it done – thoughtfully, intelligently and efficiently. He was an extraordinary guy.

Tell me about Factory.

We’re just a fairly typical – or atypical, in that they’re all quite unique – one of those British independent record labels that came out of punk or post-punk. Many musicians say that they saw the Pistols on stage and thought, ‘God, if they can do it I can do it,’ I think that happened as well to a whole generation of entrepreneurs – or non-entrepreneurs, people who never thought of that but who were brought into it like that. Britain is the correct size to make independent distribution possible, and that possibility of independent distribution was then seized upon by… I mean, the whole thing was a series of accidents… it really began with Rough Trade, who were a very interesting shop in Notting Hill Gate. As I remember they were able, because they were clever, to source some rather rare reggae records, and they discovered by the mid-70s that their ability to source these reggae records meant that there was a demand from other shops around the country, and they set up a rather small distribution system to get these reggae records around, and suddenly as this whole idea of do-it-yourself labels took off in 76/77 the infrastructure was there to build up on. The original independent company was New Hormones, who just brought out a couple of records and that was it, in late ’76. Then there was a second generation of independent record labels – Rabid Records in M’cr, with Jilted John and the rest of it, and John Cooper Clarke; Fast Records in Edinburgh, who were very much an arty independent label, as we’re often seen to be, with the Human League and the Gang of Four, and that was really 77, and then 78, late 78, you get Factory and various others coming along – I suppose Mute as well at that point, Daniel doing his first singles and stuff…

Looking around now there isn’t really a run of indie labels…

Oh, there are. From 81 to 91 there were the big 4, the major indies – Mute, Factory, Rough Trade and 4AD. And every couple of years there’d be a pretender, you know like we’re going to join the ranks – be it, there was Kitchenware at one point, there was Postcard at another point. And they all made whatever mistakes people make and fucked up. In the mid-to-late 80s there was Creation, who made – there’s two mistakes you can make as an indie label, you can sign one of your acts to a major thinking that that will finance the rest of the label, which is committing suicide, or you can take major money and spend it all, and that’s committing suicide, and Alan McGhie did both with Creation and completely fucked himself up but has managed to survive and in fact has been very strong this year. With the ending of Rough Trade as one of the big four labels, I think Creation really stand there now. And if you think that One Little Indian is as good a new competitor as any, and then if you think of the fact that there are several very very active dance independents, then… You see I think a lot of people are confused: a lot of people think the bankruptcy of Rough Trade is something to do with “not everything in the garden is rosy”. Well, not everything in the garden is rosy in the sense that there’s a recession and everyone’s suffering, but the independent labels have never been stronger – particularly the ability to survive the Rough Trade catastrophe.

You get the impression of a kind of gigantism, massive economies of scale in the music business…

There’s five multi-nationals, and the rumour is there’s space for four so everybody’s buying up to be as strong as possible so they’re not number five who goes. There’s gigantism, at the same time there’s also the feeling that small discrete units work – admittedly small discrete units within a bigger set-up, but that’s been quite commonplace for the last two or three years.

Flexible specialisation

Sure. Within the creative departments of most companies small is beautiful. But obviously at the same time there’s buying everybody up and becoming bigger and bigger, and that goes with the multinational trend.

So what’s different about Factory?

What’s different about independent labels is that there is a slightly more intimate relationship between the musicians and the company – not just the musicians, the manager of the musicians who is the essential piece. It should be a very creative relationship because most of the people who founded these independent labels were in some way the managers of groups, and they are companies by and large led by managers of groups or A&R based people, as opposed to a lot of companies these days that are run by lawyers or accountants, which is the kind of people that a lot of the multinationals use to head up their operations. There’s a kind of A&R and group-management feel about the independent labels which does make them different. What makes Factory different other than that… Factory has a certain arrogance about it… we have a scattiness – we have a night-club, I think having the Hacienda is significant, which is a pretty crazy and by and large rather stupid thing to do. And I think we held on to some crazy concepts a lot longer than anybody else. I always think the phrase to use about Factory is a certain wilfulness – there’s a great wilfulness about the company, that it does what it wants to do, which has gone on for a long time.

Part of the arrogant, wilful image – there’s an air of radicalism about Factory’s stuff, yet without ever actually being right-on

Sure. Thank God – it would be awful to be right-on. I don’t know where it comes from – I know where my political or philosophical background comes from that informs it, but… Maybe it’s more just a delight in the real avant-garde, or a delight in things that are new. The thing about pop music is it can be continuously new. You know, some people are excited by that which is new, some people are excited by that which is going to sell because people have heard it before. By and large we have the problem that we’re excited by stuff that’s new.

You say the real avant-garde, but we’re not talking Red Crayola…

No, but I don’t regard that in a way as… That’s one of the great difficulties of definition of avant-garde. “Avant-garde” essentially means to be in the vanguard, or to be the first wave of an assault, and I think we commonly confuse that with “experimental”. Experimental means that you’re doing new things, but there’s no one coming after you because it’s not actually going anywhere. Whereas avant-garde implies that there will be people following you, and that you are simply the first people to put these different things together. I think on occasions, which have been rather boring, we have done experimental stuff. I’m not particularly interested in experimental stuff myself, I don’t think the label is, I think we’re more interested in being avant-garde – i.e. being ahead of your time, but nevertheless a time that will come, as opposed to just experimental doodlings or whatever.

(argument [forgotten] about Cities in the Park, Electronic and Cath Carroll)

I find Electronic quite fascinating, although the whole New Order axis is twelve, thirteen, fourteen years old the fact that they are more contemporary than any of their contemporaries I always think is a great achievement, that’s largely because they go to the Hacienda and were part of the rave culture when it blew two or three years ago. … Our latest signing [the Adventure Babies] are an out and out pop group, international pop group, which is something we’ve never dealt with before – and that’s going down a road that we are not used to.

What do you think of this idea that ‘Manchester’ is dead, that it’s last year’s thing?

Well, I think it’s fantastic really… I kind of believed it – the scene’s over, it’s all these groups that we thought we’d got rid of, all these boring Melody Maker-type guitar groups, oh my God… I then started going out this autumn and my mouth would drop open, I’d look at these wild scenes, admittedly with a new generation but then the old generation were going to get back into it, wild scenes in the Hacienda and in every club in fucking Britain, and then suddenly about three weeks ago I found out what all these groups are selling, the ones that are on the covers of NME and MM, and they’re selling shit – they don’t sell. So suddenly I think, oh my God, how can I have been taken in by these people? I mean, I know that they’re all cretins, I’m taken in by it all again… It’s a complete pile of crap – ‘Manchester’, or Manchester-type music, of the type that was spawned here over the last few years, in its new generation which is hard-core – hard-core, and techno, and post-House dance music dominates the scene, and basically the press has been up its arse as usual for the last nine months. And then when you say that to the press they say yes, well, but we’ve got the right to because we created it – I say you what? They say well, we gave it all that coverage… I say, you gave it all the coverage a year after it started, you tried to ignore it for the first year. You didn’t create it. Don’t try to take credit – it was a wild scene, you just latched on to it and sold a few papers off the back of it. It was a wild scene – I mean, the idea that they now think they in some way created it. They’re just morons.

The scene in its original date was created by members of the Buzzcocks, Howard Devoto, Richard Boon, Pete Shelley, getting the Pistols to play here in ’76. From that moment onward it’s been everybody in the community, everybody, right the way through. It goes on, and at the moment it’s absolutely wild, and it’s kind of wonderful.

How would you compare what’s going on with ’76/’77?

Well now is a second generation, i.e. a second wave of rave culture – rave culture in general how would I compare it… I think very similarly for me personally… It’s a powerful culture, and is one of those moments when the wheels of youth culture turn very strongly. I think there were things that were better about punk, in that there was a… what was better about punk? I don’t know really – it’s just quite as exciting as punk. I don’t think one could separate – and look at ’67 or ’63, they’re all great moments, they all have different fors and againsts, I don’t think you can judge like by like. I was very fond of the scene that created Guns’N’Roses, although it was abhorrent to me – metal/goth/glam/punk – but nevertheless it was clear on the streets, on Sunset, at 11.00 at night on a Thursday / Friday / Saturday in LA, that there was – kids were out there having the time of their lives. At that point, ’85/’86, in Britain they weren’t. Even though that scene never got anywhere – it never spread outside LA, but nevertheless it produced a group in G’N’R who would dominate or whatever… I don’t like to say this one’s better that one’s worse, they are these wonderful moments when the wheels turn.

Even if two years later it’s vanished without a trace.

It never vanishes without a trace. This one was meant to have vanished without a trace and it hasn’t done, it’s going on, it’s stronger, it’s like you find in Europe now rave culture is at its most advanced stage, as it is in America. It’s kind of weird – we’ll see where it gets to. You’ve got to remember in terms of the world music industry punk had absolutely no impact, punk was really an isolated UK phenomenon. For a variety of reasons – the fact that Malcolm chose to do a rather bizarre Pistols tour after which they broke up, the fact that by the time the Clash got to America they’d become a rock’n’roll band and were irrelevant anyway – punk never happened outside the UK. We see it as a major event in pop history but the rest of the world doesn’t. Pop music is a world thing.

What do you think of this argument that there was something transcendentally radical about punk, and about certain significant figures like John Lydon…

I think there’s something transcendentally whatever about every one of those moments… I think Please Please Me was the most political song ever written. Pop music by its very nature, at its best, is threatening. When it doesn’t threaten it’s trash. But the majority of it does, and is a generational thing. I always see the generation in terms of, like the New Testament, it’s the son saying no to the father, and that’s the political act. It doesn’t matter what pile of garbage, be it Anti-Nazi League or Ecstasy communality (and neither of those are garbage, both of those are fabulous political constructions, but nevertheless they’re not necessary to give credence) – all that’s necessary for me to give political credence to pop music is that it is generational, it is a young generation saying no to an older generation. Or that it is just something that defines you as different, that defines you as being separate, which is part of the whole dawn of the idea of teenage, of pop music, of rock’n’roll in the 50s – it defines youth as being different and having different ideas. And since Please Please Me was the first number one single for the Beatles that began that process of uniting a generation I have no difficulty in regarding that as the supreme political moment.

Don’t you feel yourself in a slightly contradictory position in terms of this generational thing? Being a respectable local businessman…

No, I don’t find any conflict… I always feel immature, I always feel when I’m talking to people – sometimes ten years younger than me – that they’re grown-ups and I’m not, so I’ve never had a problem with that. My bosses at Granada, some of them are younger than me, they’re grown-ups, they behave like grown-ups. Some people are 22 and are grown-up, more’s the pity for them.

So, socialism. Do you see yourself as a socialist?

The only definition I can validly use I think is that one believes that a greater rather than a lesser part of one’s income should be consumed by the state and then re-apportioned to the members of the state, from that point of view I’m a socialist, if one takes that as being the central axiom, to believe in that process. From a lot of other points of view God knows, really. I think one of the confusions is that as a child of the late 60s one ran around shouting anarchist and Marxist slogans, without ever coming face to face with the fact that these are two entirely contradictory ideologies. The ideology that most intrigued me was anarchism. The way I look at the last five years, which have shaken everyone from my background I presume, is that whichever International it was that kicked Bakunin out, 1872 or whatever, that was getting rid of individualism, sooner or later individualism which is part of the human being was going to come and kick the Left’s ass – which is what it has just done for the last five, six years. That’s a way that Marxism Today was – I noticed in one of the reviews at the end of Martin’s empire (in fact it was rather silly, it implied the end of Martin’s empire when in fact he’s ended it to start a new empire, I don’t know what the new magazine’s called but it’s very strongly financed) but nevertheless in the review of that it talked about that idea that they shocked everyone by suggesting that Margaret Thatcher was in touch with the Zeitgeist, which she most certainly was in the 80s, she was a creature of her times. Individualism was going to rear its head, and my God it has done. Everyone’s been forced to rethink on the Left I would hope by the events. To me really with that anarchist background, my background being that at University two of my friends were translators of major anarchist works, and I was enthralled, although not understanding totally the stuff – it seems to me to make a lot of sense now that that’s what went wrong.

(Some stuff about Paul Sieveking and John Fullerton [the British pro-situs referred to here] and Raoul Vaneigem)

I’m intrigued by Factory’s use of the Situationist stuff

Just being a fan. Purely fandom, really. And yet you see the way it works – Greil Marcus’s work in the 80s has given a great degree of prominence to this issue, and his involvement in it comes about precisely through our fandom. He spent two years looking at a sticker, when we sent out our first record it had this sticker of the Durutti Column, and he stuck it on his cassette deck, and he tells the story that he spent two years staring at this strange photo of two cowboys talking French to each other, until he finally decided to investigate it. And that investigation took him through this whole period – and without him doing it maybe all these exhibitions wouldn’t have happened and blah blah blah… Just being a fan

(Digression [completely forgotten] about Le retour de la colonne Durutti and Kim Philby)

These are the three great comedians of the twentieth century in Britain, these three upper-class traitors are the great comics – their lives were amusing statements.

How much of an impact has feminism made on Factory?

Good God… it’s a fascinating question… I don’t have an answer to the question, whether that’s a good or a bad thing. I don’t think we’re a very sexist label, it’s never occurred to me that we are – or that we aren’t, really, and maybe that’s – by saying neither a lot nor a little might imply that we haven’t thought about it. I don’t presume to have actually imagined it would impinge on us…

(Digression about Alan Wise, “local promoter and nutter”, and strippers [some of the MCing at the Cities in the Park gig was done by women in their undies; apparently this was Wise’s doing])

I don’t think we would ever, ever, ever, ever deal with things like that. Certainly that’s not within our remit, we are much more, unfortunately, right-on than that – I say unfortunately, I would refer, though, to the opening night of the Hacienda, where our guest of honour who opened it was Bernard Manning. Now whether Bernard Manning made anti-feminine jokes, or made anti-gay jokes, or made anti- whatever, but I was very pleased with that, because it was épater les bourgeoisie. And everybody else too, please – I mean, épater anybody is great as far as I’m concerned, and I’m only too happy to do that. But no, we’d never go in for stuff like that, I have to say.

(Digression about Revenge and “the whole fetishistic artwork thing”)

I would not regard any of that work as sexist personally, within my own remit.

Happy Mondays just recently took a lot of shit…

It’s like being a Nazi these days – I’ve done so many interviews recently, ten years ago every interview was ‘Are your groups Nazis?’, now it’s ‘are your groups homophobic?’, to which my answer is no they’re not. To me the sub-text of that piece was Steven [Wells], that was your typical SWP member who doesn’t actually know what a member of the working class looks like or sounds like, and when he meets them goes into that like and gets fucked up. You should not confuse an artist with their art, and they are working-class kids. The fact that some of their best friends are gay, and they hang out with them… it doesn’t occur to them that you can go ‘Fucking faggots!’, and they’re your best friends, it doesn’t occur to them that there’s a conflict there. But someone reading that will go ‘oh, homophobic…’ and the rest of it, which is a bunch of crap. Maybe for me I don’t mind, because I enjoy that bit when a middle-class socialist meets a member of the working classes and just doesn’t know what’s going on.

Plus there’s this traditional idea that if you’re in a band you’ve got to have this god-like dignity, either that or just be ultra-right-on and know all the answers to everything…

And it’s complete and utter fucking crap. This whole idea goes back to the Romantic poets, when suddenly the idea that the artist was as important as his art and was a star came into vogue. We’ve had it 200 years now, and it’s a complete pile of shit. W.B.Yeats is the greatest poet of the 20th century in my opinion – what he actually personally thought, wearing brown shirts and the rest of that country house shit, the guy was a complete nincompoop. It doesn’t matter – he’s a nincompoop, his art’s fantastic, let’s not confuse the two.

What’s the next big thing?

No idea! Didn’t have any idea last time, it happens and you go Wow, look! You’ve just got to stay open to things – it’s being hospitable to what comes along, being open to it and not wanting to hear what you’ve heard before.

John Peel said once that he thought there’d been three great waves of Manchester bands: Buzzcocks, Joy Division and the Fall; the Smiths, New Order and the Fall; Stone Roses, Happy Mondays and the Fall.

Wonderful way of putting it.

And viewed in that respect Factory’s record looks pretty good.

Sure. I think the real question is whether we’re there for the next round. Now it’s all techno records and stuff – we’re not a 12″-single selling label, we don’t have that structure, we don’t have that way of dealing with it. One of the great challenges for Factory is that we believe in Northside, I think they’re a great group – the rest of the world has decided that this is not the case, we’ll see who’s proved right. We went through a few years when everyone thought the Happy Mondays were a pile of shit – we’ve been there before, we’re there with Northside and the Wendys. Next year we have our pop group the Adventure Babies come on stream, that should be interesting if not exciting. It’s a bit difficult now – there’s going to be a very imitative period in the mid-90s. There is a modality, an ineluctable modality, there is a real wave pattern to this, and after every live generation there comes a dead generation. And there will be a dead generation of teenagers coming along in the mid-90s presumably, tragically. But hopefully we will go on as we have done through the 80s through the 90s, and the real challenge will be in the late 90s when the next alive generation comes up, and throws everything on its head, and brings disparate influences together and uses the technology in such a way – that we’ll be alive to it and we’ll be involved. It was the big question for us in the 80s: by the mid to late 80s when we were being successful with New Order all around the world, the question was when the next revolution comes will we be involved? And sure enough it happened behind our back in the Hacienda, and the Happy Mondays who we couldn’t – we signed them because they clearly had the mark of Cain about them, we had no idea what they were going to do – and there they were, they were the ones putting together these black, Chicago / Detroit rhythms with the white English post-punk sensibility. So you have to see. You can’t be sure it’s going to happen. You can be sure something will happen; whether one’s involved with it or not, that’s a question of luck – and judgment.

Wrapped in paper (10)

One last column, from right back in 1998. I had actually worked in IT until a couple of years before; I think my sympathies are clear.

BUSINESS MANAGERS are never short of advice these days. Any large bookshop has several yards of books devoted to Self Help for Managers: Feel the Stress and Do it Anyway; Meditations for Women who Manage Too Much; Men Are From Mars, the One-Minute Manager is from Venus… However, managers haven’t had any advice from the best source of all: the IT department. Not, that is, until now. I will shortly be bringing out a compendium of tricky real-life management problems with IT-friendly solutions, Just Don’t, All Right? Here’s a selection.

PROBLEM: You are the national sales manager for a major distributor of synthetic insoles. You wish to rationalise the structure of the sales force by cutting out a level of management. There are four levels; the top level consists of two meaningless jobs with grand-sounding titles, created specially for the previous MD’s wastrel half-brother and his friend Simon. However, Simon’s wife is currently expecting their third child; moreover, she is an old friend of the receptionist at the office next door, who often lets you use their car park when your space gets taken. What do you do?

SOLUTION: Remove a level in the reporting structure? Are you mad? Have you any idea how many systems that will affect? Dedicated IT professionals worked long hours to design systems around the current management structure, with all the job titles and reporting relationships carefully hard-coded. Are you going to throw that work back in their faces? Besides, redeveloping all those systems would take approximately… let’s see… eighteen months, and that’s with everyone working flat out… factor in development work, allow for holidays and you’re talking three years easily. Maybe four. And by that time you’d probably want the old structure back, so it’s actually quicker this way.

PROBLEM: Your company has merged with Acme Insoles, previously your biggest rival. Acme management wants the new company to standardise on the Acme IT system, which offers a thin-client VR interface to a Web-enabled object-based next-generation system running on a wide-area network-centric protocol-independent massively-parallel cluster array. Your operations people argue strongly against this, on the grounds that your own system is ‘loads better’. Acme management took you out to lunch the other day, which was nice. On the other hand, they did insist on going to that posh Italian restaurant, and you missed out on a session down the pub with the ops. Who should you believe?

SOLUTION: The ops, every time. They should know, it’s their job. Besides, all that wide-object massively-independent stuff is all very well, but who’s going to get out of bed when it falls over at 2 a.m. on a Sunday? The ops, that’s who. Antagonise them at your peril.

PROBLEM: The year 2000 is fifteen months away. When you asked your IT director, he told you that all your systems were millennium-compliant; however, immediately afterwards he took early retirement and opened a greengrocer’s. When you went past the other day there was a sign in the window saying

All ‘Fruit’ Is ‘Guaranteed’ Millenium-Bug ‘Free’!

Should you be worried?

SOLUTION: The use of bad English on a greengrocer’s sign is not in itself worrying, or indeed surprising. You may even be able to turn it to your advantage: is there a gap in the market for an scrupulously literate greengrocer? If on the other hand you are not expecting a sizeable lump sum from your current employer, you may wish to consider bar work. (Note: avoid pubs with computerised tills).

PROBLEM: You are having trouble motivating your IT staff. You have tried departmental meetings, informal group chats, fun events after work, lunchtime quizzes, motivational posters, Dress Down days, Dress Up days, Tidy Desk days and Work Normally days. Nothing works. What should you do?

SOLUTION: Try money. Or holidays. Or, no, wait, money and holidays. And shorter hours. Let’s see… more money, more holidays, shorter hours and paid overtime. And free beer. That ought to do it.

Wrapped in paper (9)

Another from 1999, this time from Ned Ludd’s column in NTexplorer. Bill Gates’s book Business @ the speed of thought had just come out. (No, I don’t remember anything about it either.)

SINCE THE SUCCESS of my first book, the Superhighway Less Travelled, rumours of a sequel have been rife. I’m happy to say that ‘Ludd 2.0’ is finally available. It’s called Thinking at the speed of business, and your local bookstore may still have some signed copies. (They certainly had a few left when I went.)

It’s a 300-page book, so I can’t do justice to the full complexity of the ideas I presented in it here – not unless I had a double page at least. (No chance – Ed.) Here, by way of a taster, are some of the key concepts from the book they’re already calling a paradigm-busting block-shifter.

Digital nervous system. Not everyone realises this, but the information which is held on computers is actually encoded in the form of digits – that’s numbers to you and me. One and zero are the numbers most commonly used, but that’s just down to programming tradition. Many people are unhappy about computers having all that information, and so they try and beat the system – they spell their names different ways, they leave the ‘optional information’ boxes blank, sometimes they don’t even register their software! What I say is, computers already have so much information about you, what does it hurt to give them a bit more? Besides, the computers don’t care about your information – to them it’s just ones and zeroes, remember? There really is no need to get nervous about the digital system.

Working Web-style. Go into any large company, ask twenty different knowledge workers what they’ve found on the Web recently, and you’ll probably get thrown out by Security. Not only that, but you’ll have wasted the best part of a morning. And they’d all lie to you anyway, so what would be the point? Give people Web access, and you’ll find that from then on they’re working in a different way – a more secretive way, very often. Take their Web access away, on the other hand, and they’ll leave. The Web, in today’s business world, is a chaotic strange attractor; in other words, it’s a quantum leap which will transform the working environment for generations yet unborn, probably. I expect it’ll work out all right.

Information on your fingers. From the teletype to the keyboard; from the keyboard to the mouse; from the mouse to those funny-shaped mice with the little wheely thing in the middle – a whole series of quantum-busting paradigm-leaps, and every one of them has depended on the human finger. Several fingers, in fact. Developments in VR technology which are already being written about will take this process a revolutionary step further, with the advent of a tactile user interface or TUI. Imagine being able to reach out and use your hand to smooth the curve of a graph, align a heading, massage the data. No, I can’t imagine it either, but it’s certainly worth thinking about.

The speed of business. Go into any large company – you shouldn’t have so many problems with Security this time round – and see how quickly things are getting done. That’s right: not very quickly at all. Most office workers spend significant amounts of time doing what time and motion experts classify as ‘chatting’. Approaches to chatting differ, but the overall chat quotient (OCQ) is thought to be remarkably constant as between the three main sociological categories of office worker: the Infuriatingly Calm Slacker (ICS), the Crisis-Driven Maniac (CDM), and the Manager (BOF). The moral is clear. The true speed of business is a leisurely speed, and there’s really no call to speed it up – I mean, who wants to work around the clock anyway? Let the computers sort it out – we’ve got homes to go to.

Thought-provoking stuff, I think you’ll agree. In all modesty, I think this book could get me recognised as the most influential business author since Tom Peters, or possibly Napoleon. Already I’m hotly tipped for this year’s award for the business writer who makes the most use of scientific terms without knowing what they mean. That’s what I call a paradigm shift!

God save history

Andy:

It is inevitable that there will be a debate about our English identity, and the values that we wish to embrace in our culture. The left needs to participate in that debate, and fight against the Little Englanders. However, we will be greatly aided in this if we recognise that the British state, and the imperial project it entails, greatly disadvantages our people. … the economic policies of the British state, in promoting London as a major financial centre whatever the cost to the underlying economy, and encouraging economic growth in the South East at the expense of the rest of the country must also be challenged.

Andy’s excellent post reminded me of something I wrote for the Socialist Society back in 1988 (yes, that is quite a long time ago, isn’t it?) A version of this piece appeared in Radical Wales; a different version appeared in the Soc Soc’s own magazine Interlink. Needless to say, I don’t hold exactly the same views now as I did in 1988. At the time I wrote this, I was still reeling from the discovery that there are places in England which aren’t blighted by being in London’s cultural rain-shadow. A suburban upbringing will do that for you.

Here’s the article, anyway, fresh from the vault.

The final assumption of Labour’s campaign is ‘Britishness’. In a sense this follows naturally from assumptions about power and the party (…) Just as power disenfranchises the individual and the party neutralises the pressure group, so the nation state marginalises the regions. The whole is structured to fail the sum of its parts. (…) In Chesterfield [1987] one question being asked was not whether Wales and Scotland get decentralised powers, but how to do the same for the English regions. The Irish/Scottish/Welsh ‘problem’ is being recognised for what it has always been: the ‘British problem’.
(Peter Keelan in Radical Wales, Summer 1988)

And there was London, spread out before us like a great capital city and major financial centre.
(Stephen Fry)

Looking out from London, as most of the news media do, England is made up of two places: London on one side (where things get done) and “the regions” on the other (where things happen – floods, motorway pile-ups, mass pickets). Between the centre and the regions, though, there is a grey area, neither central nor provincial: towns widely considered – by their inhabitants as much as anyone – to have nothing going for them except ease of access to London (“it’s amazingly cheap considering”, “it takes no time in the car”). The significance of this is that, from my own experience of living south of London, when you look at “the regions” from London what you see is the grey area: there is London and there are the other towns, and the other towns are probably all awful places with a cinema, two car parks and no soul. Said in the right tone of voice, Preston sounds as funny as Woking.

Of course, where towns like Woking are concerned, it is not just metropolitan snobbery that reduces the town to the role of base for London workers. The subordination of the civic life of these towns to the priorities of the capital is a real and continuing process. But this process – this acceptance, as if by the town itself, of a position of subordination to London – does not apply to towns outside the grey area. It is not that being outside commuting distance of London somehow grants independence from the London-centred economy or the London-based state: indeed, the Scottish experience shows how little cultural autonomy depends on socio-economic autonomy. It is a matter of how easy it is to attempt – or to formulate – alternatives to the economic and cultural hegemony of the British state; and of the extreme difficulty of doing this in a place with too long a record of unchallenged exploitation by the capital of that state.

It is a question of history. On one hand, there is the long concentration of wealth and power in London, and its effect on the rest of the country. On the other, there are “regions” which have never been either wholly independent from London, or wholly reduced to raw material for London. The grey area, appearing to prove that only London is culturally alive, in fact shows the deadening influence of London’s drain on resources – which, in the grey area, has had its full effect. Elsewhere social and cultural resources, and the degree of freedom for new developments, are not so circumscribed. It may be true, as Londoners will assume it is, that Penrith and Dudley and Ipswich are “stifling”, “socially impoverished” “cultural backwaters” whose young people make for the metropolis at the first opportunity. What is certain is that the apparent barrenness of these places (which should not be over-stated) is the result, not of an original sin of not being London, but of their own histories – histories that will supply, if anything can, the means of overcoming that barrenness.

I am arguing against two very British assumptions: that England is composed of a metropolis (definitively English) and a periphery (regional English); and that an English social and political culture – culture of any sort, indeed – is not to be sought in the latter. We need to break with these, not only by denying the superiority of London, but by re-evaluating – and downgrading – London: prising the large city in the South-East of England apart from the home of Britain’s State and most of its Establishment. An English challenge to Britain is needed; and, as a first step, the development of an idea of Englishness rooted in the lives of the actual people of England, most of whose relations with “Britishness” are relations of vicarious participation, indifference or exclusion.

Nor is this only a cultural question. Nothing will impede the development of a politics of England more than continuing to organise nationally from and in London. Our political organisations should at the very least be articulated across England. Their activities should take place as much in Coventry or Newcastle as in London, not out of a desire to “build a presence in the regions”, but because to continue to do otherwise is to reproduce the centre/provinces, government/governed split at the heart of British politics.

A couple of disclaimers. It is easy to over-emphasise the regional issue, either by ranking it above those of class and economic power or by assuming that they are the same thing – “Manchester people will take no shit from no one”, as a Moss Side-born friend once said to me. This is mysticism. The idea of England I am proposing and the received, patriotic-pastoral version are polar opposites. I am not talking about pride in being English, but awareness of being in England: nationalism growing from a sense of common purpose, rather than a sense of common purpose drummed up out of nationalism. The SNP’s poll tax campaign exemplifies this approach.

We can understand the potential of the English perspective by thinking about internationalism. Maybe it is possible to feel international, to “support our lot” in exactly the same way regardless of country. Alternatively, maybe it can be proved that feeling ashamed of the British government is simply a sign of wounded chauvinism. If so, the old axioms hold good. The working class has no country; nationalism is inherently reactionary; progressive forces throughout the world have one allegiance only – the international proletariat. (Hooray!) It seems to me, though, that national feeling can be neither denied nor reduced to its reactionary uses – that the nation is not simply a hangover from the past, but one of the arenas in which history continues to be made. It follows that socialist internationalism is not an indivisible class’s loyalty to itself, but a pooling of national class loyalties; and support for national struggles which does not spring from a nationalistic solidarity is ultimately only dogma or philanthropy. Raymond Williams once described himself as a “Welsh European”. It is that combination of national and international perspectives which we have to realise.

“Nationalism? But I’m English!” Britain is a young nation – not 300 years old yet. There is no genuinely British nationalism; instead, we grow up speaking the nationalism of England’s governors, re-labelled “British” as a reminder that we run the whole island. This lack of a distinctively British national identity has led to the widespread feeling that the British are somehow post-national – “past all that”, too mature as a nation to bother with tribal relics like loyalty to your own turf. This is an illusion: British nationalism is as strong now as when it was first fabricated. The English have the worst of both worlds: a learnt loyalty to the tribal symbols of the English ruling class, and no means of voicing an alternative.

Which is where we come in. It is not just that the project of a Socialist Enlightenment cannot succeed in England unless it provides an alternative to Great British Old Corruption. The English situation merely accentuates a universal phenomenon: the need, integral to the socialist project, for a new national culture rooted in the experience of the people. This is why organising nationally, for those of us in England, must mean organising throughout England; and why we must take on board the sense that there is an England which, as much as Scotland and Wales, potentially has a political agenda other than Britain’s. To quote Raymond Williams again, “Ingsoc is no more English socialism than Minitrue is the Ministry of Truth”: English socialism, a radical politics of the people of England, has still to be developed. And it will be developed outside London, because that’s where England is.

An eerie sight

David introduces a new feature at Librarything:

“tagmashes,” which are (in essence) searches on two or more tags. So, you could ask to see all the books tagged “france” and “wwii.” But the fact that you’re asking for that particular conjunction of tags indicates that those tags go together, at least in your mind and at least at this moment. Library turns that tagmash into a page with a persistent URL.

I like everything about this, apart from the horrible name. As somebody points out in comments, it’s not a new idea – a large part of David’s post could have been summed up in the words “Librarything have implemented faceted tagging“. But I think this is still something worth shouting about, for two reasons. Firstly, they have implemented it – it’s there now to be played with, even if it’s got a silly name. Secondly and more importantly, they’ve implemented ground-up faceted tagging: the facets are created by the act of searching for particular combinations of tags. At a stroke this addresses the disadvantages I identified in my post; rather than being imposed beforehand, the dimensions into which the tags are organised emerge from the ways people want to combine tags. Arguably, what Librarything have ended up with is something like a cross between faceted tagging and Flickr-style tag clusters (in which dimensions emerge from an aggregate of past searches).

What’s more, the ability to record an association between two tags addresses a question I raised way back here. If, to quote Tom Evslin, “we think in terms of associations” (rather than conceptual hierarchies); and if “the relationship between documents is actually dynamic … open tagging and hyperlinking are both ways to impose particular relationships on documents to meet the need of some subset of readers”; then it’s curious, to say the least, that it’s been so hard until now to use tagging to say this is like that (as distinct from this has frequently been applied to resources which have also been classified as that). From del.icio.us on, tagging has been a simple naming operation, hitching up things to names (stuff-for-classifying to tags), but not allowing any connection between those names. The implication is that the higher-order knowledge of what went with what would only emerge – could only emerge – from the aggregate of everyone else’s naming acts.

The ‘tagmash’ reminds us that (pace David) everything is not miscellaneous: yes, we think in associations and we apply our own labels and classifying schemes to the world, but as we do so we’re also connecting A to B and treating D as a sub-type of C. When we talk, we don’t just spray names around; we’re always adding a bit of structure to the conversational cloud, making a few more connections. It’s the connections, not the nodes, that map out the shape of a cloud of knowing.

Update Changed post title. I spent a good five minutes this afternoon thinking of an appropriate lyrical reference (eventually settling on this one); I don’t know how I missed the obvious choice.

Wrapped in paper (8)

After all those columns from 1999, here’s one from last month. (And then I’ll get back to proper blogging, probably.) They say you should write about what you know; what I knew, that particular weekend, was beer. ‘Dave Bitzer’ doesn’t represent anyone in particular. Years ago I invented a consultancy called Gargle Bitzer Helipad, and I’ve used various Gargles and Bitzers ever since then to stand in for different talking heads and company spokespeople. Usually I make them talk rubbish, for obvious reasons, but in this one I think Dave talks a lot of sense.

I RAN INTO my old friend and commenting partner Dave Bitzer the other day at local beer tasting event Pale And Bitter (And Slightly Sour). I’d worked my way through the milds by this point and started on the fruit beers. In retrospect I think the second blackcurrant flavoured porter may have been a mistake.

“Dave!” I put it to him. “How’s it going! How is it going? How’s life in the… well, you know.”

I could see that my incisive style of questioning had caught Dave unprepared. For a moment, in fact, he got so confused that he said “Hello” and then turned his back on me – very much as if he had said “Goodbye”! Pausing only to sample the ginger-flavoured pale ale, I hastened to set his mind at rest.

“Dave,” I put it to him, placing a friendly arm around his shoulders. “David, David, Davey Davey Dave. It’s like this. I mean, is it like this? That’s the thing, you see – is it like this or not? I mean, if you spend your time reading about Web 2.0 on blogs and podcasts… and, and blogcasts…”

Dave said that people who did that should probably get out more, although in my case he’d make an exception. I thought that was a very good point.

“That’s a very good point,” I put it to him. “Thing is, if you read the Webby, Web things, lots of stuff. Lots of stuff happening. Reminds me of the dot boom. Is this another dot boom boom, Dave? Wait a minute, that’s not right. Is this… another… dot dot boom, de-boom boom boom. That’s what I say.”

Dave gave a heavy sigh, clearly impressed with the cogency of my argument. OK, he said, look at it this way. He tore the top layer of paper from a beermat and drew a cross on the exposed surface. So here’s your basic quadrant, he said. You can call this one –

“I’ll call it Henry,” I put it to him.

Dave sighed again, obviously deeply impressed. OK, he said, here’s Henry the Quadrant. Left to right we’ve got usefulness – is an application idea actually useful or not? Top to bottom, marketability, or whether or not you can get people worked up about it. We can rule out a couple of combinations straight away. ‘Dull but useful’ is an uphill battle for any company (apart from companies that have a large installed base they can sell to), and ‘dull and useless’ is best avoided. Clearly, ‘useful and exciting’ is what most developers are aiming for. But here’s the problem. How can developers actually come up with something that’s both exciting and useful? Look at the way we live already – we wear clothes, we drive cars, we synchronise calendars, we download MP3s, we shop around to get the best price for DVDs and don’t worry too much about the Hong Kong customs stamp when they arrive. It all works, basically. So people end up going for “exciting but useless”, and you get applications like Twitter – sounds great, if you like the idea of reading other people’s diaries in real time, but it’s not much use if you’ve actually got a life. Speaking of which, he added cryptically, then turned to look around the room, avoiding my gaze completely. I was touched by this mark of respect and put my arm round his shoulders again.

“So… So, so, so, Dave,” I put it to him. “Tell me, Dave. Is this another dot boom boom?”

Dave made a strange respectful growling noise. Not really, he said, because… oh, never mind. Look, it’s as if a brewery had to keep coming up with something new, and after a while they found they’d done every kind of beer that was actually drinkable, but they just kept going anyway and turned out, I don’t know, ginger-flavoured pale ale or blackcurrant-flavoured porter. There’s just not a lot going on, and the stuff that gets the hype isn’t really worth it. That’s why I’m here, actually.

“What, to check out the brewing… trendy… trendy trends?” I put it to him.

No, Dave said – to get drunk. What do you recommend?

Wrapped in paper (7)

More from the last century. This one had a wider audience than many of my columns, as it appeared in Computing. I wrote five of these columns for the paper in the first half of 1999, working on a rota with four or five other writers, after which they had a big reorganisation and dropped the column. It’s nice to feel one’s made a difference.

This column’s dated surprisingly well, although the obvious anachronisms are now harder to spot. The only bits that have a really odd ring are the bit about ‘free Internet services’ and, ironically, the reference to dialup access ‘costing you money the whole time’. The economics are different these days.

THE CURRENT explosion in free Internet services is sure to create a whole new generation of users: keen, enthusiastic, ignorant. With these lucky people in mind, I’ve put together a brief Guide to the Net.

What is the Internet?

The World Wide Internet (or ‘Web’ for short) was originally set up as a means for American military commanders to communicate with one another following a nuclear holocaust. It was thought vital to national security to assure the continuing availability of chat rooms, games of noughts and crosses and, of course, ‘adult’ material. Although the Cold War ended some time ago in a no-score draw, by some oversight the authorities failed to dismantle the International Net (or ‘w.w.w.’ for short). Many new technologies have sprung up to threaten the continuing viability of the ‘Web’ – the Sega Megadrive, Rabbit phones, the Microsoft Network – but it continues to hold its own. Indeed, some experts believe that it has grown within the last three to five years – and that this upward trend may continue!

Why is it so popular?

The popularity of the ‘Net’ is undoubtedly due to the unparallelled range of information and services which it can offer: the latest news from Kosovo, hardware specifications for everything from a Furby to a Happy Fun Ball, and, of course, material for ‘adult’ eyes. And that’s without mentioning the vast communications possibilities opened up by the electronic ‘news’ and ‘mail’ services which form an integral part of the ‘Interweb’, although it’s a different part from the part that we’ve been talking about up to now. Mail (or ‘email’ for short) quite literally shrinks the world – when you first got an email address, who would have thought you’d soon be getting business propositions from people in Taiwan? Not you, I’ll bet. As for ‘news’, don’t get hung up on that stale old idea of new information presented in an unbiased manner – most of the ‘news groups’ are full of ancient gossip and incomprehensible insults. And they’re all the better for it!

What about the…

Many news groups are entirely dedicated to the provision of material designed for an ‘adult’ audience.

Just checking. So, what are the drawbacks of ‘Net life’?

Net life is a lot like real life: you meet people, you talk about things, you make friends, you fall out, you insult them in public, they refuse to speak to you, you realise you’ve gone too far and try to apologise, it’s too late, nobody ever writes to you again except people in Taiwan with business propositions. The main difference is that when you’re on the Net it’s costing you money the whole time. On the other hand, how many people do you know from Taiwan?

What about the dangers of addiction?

Net addiction – or ‘Web addiction’ for short – is a real danger for today’s ‘knowledge workers’ (people who really have to work at it to acquire knowledge). Sufferers become distracted and irritable when they’ve been ‘off the line’ for too bloody long – often they can’t even complete a simple English, oh, what’s the point anyway? Look, I’ll just check my mail, all right? I won’t be on for long.

Does the Net interfere with users’ social lives?

What was that? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.

What are the major growth areas in Web use?

The Web is international – hence the name! This means that the only laws which apply on the Web are laws which apply all over the world. This is good news for casinos, which have expanded far beyond their original base in the North of England, as well as for providers of material intended for customers who can be described as ‘adults’. Another recent growth area, also taking advantage of the Net’s ‘offshore’ existence in ‘cyberspace’, has been drug trafficking (or ‘e-commerce’).

What is the significance of encryption?

Nfx n fvyyl dhrfgvba…

Wrapped in paper (6)

As a sort of companion-piece to the last one, here’s a column from September 1999.

THIS MONTH this page is given over to an interview with a pioneering futurologist: Michel de Nostredame. De Nostredame – more widely known as ‘Nostradamus’ – has had a huge influence on the very course of life on this planet itself, and on the development of the computer industry. I was particularly curious to hear Nostradamus’ interpretation of recent events, which have damaged his reputation in some quarters.

So we’re still here, then.

Can I make one thing very clear right at the outset? When soldiers cross the burning river, only a young Pope can hold the jam.

Do you think you could make that even clearer?

Sorry – force of habit. What I meant to say was, I never actually said the world was going to end on the fourth of July 1999.

What about “a creature with two heads will be born the day the eagle celebrates his festival”?

Well, there you go – that could mean just about anything. The Yanks aren’t the only people who make a fuss about eagles, are they? Besides, I didn’t specify a year. I didn’t specify a century, for that matter.

Elsewhere you did refer to July 1999, though. ‘Year 1999, seven months, from the sky will come a great king of terror to revive the king of the Mongols.’

For a start, it’s not the king of the Mongols: it’s the king of Angoulême, which is a region in France. People keep assuming I wrote in anagrams – as if my verses weren’t incomprehensible enough to start with! If I’d meant ‘Mongols’ I would have written ‘Mongols’, I can assure you.

But Angoulême doesn’t have a king.

That’s easy for you to say. I was writing four hundred years ago, remember? Anything could have happened in that time. Then there’s this ‘great king of terror’. What I actually wrote was deffraieur, which means someone who pays the bill – the kind of person who’ll get the drinks in and pick up the tab.

So it should be translated as ‘a great entertaining King’?

Uh-huh.

That gives us: ‘Year 1999, seven months, from the sky will come a great entertaining king to revive the king of Angoulême’. It’s not a great improvement in terms of accuracy, is it?

You realise that the seventh month of the astrological calendar only starts in mid-September? No, you’re right, it’s not very likely. Chalk it up to experience.

What influence do you believe your work has had on the computer industry?

It’s had a huge influence. Bill Gates himself is known to have studied my writing extensively. He even used one of my verses as justification for one of his major campaigns. As it happens that verse was a fake – it was planted by the British government, which had learnt about his superstitions following the defection of Rudolf Hess – but it shows how seriously he took my writing.

I think you’re thinking of Adolf Hitler.

You may be right – these twentieth-century leaders all look alike to me.

How do you think your writing will fare in the next millennium?

I’m optimistic. That reference to 1999 was the last specific date I used – I wish I hadn’t bothered, it was asking for trouble. There are plenty of verses still left to interpret, and some of them are so weird that they’ll be almost impossible to prove or disprove. “They will come to deliver the prince of Denmark, a shameful ransom to the temple of Artemis” – what’s that about? People will be trying to make sense of my prophecies for a long time to come.

Can I quote you on that?

I’d rather you didn’t – you never know what might happen.

Wrapped in paper (5)

This one’s from March 2000. I should say that I took Y2K very seriously indeed; we even stockpiled. (Well, we had a box.) I vividly remembered being a programmer in 1987, and having to argue long and hard before my project leader would allow me to use eight-digit dates. Multiply that out across the country, I thought, and who knew what would happen? Ironically, I was one of those posters to comp.software.year-2000 who were regarded as sunny optimists, on the grounds that we anticipated large-scale disruption but not actually the end of the world as we knew it, as such. At one stage I formulated a rough 5-point scale for measuring the severity of our predictions, and pegged myself at around 4 (where 5 was, well, TEOTWAWKI). There were plenty of no-nonsense 5s; somebody even extended the scale up to 10, to incorporate vaguely Nostradamus-like predictions of exactly how the WAWKI would E.

So I have every sympathy with people like Peter de Jager and Ed Yourdon, who did a great deal of what I still believe was good and worthwhile work in raising awareness of Y2K, and with Ed Yourdon’s afterthoughts in particular. Just thought I’d establish that.

I CAUGHT UP with my old friend Ed Gargle at his remote farmhouse recently. Ed was widely regarded as one of the leading authorities on the Millennium Bug in 1998 and 1999, although more recently he has been less in demand. I began by asking Ed the obvious question: what went right?

“What went right? Precious little, as far as I could see. Oh, there were a few failures – I believe the trains in Mali are still up the spout – but by and large Y2K was a bit of a washout..”

Remediation had been successful, in other words?

“Absolutely – and nobody’s happier about that than I am. Y2K could have been a major disaster. There was a real risk of an economic slowdown, caused by nothing more than the ever-mounting expense of last-minute fixes and the spiralling fees which would have been charged by Y2K consultants. We could have seen supply chain disruptions, leading to shortages in basic supplies; that would have caused untold hardship for everyone, except for those farsighted individuals who prepared by buying a year’s supply of rice, drinking water and toilet paper. (That’s a lot of toilet paper, incidentally – particularly if you got some extra for barter purposes.) At worst, we could have seen society decline into lawless, bloodstained chaos, in which civilisation itself would only be kept alive by a few hardy pioneers in isolated farmhouses. Instead, everything just went on working. I’m glad about that. Really very, very glad.”

I wondered how Ed would account for the success of remediation.

“Mali, for God’s sake. Talk about adding insult to injury. New Zealand: OK. Australia: OK. Japan: OK. China: OK. Russia: OK – Russia, would you believe! Europe: OK. The US: OK. Mali: problems on the railways. Oh, big deal. Who in their right mind is going to get on a train in Mali at the best of times, let alone on the day before the end of the world as we know it?”

Quite. However, I also wondered how Ed would account for the success of -

“People are blaming me now. Can you believe that? All I did was state how it looked to me – people have got to draw their own conclusions. So what if a world-renowned Y2K consultant says there’s a 79% probability of one or two major disruptions to essential services during the first quarter of 2000, each lasting between two and three weeks – it’s just one person’s opinion. People are even blaming me for the money they spent on preparing for the rollover. All I said was that I’d sold up, moved to the country and bought a year’s supply of rice, bottled water and toilet paper (which is a lot of toilet paper, incidentally) – I never said that anybody else should do the same. There wouldn’t be much point if everyone did it.”

Indeed. I wondered how Ed would account for -

“I’ve got no bookings, you know. My diary’s empty. Correction, I’ve got a few of these gigs in the first quarter – ‘Ed Gargle Explains Why He Got It Wrong’ – but after that, nada. I’m hoping I’ll be able to fall back on the stuff I was doing before Y2K. I don’t know, you tell me – is C++ still making headlines? Thought not. Still, look on the bright side – I won’t need to buy rice any time soon.”

Clearly. I wondered how -

“And then there’s all that toilet paper – it’s taking up space apart from anything else. I put a note in the last edition of my subscribers-only Y2K newsletter asking what I could do with 144 rolls of toilet paper, but I haven’t had any suggestions. Well, I haven’t had any practical suggestions.”

Ed sighed and poured us both another slug of ‘Sloe Poison’ (a locally-produced fruit brandy).

“As for why remediation succeeded, God only knows. Dedicated programmers, I suppose. Well-written applications. Stable, reliable, robust platforms, if there is such a thing. Still, mustn’t grumble – never know what’s going to happen at the end of this year.”

At the end of this year?

Ed smiled.

“Can I interest you in a seminar?”

A tree in Paradise

Some years ago, John Harris (not the pundit) proposed a thought-experiment called the Survival Lottery. The premise was that the supply of organs for transplant is currently inadequate to meet the demand. Moreover, the whole business of harvesting organs for transplant is fraught with practical and emotional difficulties, putting both the bereaved and potential recipients under a lot of stress which both parties could do without. The result is inevitably that people die who could have lived, and that many who do live have shorter and less satisfactory lives than anyone would wish on them.

How much better it would be, in terms of the greater good of the greater number, if the government organised a consistent supply of transplanted organs, which could be calibrated to meet the demand. The mechanism would be the Survival Lottery: every citizen would have a number assigned to them (the NHS number would do nicely), and a periodic random draw would be made. The unfortunate individual whose number came up would be killed and his or her transplantable organs harvested.

This would be an outrageously cruel and arbitrary system, which would probably cut short the lives of several blameless citizens every year. However, it could be guaranteed to save more lives than it cost – making it less outrageously cruel and arbitrary than the state of affairs we live with now. It’s true that, under this system you’d live under the constant threat of having your number come up and becoming an organ donor against your will. But you’ve already got that risk hanging over you every time you cross the road – and you’ve also got the risk of sustaining an injury (or developing a condition) which would put you in need of a donor organ, which might not be available. Viewed in this light, the phrase ‘Survival Lottery’ is a rather pointed misnomer – we already live with a survival lottery. Harris’s system, as unthinkable as it may seem, wouldn’t create the lottery or even exacerbate it; in point of fact, it would improve the odds.

And yet, unthinkable is just what it does seem. This is a real ethical problem, gifted to us by the development of medical transplants (not that uninventing them would be much of an answer). Kazuo Ishiguro’s heartbreaking novel Never let me go looks at one science-fictional solution, the development of cloning to the point where people could be created to become donors. Kathy, Ishiguro’s narrator, looks at the life of the human clones from the inside: we follow her through childhood (lived in a kind of year-round boarding school), through adolescence and into training to be a ‘carer’. (It’s a self-sustaining system: people like Kathy look after their friends, as they go through a series of donations and finally ‘complete’, before they become donors in turn.) Throughout the book, Kathy muses – brightly and not very reflectively – on what it’s like to remember someone who’s not there any more; what it means to leave something that you’ll be remembered by; whether it matters if you haven’t left anything to be remembered by, providing that you live on in people’s memories; and whether even that matters in the long run, since after all those people won’t be around forever – and in any case you won’t be there to know about it.

In other words, Kathy shows us life as framed by death – the same life we all live, albeit for most of us with a much longer timespan. (Clones are sterile, of course.) Along the way, Ishiguro raises the unanswerable question – would it be tolerable to treat an identifiable group of people like this – as a harvestable resource – for the sake of giving the rest of us a bit longer? Surely not – but if it were possible, how could you justify not doing it? And, to ask a darker and more political question, if we were doing this to an identifiable group of people, what could persuade us to stop? We can be thankful that transplant technology wasn’t available to the Nazis – or to the eugenists of Britain and America for that matter.

The ghastly flaw at the heart of Ishiguro’s clone-based solution also disqualifies the seemingly obvious solution to the donor organ shortage, permitting organ sales. The question is, can we guarantee that the costs and risks of organ donation would not bear disproportionately on an identifiable minority? If there’s money changing hands, clearly not. A similar, albeit less obvious, flaw disqualifies Larry Niven’s ghoulish fantasy of ‘organlegging’, which makes organ donation a corollary of capital punishment. (A typically lip-smacking description is quoted here – ‘cardiectomy’, indeed.) You only need to look into the issue of differential access to justice – and differential likelihood of coming to the attention of the police in the first place – to see the flaw here.

What makes the Survival Lottery interesting, and differentiates it from ideas such as these, is precisely that it has the merit of equity: everybody’s number would be in the hat. (Even the Queen’s, presumably.) There’s something distasteful about it, all the same. In his poem “The Latest Decalogue” the Victorian poet Arthur Hugh Clough offered a gloss on each of the Ten Commandments, including the sixth:

Thou shalt not kill; but need’st not strive
Officiously to keep alive

(Ouch.) The Survival Lottery seems to start from the identical assumption, that failing to keep alive is morally equivalent to killing – but Harris moves from this to the utilitarian (and very un-Cloughian) conclusion that killing so as to keep alive might be allowable, as long as there’s a net increase in the number of people who survive overall. Philosophically, it comes down to whether we think the taboo on killing in cold blood is there for a good reason, and whether that taboo is strong enough to trump utilitarian considerations. Politically, the question is whether we have sufficient trust in the wisdom of the state to empower it to answer either of those questions in the negative. Personally I’d prefer the question of state killing to have fewer grey areas rather than more.

Having said all of that, the idea of introducing ‘presumed consent’ for organ donation – in effect, switching from opt-in to opt-out – seems eminently sensible. As Rob says, it’s hard to see whose interests could possibly be set back by this change, as anyone who cared enough to object would be able to express their preference in binding form by opting out (“I would not like to help anyone live after my death”). I suppose there’s a case for saying that understanding of the policy couldn’t be presumed – in the absence of which presumed consent would be meaningless – but surely this is a case for public education, not for pitching policy to the level of the voters’ lack of awareness. (It took my grandfather a couple of months to get the hang of decimalisation – he still had to live with it.) What appears to be an honourable refusal to take decisions in the name of an uninformed electorate is really the refusal to trespass on the voters’ apathy and ignorance; it may be what those voters would prefer, but it’s hardly in their best interests. I’m particularly disappointed in Harry Burns – Andrew Lansley’s comments were predictable, but Burns should have known better. (I’d never even heard of Harry Burns before this morning, and now this – I ask you.)

My notebook and my limit

A while ago Rob passed me the meme stick with a couple of questions deriving from Big Brother:

Tell your readers three things about you that would make you the Ideal Housemate if you were imprisoned in a house with ten random strangers for weeks on end. Then three things that’d make you the Housemate From Hell.

I’ll take them in reverse order.

I would be the Housemate from Hell, in any imaginable Big Brother-type scenario, because:

a) I hate being thrown together with strangers
b) I really hate being under surveillance
c) I really, really hate Big Brother and all its derivatives. When I first read about Zimbardo’s Stanford prison experiment I was fascinated but simultaneously disgusted and alarmed. I felt that Zimbardo’s experiment, like the Milgram obedience experiment, prompted some large and troubling questions about 20th-century American society, which we haven’t yet managed to answer. (The question of whether Milgram’s or Zimbardo’s findings related only to American society – or only to capitalist societies, or only to the twentieth century – is obviously one of the largest and most troubling.) I don’t know what Big Brother is if it’s not the Stanford experiment, fine-tuned and played for laughs.

Ideal Housemate is going to be a bit of a sticky wicket, in the circumstances, but let’s give it a go.

a) Sometimes what you really want from a housemate is that they leave you alone. This suggests that a really good housemate would really leave you alone, for hours or even days at a time, occuping themself instead by reading a book somewhere quiet.
b) I tell you what I can do: I can keep my head when all about me, etc. When people start flapping I’m quite good at staying calm and working out what actually needs to be done. This isn’t always popular.
c) Conversely, I can flap – sometimes to the point of losing it completely – when those about me are perfectly calm. Which, I don’t know, might have a certain entertainment value if nothing else.

On balance I think ‘Housemate from Hell’ has it.

Meanwhile, Philippe has passed me the ‘eight random things’ meme. Here goes:

1) When I was 12 I fell off a cliff I was attempting to climb and landed headfirst. I was unconscious for 36 hours.

2) I once went to France at GMTV’s expense; one morning in June 2004 I appeared on screen for approximately 30 seconds, standing on the beach at Arromanches and talking about the landings. I was credited as a ‘military historian’. (I’d specifically asked them not to credit me as a military historian.) My travelling expenses came to between three and four times my fee.

3) My father’s father was a miner; my mother’s mother was in domestic service. I get a bit peeved when people deny the relevance of class.

4) I have no knee reflex; my knee does not jerk. This was first noticed after 1) and may be a result.

5) Raymond Williams liked my poetry.

6) I used to be a regular contributor to some Usenet groups, in particular alt.folklore.urban, soc.history.what-if and comp.software.year-2000; at one time contributors to c.s.y2k periodically gave their opinion on how bad it would be, using the ‘Edwards Scale’. (Most of us were miles out.)

7) I know Cobol.

8) I also know French, Spanish and Italian, although I can’t hold up a conversation in any of them.

There you have it. As for who’s next, as flattering as it was to get an actual nomination, I think I’m going to take the easy way out and offer a general invitation. If you feel like telling us your own eight random personal facts, have at it.

Update Will writes:

An ‘honest’ reality television would be self-defeating; you might as well stare at your own flatmates for 45 minutes. Instead, reality television distorts, manipulates, refers to itself, because the objectifying properties of television equipment are brought within the frame of entertainment.

What is worse is that reality television not only deliberately plays with form, it laughingly denigrates content. In the same way that Heat magazine revels in using telephoto lenses to reduce film stars to specimens of celulite, reality television uses television equipment to turn people, famous or not, into emotional wrecks. Loss of emotional self-control is the leveller and main spectacle, with rage as the most sought-after. Be it on Big Brother, cooking programmes, home improvement or whatever else, it is the tears, the shouting the breakdown or – yes – the storming out from a photo session over a tiara, that bankroll this cultural vacuum.

So maybe I would be a ‘good’ housemate after all. Wot larx, eh?

That’s all changed

There is “a fair amount of rewriting of history going on”, says Martin Kettle. (This post began life on CiF. I keep meaning to give up commenting there – it’s a singularly unrewarding occupation, apart from those rare occasions when the columnist you’re responding to actually reads the comments. Commenting on most CiF posts is ‘interactive’ in much the same way that shouting at the TV is.)

Anyway, back to Kettle. Apparently, where the terrorist threat is concerned, the Brown/Straw/Smith regime won’t be a big change from Blair/Reid, because actually Blair and Reid were pretty moderate, actually. No, really:

It is not actually true that the Blair government invariably responded to terror alerts by reaching for tough new powers. In fact it finally learned from its earlier mistakes, notably after 7/7, just as Brown has done.

Terror alerts have been more or less continuous for the last six years; as it stands the first line is trivially true. As for the Blair government’s response to terrorist incidents, the first major example on Blair’s watch was the Omagh bomb of 1998. Response: the Criminal Justice (Terrorism and Conspiracy) Act 1998, with new police powers (a police officer could state that a suspect belonged to a proscribed organisation, rather than the suspect having to own up), a new offence (conspiracy to commit terrorist offences outside the UK) and new penalties (including seizure of terrorist-related assets). The CJ(TC)A took the form of a raft of amendments to the annually-renewed Prevention of Terrorism Act 1989, which was itself a revised and updated version of the Prevention of Terrorism (Temporary Provisions[sic]) Act 1974.

The Terrorism Act 2000, it has to be said, didn’t come in response to any particular incident, but did show awareness of new forms of terrorist organisation; the definition of terrorism was expanded to include ‘religious’ or ‘ideological’ as well as political motivation. The Act included just about everything that had been in the PTA 1989 as amended, together with several elements of the Northern Ireland (Emergency Provisions) Act 1973 and some entirely new provisions, such as a revision of the length of time a suspect could be detained without charge (from two days to seven). Also, the PTA 2000 applied to the UK as a whole, and it was permanent rather than renewable.

Then there was September 11th. Not strictly speaking our show, but the Blair government thought new legislation was called for nonetheless. The Anti-Terrorism, Crime and Security Act 2001 brought in a raft of new offences associated with aeroplanes, nuclear installations and weapons of mass destruction, together with powers to deport suspected international terrorists – or intern them if they couldn’t be deported without risking torture. A terrorist, in this context, is defined (ATCSA s.21, sub-sections 2 and 3) as someone who

is or has been concerned in the commission, preparation or instigation of acts of international terrorism
is a member of or belongs to an international terrorist group, or
has links with an international terrorist group

A group can be described as an international terrorist group if

it is subject to the control or influence of persons outside the United Kingdom, and
the Secretary of State suspects that it is concerned in the commission, preparation or instigation of acts of international terrorism.

In other words, there’s a pretty broad range of people who could be deported or detained, subject to the Home Secretary’s ‘suspicion’. (The criterion of reasonable suspicion is used elsewhere in the same section, but not here. Presumably this is deliberate.)

Then there was the Criminal Justice Act 2003, which raised the limit on detention without charge from 7 days to 14.

Then came 2005 and… the Prevention of Terrorism Act 2005. To be fair, this wasn’t a reaction to 7/7; it was a reaction to the Law Lords’ judgment effectively overturning the detention provisions of ATCSA. Hence, the PTA 2005 gave us control orders.

Then – after the Blair government had seen one major review of anti-terrorist legislation, two anti-terrorist bills rushed through Parliament in the wake of particular incidents and a third anti-terrorist bill patching up one of the others – came July 7th 2005. The Blair government’s response was: the Terrorism Act 2006, which raised the limit on detention without charge yet again – from 14 days to 28. (There’s a handy review of this topic – and a startling graphic – here.) It also introduced such new offences as preparation of terrorist acts and dissemination of publications favouring terrorism, as well as the now-notorious offence of ‘glorifying’ terrorism.

Back to Kettle’s two propositions:

It is not actually true that the Blair government invariably responded to terror alerts by reaching for tough new powers. In fact it finally learned from its earlier mistakes, notably after 7/7, just as Brown has done.

1. You could have fooled me.
2. Not entirely clear what this is supposed to mean, but:
2.1. If Kettle’s arguing that the Blair government’s response to 7/7 was refreshingly sober and restrained, see 1.
2.2. If he’s referring to the government response to events since 7/7 (the liquid-explosive airline plot, Dhiren Barot’s “gas limo” plan), the implication is that we should commend the government for not rushing through emergency powers in response to terrorist attacks that didn’t actually happen. This is pushing it rather. I never thought I’d hail Margaret Thatcher’s liberalism and sang-froid, but let’s not forget that the serving Prime Minister was very nearly killed by a terrorist bomb in October 1984. Special legislation passed in response: none.

As well as downplaying the extent of New Labour’s panic response to terrorism, Kettle downplays the degree to which it represents a break with the past. Hence this comment, in response to the recent non-proscription of Hizb-ut-Tahrir:

Labour ministers have never been slow to proscribe organisations that promote terror

‘Never’ is quite a long time, even if your starting point is 1924 (before which there weren’t any Labour ministers). The IRA was proscribed, by a Labour Home Secretary, under the PT(TP)A in 1974; until that point there weren’t any proscribed organisations in British law (Northern Ireland law is another matter). So perhaps it should read Since 1974, Labour ministers have never been slow… except that Labour ministers didn’t proscribe any other organisations between then and the fall of Callaghan. The INLA was proscribed in 1979, under Thatcher (that was the full extent of the incoming government’s legislative response to the assassination of Airey Neave shortly before the election; Neave was a Conservative shadow minister and a personal friend of Thatcher’s). After that no terrorist organisations were proscribed in British law for another twenty years. Even the post-Omagh CJ(TC)A 1998 didn’t actually proscribe the Real IRA, limiting itself to empowering the government to specify active Northern Irish terrorist groups which would be treated as proscribed organisations.

It all changed in 2000, when a list of 14 organisations proscribed in Northern Ireland law was incorporated into the Terrorism Act. Since 2000, certainly, Labour ministers haven’t been slow to proscribe, etc – the list stood at 58 the last time I looked and has probably grown since. But that’s just to say that the Blair government has its own distinctive approach to terrorism – which is the position Kettle’s arguing against.

To borrow Kettle’s pained, sleeve-tugging language, it’s not actually true that Blair reacted to terrorism in the same way as any other Prime Minister, or any other Labour politician. New Labour – or should we start saying ‘Blairism’? – was something new, in the field of counter-terrorism along with many others; it doesn’t do the Labour Party any favours to pretend otherwise.

Update 26/7

should we start saying ‘Blairism’? Maybe not.

Gordon Brown moved yesterday to dominate the terror and security agenda, grabbing a Tory proposal for an integrated single border force and then challenging David Cameron to accept that the scale of the terrorist threat requires an extension of detention without charge to up to 56 days.

The move, announced in a ground-breaking Commons statement, follows months of discussions with police and security services on a range of measures, including post-charge questioning of suspects, the use of intercept evidence in court and a proposal that convicted terrorists be treated in the same way as sex offenders.

Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.

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