Isn’t it wonderful to see BP being crucified? It’s about time these huge corporations which behave with complete contempt towards the rights and wellbeing of the rest of us were brought to book. And with the level of compensation now being debated for the damage to the US Gulf Coast, BP is being brought to book with a vengeance. Literally, I suspect, but no less deservedly for all that.
Strangely enough, in certain quarters it seems to be supposed that I shouldn’t be feeling this way. The ‘B’ in BP stands for ‘British’, and I have a British passport, so some on both sides of the Atlantic, seem to want to suggest that I should show some kind of solidarity with the company. Out of patriotism, perhaps.
The truth is that the word ‘British’ is the only thing that I have in common with BP. If they could drill for oil down the road from me, they would, and if that happened to lead to my house being drowned in crude, they’d try to get away with offering nothing more than an apology and minimal compensation.
The only respect in which nationality is relevant in this whole business is the fact that the victims of the oil spill are American and the US packs real economic punch. That’s why the company is being pursued with such determination. There are other oil spill cases in various countries, but they’re in places like Africa where the victims don’t have the same leverage, so we barely hear of them.
And the case that I feel offers the starkest, and most shameful contrast with the Gulf oil spill, is that of Union Carbide in Bhopal. After all, thousands of people there were killed - some say 20,000 or more - while many others were blinded or crippled. In the Gulf so far the damage has been principally to the environment. Those slick operators at Union Carbide ducked and dodged and the cases are still dragging on.
I’d love to see the US administration taking as tough a line on Bhopal as it now is on the Gulf spill. Twenty-six years on, it’s very late, but after all it's taken 38 years for the British government to come clean on the Bloody Sunday massacre. A quarter of a century is pretty much par for the course, and any action even now would be welcome.
It's great to see Obama going after BP. Now he's on a roll. Let's get those guys from Bhopal too now. At last.
Thursday, 17 June 2010
Sunday, 13 June 2010
Janka shows it's never too late to learn
It’s been a breakthrough weekend for our dog, Janka. She’s a Puli, a breed sometimes known as Hungarian water dogs, a glorious irony in her case since for the nearly eight years she’s been on this Earth, she’s always been happy when the weather is warm to wander into water up to her middle, to cool off, she’s never shown anything but the most marked distaste for going so far as to get out of her depth and actually having to swim.
Until this weekend, that is. Chasing a stick in a pond and realising she couldn’t get to it just by walking along the bottom, she took the plunge and swam out for it. And discovered she liked it! Since then, she’s been in several times with obvious enjoyment – although it leaves her pretty stiff when she gets home – but then at nearly eight she’s well into middle age. If you leave a form of exercise, even one that ought to be natural to you, until that late in life, you have only yourself to blame if the unaccustomed activity causes a bit of strain.
Of course, she hasn’t been wasting all her time while she’s been failing to swim. On the contrary, her apprenticeship in human social interactions continues unabated. Inadvertently locked out of the front of our house a few days ago, she didn’t just stand there and bark, but took decisive action. She walked to the end house of our row, up the side into the back garden, and apparently straight past the cat that she usually enjoys chasing – she must have felt that the cat would have been a mere distraction at a time when she had a much more serious problem to deal with: after all, she’d been locked out – was she ever going to be allowed back in? So ignoring the distraction, she stalked past and without so much as a by-your-leave, right into our neighbours’ conservatory. She went up to her good friend Jenny who was sitting there, and made it clear she required her attention.
Jenny walked her back to our house and knocked on the door, at which point we were able to make it clear to Janka that her exclusion really had been temporary and unintended. Janka didn’t actually thank Jenny for her help – her mastery of human behaviour hasn’t reached that stage yet – but by the way she flopped down on her rug and resumed her interrupted pursuit of relaxation, it was clear that she was highly satisfied with her achievement. As well she might be.
All of which goes to show that you can make breakthroughs, in both the physical and the moral domains, even in your later years. It’s never too late, as they say.
The right kind of water for Janka
Until this weekend, that is. Chasing a stick in a pond and realising she couldn’t get to it just by walking along the bottom, she took the plunge and swam out for it. And discovered she liked it! Since then, she’s been in several times with obvious enjoyment – although it leaves her pretty stiff when she gets home – but then at nearly eight she’s well into middle age. If you leave a form of exercise, even one that ought to be natural to you, until that late in life, you have only yourself to blame if the unaccustomed activity causes a bit of strain.
Breakthrough!
Of course, she hasn’t been wasting all her time while she’s been failing to swim. On the contrary, her apprenticeship in human social interactions continues unabated. Inadvertently locked out of the front of our house a few days ago, she didn’t just stand there and bark, but took decisive action. She walked to the end house of our row, up the side into the back garden, and apparently straight past the cat that she usually enjoys chasing – she must have felt that the cat would have been a mere distraction at a time when she had a much more serious problem to deal with: after all, she’d been locked out – was she ever going to be allowed back in? So ignoring the distraction, she stalked past and without so much as a by-your-leave, right into our neighbours’ conservatory. She went up to her good friend Jenny who was sitting there, and made it clear she required her attention.
Jenny walked her back to our house and knocked on the door, at which point we were able to make it clear to Janka that her exclusion really had been temporary and unintended. Janka didn’t actually thank Jenny for her help – her mastery of human behaviour hasn’t reached that stage yet – but by the way she flopped down on her rug and resumed her interrupted pursuit of relaxation, it was clear that she was highly satisfied with her achievement. As well she might be.
Enjoying one of her favourite occupatios, relaxation. With a friend
All of which goes to show that you can make breakthroughs, in both the physical and the moral domains, even in your later years. It’s never too late, as they say.
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
The pride and the shame of the Richmond Nimby
What a lovely place Richmond is. I was there yesterday; the view across the Thames as you drive from the high point of the town to the centre is breathtaking, and of course the park is one of the most beautiful and extensive in England. As for the houses, they’re nothing short of magnificent: Richmond isn’t a neighbourhood for the poor or disadvantaged.
Despite all this beauty, I did end up metaphorically screaming at the place before I left it, crawling through the centre of town at less than a walking pace. Travelling around England underlines just how crowded a country it is. That’s been a much-debated theme recently, with all sorts of exciting initiatives by our bright new government to restrict immigration into this country. This could keep potentially several hundred thousand people away, and not all of them will be tortured or die of hunger in their home countries. Of course, this would barely scratch at the surface of the problem of overcrowding. To start to solve that, we need to reduce the population by many millions, and for that limiting immigration isn’t enough, we’d need to encourage a lot of Englishmen to move away too. Incidentally, looking out of my window on a ‘flaming June’ day of grey skies and drizzle, I can assure you that this Englishman wouldn’t take much persuading.
Have you noticed how often a mention of something you haven’t heard or thought about for years is followed by your coming across it again within twenty-four hours or so? You know – you may not have heard a word for ages and then stumble across it by happy chance, perhaps a word like lexicographer, or meet it when there’s no-one around who can give you a definition of it, say a term like serendipity, and then you hear or read it again shortly afterwards.
Yesterday was the first time I’d been in Richmond for ages and it was mentioned on the radio news this morning. Another smart new initiative of the government has been to put an end to a Labour measure which allowed building on areas previously used for gardens. The new government is giving local people the right to challenge this kind of development.
Sounds wonderful. Who wouldn’t want to protect gardens? But is that really what we’re protecting or is it more a matter of upholding the rights of those who live in pretty areas? People who would say ‘I’m keen on cheap housing, but not in my back yard?’ The ‘not in my back yard’ specialist or Nimby favours a policy and is happy to see society sacrifice to achieve it, as long as the sacrifice is made by someone else, generally someone much less well placed to bear the cost.
And this morning there it was: a woman who has lived in Richmond for years but by her accent seemed to be of German extraction (which has a certain irony), claimed ‘I’m proud to be a Nimby.’
This is a brilliant debating device. You take something most people regard as a ridiculous contention and then align yourself with it – you state something like ‘I don’t care what people say, but I think Sarah Palin has a working intellect.’ This apparently legitimises the previously illegitimate and shifts the burden of proof to your opponent who has to start by demolishing a position that he thought had already been overthrown.
Of course, we can follow the same policy as I recommended in my last post and test the validity of this device by replacing a key word or two. ‘I’m proud to be a homophobe.’ Not quite so effective is it? ‘I’m proud to be a racist.’ Lacking a certain charm, wouldn’t you say?
In the early stages of the Spanish Civil War, the philosopher Miguel de Unamuno spoke in a public debate in which the Fascist General Millán-Astray, of the particularly feared Foreign Legion, also took part. Some of Astray’s supporters shouted out their slogan ‘Viva la Muerte’, ‘long live death’. Unamuno replied ‘I, having spent my life writing paradoxes that have provoked the ire of those who do not understand what I have written, and being an expert in this matter, find this ridiculous paradox repellent.’
It would be massively immodest for me to claim to resemble Unamuno – perhaps a more reasonable comparison is with the Modern Major General in The Pirates of Penzance who claimed to have ‘a pretty taste in paradox.’ But where I’m with Unamuno is in not finding every paradox attractive. Taking pride in your own shamelessness, in particular, leaves me distinctly cold.
Despite all this beauty, I did end up metaphorically screaming at the place before I left it, crawling through the centre of town at less than a walking pace. Travelling around England underlines just how crowded a country it is. That’s been a much-debated theme recently, with all sorts of exciting initiatives by our bright new government to restrict immigration into this country. This could keep potentially several hundred thousand people away, and not all of them will be tortured or die of hunger in their home countries. Of course, this would barely scratch at the surface of the problem of overcrowding. To start to solve that, we need to reduce the population by many millions, and for that limiting immigration isn’t enough, we’d need to encourage a lot of Englishmen to move away too. Incidentally, looking out of my window on a ‘flaming June’ day of grey skies and drizzle, I can assure you that this Englishman wouldn’t take much persuading.
Have you noticed how often a mention of something you haven’t heard or thought about for years is followed by your coming across it again within twenty-four hours or so? You know – you may not have heard a word for ages and then stumble across it by happy chance, perhaps a word like lexicographer, or meet it when there’s no-one around who can give you a definition of it, say a term like serendipity, and then you hear or read it again shortly afterwards.
Yesterday was the first time I’d been in Richmond for ages and it was mentioned on the radio news this morning. Another smart new initiative of the government has been to put an end to a Labour measure which allowed building on areas previously used for gardens. The new government is giving local people the right to challenge this kind of development.
Sounds wonderful. Who wouldn’t want to protect gardens? But is that really what we’re protecting or is it more a matter of upholding the rights of those who live in pretty areas? People who would say ‘I’m keen on cheap housing, but not in my back yard?’ The ‘not in my back yard’ specialist or Nimby favours a policy and is happy to see society sacrifice to achieve it, as long as the sacrifice is made by someone else, generally someone much less well placed to bear the cost.
And this morning there it was: a woman who has lived in Richmond for years but by her accent seemed to be of German extraction (which has a certain irony), claimed ‘I’m proud to be a Nimby.’
This is a brilliant debating device. You take something most people regard as a ridiculous contention and then align yourself with it – you state something like ‘I don’t care what people say, but I think Sarah Palin has a working intellect.’ This apparently legitimises the previously illegitimate and shifts the burden of proof to your opponent who has to start by demolishing a position that he thought had already been overthrown.
Of course, we can follow the same policy as I recommended in my last post and test the validity of this device by replacing a key word or two. ‘I’m proud to be a homophobe.’ Not quite so effective is it? ‘I’m proud to be a racist.’ Lacking a certain charm, wouldn’t you say?
In the early stages of the Spanish Civil War, the philosopher Miguel de Unamuno spoke in a public debate in which the Fascist General Millán-Astray, of the particularly feared Foreign Legion, also took part. Some of Astray’s supporters shouted out their slogan ‘Viva la Muerte’, ‘long live death’. Unamuno replied ‘I, having spent my life writing paradoxes that have provoked the ire of those who do not understand what I have written, and being an expert in this matter, find this ridiculous paradox repellent.’
It would be massively immodest for me to claim to resemble Unamuno – perhaps a more reasonable comparison is with the Modern Major General in The Pirates of Penzance who claimed to have ‘a pretty taste in paradox.’ But where I’m with Unamuno is in not finding every paradox attractive. Taking pride in your own shamelessness, in particular, leaves me distinctly cold.
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
The power of words and the Israeli action against the Gaza flotilla
It’s curious what a difference just changing a word or two in a news report can make. For example, in an account on the recent Israeli boarding of the Turkish vessel Mavi Marmara leading to the killing of nine of the activists aboard, The Guardian wrote on 1 June:
Israeli soldiers involved in the military raid on the Gaza flotilla released descriptions of facing a 'lynching' at the hands of armed activists aboard the Mavi Marmara.
The Israeli defence force (IDF) issued a video featuring two soldiers, each with one arm in a sling and their faces obscured to avoid identification.
Now, I’ve watched the video footage and it’s obvious that the Israeli forces were met by pretty terrifying violence. It’s hard to imagine that anyone in that situation and with a powerful weapon to hand might not use it. Without wanting to quibble, though, I do have to question just why such soldiers with such weapons were being dropped by helicopter onto civilian boats. I’m not sure that I can quite go along with Joseph Liebermann, erstwhile running mate of Al Gore in the presidential elections in 2000, and an independent senator for Connecticut (or possibly Upper Galilee) who recently proclaimed:
‘We should be very clear about who is responsible for the unfortunate loss of life in the attempt to break the blockade in Gaza. Hamas and its allies are the responsible parties for the recent violence and the continued difficulties for the people of Gaza. Israel exercised her legitimate right of self defense.’
To test the even-handedness of reactions to these events, consider a slightly modified news report, with a just a few words changed:
Iranian soldiers involved in the military raid on the Bandar Abbas flotilla released descriptions of facing a ‘lynching’ at the hands of armed activists aboard the US vessel Chesapeake Bay.
The Iranian revolutionary guard issued a video featuring two soldiers, each with one arm in a sling and their faces obscured to avoid identification.
I wonder whether Senator Liebermann would speak out in favour of the poor Iranian Revolutionary Guards and defend their right to act in self defence.
But don’t worry: I don’t really wonder for long.
Completely unrelated postscript. Just finished watching John Ford's film of A Single Man. Powerful, well performed, and directed with the kind of economy that magnifies emotional impact. I strongly recommend it. But it was fascinating to see Joanne Moore of North Carolina acting with an English accent, and Surrey-born Nicholas Hoult playing with an American one. Why did they do this transatlantic swap-over? Just because they can, like why a dog licks his genitals?
Israeli soldiers involved in the military raid on the Gaza flotilla released descriptions of facing a 'lynching' at the hands of armed activists aboard the Mavi Marmara.
The Israeli defence force (IDF) issued a video featuring two soldiers, each with one arm in a sling and their faces obscured to avoid identification.
Now, I’ve watched the video footage and it’s obvious that the Israeli forces were met by pretty terrifying violence. It’s hard to imagine that anyone in that situation and with a powerful weapon to hand might not use it. Without wanting to quibble, though, I do have to question just why such soldiers with such weapons were being dropped by helicopter onto civilian boats. I’m not sure that I can quite go along with Joseph Liebermann, erstwhile running mate of Al Gore in the presidential elections in 2000, and an independent senator for Connecticut (or possibly Upper Galilee) who recently proclaimed:
‘We should be very clear about who is responsible for the unfortunate loss of life in the attempt to break the blockade in Gaza. Hamas and its allies are the responsible parties for the recent violence and the continued difficulties for the people of Gaza. Israel exercised her legitimate right of self defense.’
To test the even-handedness of reactions to these events, consider a slightly modified news report, with a just a few words changed:
Iranian soldiers involved in the military raid on the Bandar Abbas flotilla released descriptions of facing a ‘lynching’ at the hands of armed activists aboard the US vessel Chesapeake Bay.
The Iranian revolutionary guard issued a video featuring two soldiers, each with one arm in a sling and their faces obscured to avoid identification.
I wonder whether Senator Liebermann would speak out in favour of the poor Iranian Revolutionary Guards and defend their right to act in self defence.
But don’t worry: I don’t really wonder for long.
Completely unrelated postscript. Just finished watching John Ford's film of A Single Man. Powerful, well performed, and directed with the kind of economy that magnifies emotional impact. I strongly recommend it. But it was fascinating to see Joanne Moore of North Carolina acting with an English accent, and Surrey-born Nicholas Hoult playing with an American one. Why did they do this transatlantic swap-over? Just because they can, like why a dog licks his genitals?
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Privacy 2: outing gays and hunting ministers
Benjamin Disraeli injected colour into the role of British Prime Minister, in every sense of the word. He liked to wear purple velvet and would affect white gloves with rings outside them. He also had a way with words. Told on his death bed that Queen Victoria wished to visit him, an unheard of royal honour for a man born a commoner, he apparently turned the offer down on the grounds that ‘she will only ask me to take a message to Albert’, her late husband.
Charm was another of his qualities. ‘When I left the dining room after sitting next to Mr. Gladstone,’ recorded a young woman who had the privilege of dining on separate occasions with both Disraeli and his rival Gladstone, ‘I thought he was the cleverest man in England. But after sitting next to Mr. Disraeli, I thought I was the cleverest woman in England.’
Winston Churchill said of his political opponent and erstwhile former deputy Prime Minister from the war years, Clement Atlee, that he was ‘a modest man, who has much to be modest about’. George Bernard Shaw sent Churchill a telegram reading ‘Two tickets reserved for you, first night Pygmalion. Bring a friend, if you have one’. Churchill replied, ‘Cannot make first night. Will come to second. If you have one.’
It wasn’t only Conservative politicians who specialised in barbs, of course. One of the harshest but in my view finest was provided by Aneurin Bevan when he turned his guns on the Conservatives themselves: ‘No amount of cajolery, and no attempts at ethical or social seduction, can eradicate from my heart a deep burning hatred for the Tory Party. So far as I am concerned they are lower than vermin.’ I think we got the message.
Denis Healey, probably the finest leader the British Labour Party never had, and the greatest Prime Minister Britain missed out on, had plenty of excellent and highly quotable aphorisms. ‘When you’re in a hole, stop digging,’ has to be a particularly useful suggestion which I wish I could learn to follow more often. And he also provided the useful legal advice that ‘the difference between tax avoidance and tax evasion is the thickness of a prison wall’.
Much more recently, when the new coalition government was formed in this country, David Laws of the British Liberal Democrats was appointed Chief Secretary to the Treasury, the number two position in our finance ministry. When he took up his office, he found the traditional letter from his predecessor, in this case Liam Byrne. It read ‘Dear Chief Secretary, I'm afraid there is no money. Kind regards – and good luck! Liam’.
That was just three weeks ago, but David Laws has already had to resign. Why? Because he’s gay.
That may seem extraordinary. After all it isn’t illegal or even much of a matter for comment to be gay in Britain. We’ve had numerous openly gay ministers already. The problem with Laws is that he chose to stay in the closet. So when it came to claiming for expenses, instead of declaring his home as shared with his partner, he claimed for rent paid to his partner as landlord.
A committee of enquiry is looking into the matter, but for now it looks as though he made no more than he was entitled to from the arrangement. Technically, however, it was a breach of the rules.
The Daily Mail, one of the least pleasant of our scandal sheets masquerading as daily newspapers, decided last week to denounce Laws. Faced with a media maelstrom, Laws felt he had no choice but to resign.
Today he is quoted as saying, ‘I should have been more open’. Well, perhaps he should have been, perhaps he shouldn’t. I don’t see how it’s my business or that of any other voter. I’d far rather we all took a decision on David Laws based on how well or how badly he performs in politics. Everything else falls into the strictly private realm.
My last post was on privacy. Isn’t this a much clearer example of where privacy really needs to be protected than, say, on Facebook? Can we tolerate a technical offence bringing down a minister? More to the point – can we tolerate that minister being driven out for his sexuality?
You may agree or disagree with the politicians I quoted at the start of this piece. You may find them amusing or detestable. But they were certainly characters, they were colourful, they rose to challenges.
If we let organisations like the Daily Mail get away with their poisonous little crusades, we’ll end up with politicians who are without exception straight, white, middle class, male, middle-aged and nominally Christian. They’ll have the purity of cotton wool. They’ll have the respectability of a tweed suit. They’ll have the dynamism of a communion wafer.
And the wit and charm of a George W. Bush.
Charm was another of his qualities. ‘When I left the dining room after sitting next to Mr. Gladstone,’ recorded a young woman who had the privilege of dining on separate occasions with both Disraeli and his rival Gladstone, ‘I thought he was the cleverest man in England. But after sitting next to Mr. Disraeli, I thought I was the cleverest woman in England.’
Winston Churchill said of his political opponent and erstwhile former deputy Prime Minister from the war years, Clement Atlee, that he was ‘a modest man, who has much to be modest about’. George Bernard Shaw sent Churchill a telegram reading ‘Two tickets reserved for you, first night Pygmalion. Bring a friend, if you have one’. Churchill replied, ‘Cannot make first night. Will come to second. If you have one.’
It wasn’t only Conservative politicians who specialised in barbs, of course. One of the harshest but in my view finest was provided by Aneurin Bevan when he turned his guns on the Conservatives themselves: ‘No amount of cajolery, and no attempts at ethical or social seduction, can eradicate from my heart a deep burning hatred for the Tory Party. So far as I am concerned they are lower than vermin.’ I think we got the message.
Denis Healey, probably the finest leader the British Labour Party never had, and the greatest Prime Minister Britain missed out on, had plenty of excellent and highly quotable aphorisms. ‘When you’re in a hole, stop digging,’ has to be a particularly useful suggestion which I wish I could learn to follow more often. And he also provided the useful legal advice that ‘the difference between tax avoidance and tax evasion is the thickness of a prison wall’.
Much more recently, when the new coalition government was formed in this country, David Laws of the British Liberal Democrats was appointed Chief Secretary to the Treasury, the number two position in our finance ministry. When he took up his office, he found the traditional letter from his predecessor, in this case Liam Byrne. It read ‘Dear Chief Secretary, I'm afraid there is no money. Kind regards – and good luck! Liam’.
That was just three weeks ago, but David Laws has already had to resign. Why? Because he’s gay.
That may seem extraordinary. After all it isn’t illegal or even much of a matter for comment to be gay in Britain. We’ve had numerous openly gay ministers already. The problem with Laws is that he chose to stay in the closet. So when it came to claiming for expenses, instead of declaring his home as shared with his partner, he claimed for rent paid to his partner as landlord.
A committee of enquiry is looking into the matter, but for now it looks as though he made no more than he was entitled to from the arrangement. Technically, however, it was a breach of the rules.
The Daily Mail, one of the least pleasant of our scandal sheets masquerading as daily newspapers, decided last week to denounce Laws. Faced with a media maelstrom, Laws felt he had no choice but to resign.
Today he is quoted as saying, ‘I should have been more open’. Well, perhaps he should have been, perhaps he shouldn’t. I don’t see how it’s my business or that of any other voter. I’d far rather we all took a decision on David Laws based on how well or how badly he performs in politics. Everything else falls into the strictly private realm.
My last post was on privacy. Isn’t this a much clearer example of where privacy really needs to be protected than, say, on Facebook? Can we tolerate a technical offence bringing down a minister? More to the point – can we tolerate that minister being driven out for his sexuality?
You may agree or disagree with the politicians I quoted at the start of this piece. You may find them amusing or detestable. But they were certainly characters, they were colourful, they rose to challenges.
If we let organisations like the Daily Mail get away with their poisonous little crusades, we’ll end up with politicians who are without exception straight, white, middle class, male, middle-aged and nominally Christian. They’ll have the purity of cotton wool. They’ll have the respectability of a tweed suit. They’ll have the dynamism of a communion wafer.
And the wit and charm of a George W. Bush.
Sunday, 30 May 2010
The strange case of Facebook and the right to privacy
It’s fascinating to watch the turns and twists of the debate over Facebook privacy, though I have to confess that I have some trouble coming to terms with it. After all, the ‘www’ in front of the Facebook address refers to the idea of a ‘worldwide web’. I have trouble with the idea that we distribute material worldwide but still expect it to be private.
I feel the same about the frequent criticism of Britain as the nation with most video surveillance of any country in the world. I mean, I don’t deny the fact. In one sense, I suppose it’s actually a bit comforting to be top in something, having just come bottom in the Eurovision song contest. But of course the critics are reacting to the invasion of privacy that these cameras represent.
Certainly there are video cameras everywhere. I see them all the time, in public places, on the public highway, on public transport. But note that word ‘public’. It’s not insignificant. Where do we get an expectation of privacy when we’re in public?
One of the exciting aspects of starting out on a career is the way you have to come to terms with new concepts and challenge many of the ideas you had at the outset. When I first got into marketing, I took up with enthusiasm the task of planning a publicity campaign for our wonderful range of products. It was going to be so good that we’d be fighting off the people wanting to buy from us. I briefed some outstanding agencies, I worked alongside them with passion and energy, we came up with a campaign that gave us real pride. So imagine my disappointment when I put a series of designs in front of my boss and he leafed through them with apparent distaste and obviously increasing anxiety.
‘Yes,’ he said finally, but in a tone that betrayed his reticence, ‘these should be highly effective. But do we really want our competitors to know all this about us?’
It was a Damascene moment. It was the first but by no means the last time I had met a businessman who wanted to trumpet from the rooftops the outstanding qualities of his products, while imposing the strictest possible confidentiality about them. The elusive goal he was seeking was, in fact, secret publicity.
You may smile at the idea. But aren’t the concepts of ‘Facebook privacy’ or ‘the right to privacy in a public place’ at least as questionable?
I feel the same about the frequent criticism of Britain as the nation with most video surveillance of any country in the world. I mean, I don’t deny the fact. In one sense, I suppose it’s actually a bit comforting to be top in something, having just come bottom in the Eurovision song contest. But of course the critics are reacting to the invasion of privacy that these cameras represent.
Certainly there are video cameras everywhere. I see them all the time, in public places, on the public highway, on public transport. But note that word ‘public’. It’s not insignificant. Where do we get an expectation of privacy when we’re in public?
One of the exciting aspects of starting out on a career is the way you have to come to terms with new concepts and challenge many of the ideas you had at the outset. When I first got into marketing, I took up with enthusiasm the task of planning a publicity campaign for our wonderful range of products. It was going to be so good that we’d be fighting off the people wanting to buy from us. I briefed some outstanding agencies, I worked alongside them with passion and energy, we came up with a campaign that gave us real pride. So imagine my disappointment when I put a series of designs in front of my boss and he leafed through them with apparent distaste and obviously increasing anxiety.
‘Yes,’ he said finally, but in a tone that betrayed his reticence, ‘these should be highly effective. But do we really want our competitors to know all this about us?’
It was a Damascene moment. It was the first but by no means the last time I had met a businessman who wanted to trumpet from the rooftops the outstanding qualities of his products, while imposing the strictest possible confidentiality about them. The elusive goal he was seeking was, in fact, secret publicity.
You may smile at the idea. But aren’t the concepts of ‘Facebook privacy’ or ‘the right to privacy in a public place’ at least as questionable?
Thursday, 27 May 2010
England, blessed with Rhyme and Reason
Here in Britain, our bright new government of Conservatives and Liberal Democrats, or ‘ConDems’ as the Daily Mirror has so aptly baptised them, has been announcing all sorts of exciting new initiatives. One of these – perhaps a bit more Con than Dem – is to make sure that schools again start to teach poems by heart. This is presumably because of the abiding love of poetry that has been inspired in so many by reading reams of Walter de la Mare as a child and being able to recite ‘The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, and his something and something and something and gold’.
Equally they want schools to teach lists of the Kings and Queens of England. Being able to rattle through them in the right order is clearly the kind of accomplishment without which civilised life is barely imaginable.
Note, by the way, that this really does mean England, so that James I is always the first, even though he was the sixth King of Scotland of that name. Also the list starts with William the Conqueror as no-one wants to have to tangle with difficult names like Aethelred, Athelstan or Edward the Confessor. We just write the Anglo-Saxons out of the picture and pretend that history only started when the Normans came blundering in without knocking.
As it happens, I can do the first eight, because I’ve never been able to forget ‘Williy, Willy, Harry, Ste, Harry, Dick, John, Harry three’. You can imagine what comfort this gives me. I can’t count how many times it’s been useful to me, but that’s only because zero isn’t a counting number.
Meanwhile, our government – or, again, the Con part of it at least – would like to do away with the Human Rights Act. Obviously, no-one really needs human rights. Just learn to recite ‘Victoria, Edward VII, George V, Edward VIII’, and we’ll be able to proclaim with every ConDem in sight, ‘the snail's on the thorn; God's in his Heaven – all’s right with the world.’
Equally they want schools to teach lists of the Kings and Queens of England. Being able to rattle through them in the right order is clearly the kind of accomplishment without which civilised life is barely imaginable.
Note, by the way, that this really does mean England, so that James I is always the first, even though he was the sixth King of Scotland of that name. Also the list starts with William the Conqueror as no-one wants to have to tangle with difficult names like Aethelred, Athelstan or Edward the Confessor. We just write the Anglo-Saxons out of the picture and pretend that history only started when the Normans came blundering in without knocking.
As it happens, I can do the first eight, because I’ve never been able to forget ‘Williy, Willy, Harry, Ste, Harry, Dick, John, Harry three’. You can imagine what comfort this gives me. I can’t count how many times it’s been useful to me, but that’s only because zero isn’t a counting number.
Meanwhile, our government – or, again, the Con part of it at least – would like to do away with the Human Rights Act. Obviously, no-one really needs human rights. Just learn to recite ‘Victoria, Edward VII, George V, Edward VIII’, and we’ll be able to proclaim with every ConDem in sight, ‘the snail's on the thorn; God's in his Heaven – all’s right with the world.’
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