Friday, 15 May 2009
Currently the media is enjoying a feeding frenzy: MPs are greedy and, best of all, freedom of information has laid their greed bare for all to see. The Telegraph's editor must have had the easiest week of his life, high sales generated by running the same story day after sordid day. And we, the people, are loving it; the recession, rising jobless and repossession figures, that modern sense of ennui which has infiltrated Britain; we have a lot of anger right now, and those MPs have offered themselves as our punching bags. The political classes have been trying everything to end the scandal. Brown's attempt, his smiley youtube clip, was briefly a success in giving the press a new topic ('Is Brown human?'), sadly he never followed it up. Cameron has naively tried to reassure the public that the money will be paid back ('All of it?' // 'Well ...um...gosh... some of it'), but of course that has only added to speculation. Meantime the rank and file have stuck with the line 'what I did was within the rules'. Vince Cable, that trusty voice of dull calm, pointed out that maybe this relentless focus on the issue might be distracting the legislature and government from doing their jobs; but no one seemed to have been listening (too distracted perhaps).
Meantime the media have been getting more and more rabid. Finally they have leverage, not just over individual MPs but over the whole system. The BBC, still smarting from their Dr David Kelly smack-down, are positively salivating; each morning the number of texts and emails they receive is going up. There were 'hundreds' yesterday, 'literally thousands' today, I am expecting that by week's end the whole studio will be buried in printouts of our righteous indignation. I hope for their sake no one starts asking questions of how they spend the licence fee ('...£1milllion on Paxman, £2million on printing texts and emails...').
Personally I am a little befuddled by all of this. It seems to me that the stories can be simplified to the statement 'MPs are greedy'. I would say that there do seem to be a few who have broken the rules (and given what the rules allowed that takes effort), those few, like anyone, should face prosecution for fraud and/or theft. However for the vast majority the sin is not criminal behaviour but 'being greedy'. Nonetheless, as many point out, MPs should be held to a 'higher standard' (or, put another way, we want to be able to criticise them while holding ourselves to a 'lower standard'). We are in a crisis generated by a national culture of greed, a belief that money is somehow separated from labour - 'I earn £50k p.a. and I own a house worth £500k..., but I'm not greedy, I'm not a professional like a banker or MP'. Are we really so very shocked that MPs are no different from us? Certainly Labour has done itself no favours by putting huge credence in the 'court of public opinion' over the last decade. Sir Fred Goodwin must be smiling as his sips his imported white tea from an exquisite bone china cup.
I wonder what the Zen master would say about all this? If this crisis leads to a change in the system, a reliance on freedom of information, and renewed trust in MPs, then great. If it causes government, at a time when we are in desperate need for direction and leadership, to grind to a halt then not so great. We, the public, need to work out what we want, is this just a manifestation of anger with no clear end in sight, or is this about reforming a system? Do we want to see MPs suffer and our government to collapse, or do we want to see it emerge stronger and healthier? Do we want to punish people for greed, or do we want to change a culture that allowed (even admired) such greed?
I suppose we'll see.
Monday, 16 March 2009
My train got stuck outside Marble Arch, apparently they need to check smouldering on the tracks. Victorian notion; perhaps a steam train passing along the central line dropped a hot coal. Reading and re-reading one page of the metro, in the polyglot crush I can't turn the page. Jade Goody is dying, eliciting automatic sympathy, only a monster would not feel bad for the woman. She told her children she will soon be a star in heaven: apotheosis by media. Speaking of monsters, Max Clifford is our ringmaster for the final act of the Jade show. Insidious, personification of the malignancy killing his client.
I saw him on the news the other day, press eddying in his wake. He deftly deflects questions about Jade's final media appearances, “her choice”, “I asked her if she was sure” and so on. He's as insincere as the press who follow, gripped by the story but feigning moral approbation at the same time. They tell themselves “It's all right, its only a job”; the media and Max united in the drive to make some money - “but no, that's not fair, there'll be money for Jade's kids, our motives are pure ... now excuse me while I find a shower to wash the grease away”.
I can imagine Max now, sitting at Jade's bedside, Blackberry on silent. Master manipulator, sliding his practised fingers into the darkening recesses of a cancerous mind. “Remember your public Jade, they'll remember you. I can offer salvation. Immortality in print. Call me Max Christos Jade, if they read about it death will be overcome.” Max himself the great spider at the centre of his web. Poor Jade, she can't see the void behind that rubbery face, she cannot see this man for what he is. A monster for our times, a demagogue of celebrity, corrupt and corrupting.
I wonder if he fears death? A man so addicted to control must find the thought disconcerting, after all, once the spider's dead of what value is the web? I hope when his end comes he suffers. I hope he sits estranged, reading of his impending death in the rags he spent a lifetime filling. I hope he gets that moment of clarity, the realization of the poison his life was. At that moment, in the agony of being, the adrenal rush of the organism with nowhere left to run, he'll rip out his eyes, swallow his tongue; then the dogs of justice will come and tear his rotten flesh from the bone filling the air with the stink of decay. And so to darkness, lost but not missed. A tomb stone will read: “hear lies Max Clifford / maker of idols / keeper of secrets / he saw the worst in us and gave it voice”; and that will be it, he will depart with a whimper, no more will he darken our lives.