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I bought this tome shortly after its publication; however, I didn’t get around to reading it until I had to contend with less than optimal circumstances. On March 17, my paternal grandmother died; a day later, I was on my way to America for the funeral. There was little time to think: I just threw my clothes and supplies into my bag. As I am taller than a circus midget, I knew there was almost no prospect of my getting any sleep on the flight. Furthermore, the headphones the airline uses are precisely the type which are the right size to pop out of my ears without warning. Without rest or entertainment, I needed a fairly meaty volume in order to pass the time. As I was taking an evening flight, it also had to be interesting enough to keep me from succumbing to boredom in the darkness. I cast a glance at my nighttable, which at the best of times is overloaded with books: “The End of the Party” immediately fit the bill.

This is not my first encounter with Mr. Rawnsley’s coverage of New Labour; I read with relish his first book about the subject, “The Servants of the People”. At the time, his precision in describing the personalities driving New Labour seemed uncanny; in “The End of the Party” it is positively eerie. As a result, in some ways, it reads like a novel: Rawnsley is able to describe the inner thoughts of his dramatis personae and yet, this doesn’t jar.

If Rawnsley is right, the people of Britain should be very worried; behind the carefully crafted facade of hyperbole and spin, New Labour is a menagerie of disturbed personalities. We are first presented with Tony Blair, who excels at public presentation, but is shown to have a problem standing up to anyone with a stronger will than his own. For example, President Bush is portrayed as being more stubborn than his British counterpart; Blair’s personal attributes and his desire to cling to America meant that he was willing to go along with whatever the Americans wanted, even if he knew that the consequences could be disastrous. Indeed he was so focused on maintaining the alliance that he somehow was able to compartmentalise the data he received: for example, information regarding Iraq’s military capabilities was finessed and massaged until possibilities became certainties. There is no doubt this agenda of purposeful embellishment was driven by the Prime Minister and his acolytes; it is beyond refutation that Britain went to war in Iraq merely because it was what President Bush wanted to do.

Blair’s quirks were just as problematic in the domestic sphere: if Rawnsley is correct, Britain has essentially had two Prime Ministers for the bulk of New Labour’s time in office. Gordon Brown has maintained tight control over domestic policy, which has had the consequence of stifling public service reform. Brown’s personality is described in excruciating detail: he is portrayed as jealous and obsessed, easily offended, and extremely territorial. Indeed, his temperament was so problematic that the MP for Birkenhead, Frank Field, described Brown as “Mrs. Rochester” and begged Blair not to let him “out of the attic”. Rawnsley, however, is resolutely fair: he leaves the reader with the unmistakable impression that Brown has the will to be Prime Minister and appears to work well when he is facing one big issue at a time (such as the credit crunch). Yet, his managerial skills are poor: his most glaring problem is his total inability to delegate. He ends up micromanaging issues, and in the process tends to miss the bigger picture. Furthermore, Brown’s dearth of communication skills only serve to highlight rather than mask his flaws. In many ways, it’s a pity that the best qualities of Blair and Brown could not combine into one person, as that individual would be a formidable leader.

New Labour to this day remains a coalition of competing and hostile factions based upon their admiration for either Blair or Brown. The return of Peter Mandelson to government has soothed some of these tempers, but nevertheless, there is a pathology at the heart of government: the Cabinet appears to be largely comprised of scheming, unhappy and driven people like Brown’s long-time comrade in arms Ed Balls, who are constantly grasping for control, not just of government, not just the public, but also the nation’s narrative. Behaviour that would not be tolerated in a more typical context, e.g., Brown screaming at Blair that the latter had ruined his life, becomes expected at these rarified elevations. Power in this case is a projection of personal sickness, and it has the unfortunate consequence of affecting the lives of millions. In the case of Iraq and Afghanistan, it is getting some of Britain’s best and brightest killed.

“The End of the Party” is useful in exposing this truth; Rawnsley does not state it explicitly himself. It would be entirely unnecessary for him to do so. However, one wonders given the recent tightening in opinion polls if his choice of title is indicative of a wish as well as the likely outcome of the next general election. While there are individual Labour party members who are genuinely motivated by a spirit of public service and whose sincerity is beyond doubt, their efforts support an apparatus which seems to have run its course. Decline and fall is the overall sensation one gets as the book draws to a close, though the end of the Labour administration is yet to be written. It is difficult to conclude anything other than that this Government’s termination is justified.

I found that I was on the ground by the time I got to the last pages; I read quickly, however my rapid progress was mostly due to the fact the book was so absorbing that time’s passage had escaped my perception. Intriguing, entertaining, appalling and yet compulsive – “The End of the Party” fulfilled its function as a travel companion; it should also be on the nighttable of every potential voter who wants to understand what they’re voting for or against.

Last week, I attended an evening seminar at the Management school of my university. The lecturer was, in a former life, a senior manager in a pharmaceutical firm. What he had to say about the state of the industry was not particularly comforting: apparently, the industry’s present business model is thoroughly broken, and indeed, many companies are one bad drug away from complete collapse. In particular, he highlighted the plight of Merck, whose ill-conceived and over-marketed drug Vioxx nearly wrecked the firm.

How did they get into such a mess? The lecturer suggested that the current paradigm is based upon corporations generating a “hit drug” regularly: a good example of this is Viagra. Viagra is safe and has a popular usage to treat a common disorder. The billions made by the sale of such drugs justify a huge investment into a largely closed and secretive research and development process. The problem with pharmaceuticals is that one can spend billions and have it all come to nought at the final hurdle, i.e., human trials and approvals: in most other endeavours, the potential for failure can be identified at an earlier stage and lessons learned.

The lecturer suggested that the companies should adopt a new model: rather than spending vast quantities of cash on research and development professionals and labs, they should tap into the wider marketplace of ideas. The term he used was “open innovation”. This model has hitherto been successfully used by the information technology industry in the development of software; the operating system Linux, for example, is still largely a collaborative project, incorporating the efforts of programmers all over the world. Project management is a challenge with such a disparate workforce, however, it’s not an insurmountable obstacle. Linux is the operating system of choice for web servers and has become increasingly popular among home users.

There is an obvious snag with applying the same model to pharmaceuticals, which was not lost on the audience: to generate a piece of code, one only needs a computer and a spare room, sometimes even the latter is optional. In order to do ground-breaking drug research, one needs a lab, access to expensive chemicals and equipment, and it’s highly unlikely that one can “self-train” to be a world beating biochemist. While it’s possible some small venture capitalists may want to take a flutter on creating these facilities, the onus will likely fall on universities in order to provide the innovations which will continue the flow of life-saving, life-enhancing drugs. Furthermore, pharmaceutical firms’ role would be reduced to validation of the research and distributing the results.

As I sat there, I found the situation thoroughly ironic. Here we were, discussing the failure of a private industry and the need for it to be rescued by the public sector; yet again, as with the banks, the free market had failed. Capitalists find they need, for lack of a better term, some kind of socialism, as purely private enterprise is no longer affordable. Banks wanted the ultimate form of insurance for all sorts of misbehaviour, now pharmaceutical companies were more or less being advised to go cap in hand to the state in order to help them survive. Meanwhile, corporation tax is kept low in many nations because of the fear that these more or less parasitical entities will flee abroad. Basically, private firms of all kind want government backing, and indeed, need it, but at the same time, they furiously kick up a fuss when they receive the bill.

The paradox should not be lost on the general public: it merely needs to be explained in more detail. However, none of the three largest parties in Britain nor the two largest political parties in America are basically asking the following question about our present situation: “how is this working out for you?” The truth is, it isn’t. I can’t say I’m entirely surprised; my experience in private industry suggests that the greatest challenge was to get companies to back “blue skies” research, i.e., to do something risky and different, even though it was something risky and different that allowed them to exist in the first place. As the financial crisis has become entrenched, so too has this thinking. This is a recipe for stagnation, and again, only the government has the means to intervene in order to break the deadlock. However, politicians either don’t have the wisdom or the courage to explain these facts.

I can talk about a number of ideas I’ve seen at my university which have magnificent potential; I’ve seen plans for wave power generators which could provide clean electricity at reasonable cost. I’ve seen a proposal for the creation of a trans-Atlantic train, complete with tunnels which float beneath the waves. I’ve seen research grant applications which require the design and manufacture new imaging equipment which can take three dimensional snapshots of archaeological sites. All three of these ideas advance the frontiers of human knowledge, and could achieve great progress in the fields of sustainable energy, transport and technology. To my knowledge, however, no private company will contribute a farthing to any of these projects, though to be resolutely fair, some will give help in kind. Worse, the British government and both the opposition parties are committed to cuts in Higher Education, while at the same time, all three parties demand that universities contribute more to the development of the economy. The equations do not balance; something has to give. Considering society’s increasing dependence upon universities to provide progress, I would suggest it is not down to higher education to ensure that the sums work.

We all owe a debt to the government, whether we like it or not; our roads are paved, albeit, not always well. Our streets are policed, albeit, not always perfectly. Our children are schooled, though they are sometimes educated so badly that ignorance is reinforced. However arguments with the quality of the service provided does not invalidate the requirement. Higher education is not perfect; sometimes the ivory towers do shelter intellectuals who are so abstracted from reality that their contribution to society is as valuable and concrete as fairy dust. But at the same time, the overall role of universities is as important now as that of monasteries during the Dark Ages: in an era of societal and economic stagnation, both shine out as beacons of progress. The institutions of Higher Education remain the sole credible remedy for the innovation deficit that is taking hold in Britain and America; I am not alone in seeing this and saying this. However, it appears the politicians do not; if they don’t wake up in time, we will all be the poorer, and very soon.

Personally, I don’t believe Gordon Brown is a bully. Genuine bullying is systematic and contains a certain logic: sore points are identified, salt is poured into wounds, and the resulting humiliation provides the assailant with a warm glow. If the recent accounts from Andrew Rawnsley are true, this is not how Gordon Brown has behaved: a lost disk containing the personal data of millions of taxpayers apparently provoked him to the extent that he grabbed an assistant and proclaimed a plot had been hatched against him, which is illogical and absurd. Rawnsley also described how Brown repeatedly stabbed the back of the car seat in front of him with a black marker pen when he was frustrated. These incidents speak of a personality that is in turmoil, not possessed of the cool relish that one associates with a real torturer.

That said, we should still be irritated with Brown and the Labour Party; this wild thrashing about suggests that Brown cannot cope with the pressures of the job, and the realisation of his own inadequacy is tormenting him. He could have put ambition aside, stepped down gracefully, and be thought of much more positively than he is now. Labour’s leadership is even more culpable: knowing Brown “up close and personal” as they do, they did not see fit to have a genuine leadership contest in 2007, nor, once his flaws became apparent, did they gently ease Brown towards the exit and replace him with say, Alistair Darling. Rather, both Brown and Labour are continuing to inflict this psychodrama on the nation; from my vantage point, the decision makers I encounter are loathe to make long term plans this side of an election, partially because the full effect of this implosion is not entirely visible. This has knock on effects on industry and employment. We are, in essence, all being held hostage.

Of course, the Labour Party would have us believe that Brown’s flaws are part of a complex character which is passionate and determined. They would rather that we think of him having “personal excesses”, the downside associated with a man of many talents. The BBC is also somewhat confused, in their recent “Have Your Say” discussion, they suggested that “bullying” and “strong leadership” are countries which share a common border; in truth they are not on the same continent. It may be this perception which is most poisonous, as it will continue to pollute business and public life long after Brown’s hands have been pried off his desk at Number 10.

Strong leadership is not a matter of hectoring or bullying; this would imply that hectoring or bullying was effective, and the more of it, the better. Extreme examples of this abound: in Barbara Ehrenreich’s recent book, “Smile or Die” (known also as “Brightsided” in the United States), she describes an incident which occured at a company in Utah. A sales manager, in order to motivate his team, decided to waterboard a member of his staff. As the hapless individual gasped for air, the manager apparently said to the rest of the staff, “You see how desperately he wants air? You should have the same level of desire to make sales.” The fate of this manager is presently unknown to me, but it is an extreme which provides evidence of the norm: there is a belief that it is only compulsion, pressure, and threats which make human beings perform at their best. There is a dark, almost Hobbesian view of humanity which underlines this perception.

To be absolutely fair, there is grain of truth in this point of view. When labour was unpleasant, manual and required risking one’s life, say either working in a nineteenth century coal mine or a cotton mill in Lanacashire, one had to be on the verge of starvation in order to willingly endure the brutal conditions. A man was nothing more than a more articulate mule: required due to his dexterity, not because of his imagination. Yell at him, threaten him, beat him, and he may produce more cloth or fuel for you if the alternative is his own demise.

Productive relations have thankfully moved on. Enlightenment about how modern companies should run abounds. W. Edwards Deming articulated the idea of listening to one’s staff to improve the quality of one’s organisation and production; this idea was central to Japan’s post-war recovery. More recently, the academics Renee Maubourgne and W. Chan Kim have described how “Fair Process”, i.e., listening to one’s staff, yields better results. As the X-Files consistently state, “The Truth is Out There”: modern leadership should work towards making each enterprise a collective endeavour, which emphasises trust, valuing employee contributions, and creating a community which seeks its own betterment. Yet, we still confuse an overbearing individual’s behaviour with “strong leadership”, when in essence, it is the embodiment of a manager and / or a team which is profoundly brittle. Nations which appear to understand this concept, such as Germany, tend to be more successful than ones which don’t. Individuals who understand the limits of their competence and knowledge tend to delegate, and thus create an atmosphere which benefits from collective wisdom.

Brown is apparently incapable of learning the lesson. Again, if Rawnsley’s account is to be believed, he tries to be a micromanager, though the vast Prime Ministerial workload does mean his efforts are unlikely to be successful. It may very well be that part of the problem is that Brown has limitless faith in his capabilities, but is confronted by the limitations of himself and cannot sustain the dissonance. Worse, he has shown signs that he wants to continue to wallow in this swamp of meaningless sorrow, even if he loses the next election; according to the Sunday Times, he has stated that he will carry on if the Conservative majority is 20 seats or less. Sad: if this were the story of a private individual, this would be a tragic tale, one perhaps deserving of sympathy. But he’s the head of government and a major political party, and an exemplar of the quality of the nation’s leadership: no, he’s not a bully, but he is definitely a menace.

Shortly before Christmas, I had dinner at a Thai restaurant located near Canary Wharf. The cocktails at this establishment are more well regarded than the food, and the service is more infamous than famous, facts which the proprietor may have been trying to ameliorate by leaving a brightly packaged Christmas cracker on each placemat. I opened mine and found a hat made of paper which was thinner than a 1000 Franc note, a joke which was dreadful even by Christmas cracker standards and a small green blob of plastic which was no larger than the tip of my thumb. It took me a moment to discern that the blob was a goat. I sat the pathetic animal facsimile beyond the edge of my plate and looked at it.

Since I had plenty of time to kill before my order arrived, I mentally audited the contents of the cracker. The goat required the extraction of oil and the refinement of petrochemicals, which probably involved a shipment from the Middle East to China. Trees had to be grown to provide the paper content. Still more chemicals were mixed for the dyes and inks. The wrapper had something of a metallic hue, so perhaps some ores (such as bauxite) were extracted from the ground and refined. Materials criss-crossed the globe until the cracker was assembled, again, likely somewhere in the Far East, and then shipped to Britain. It was all done to create the bargain end of the bargain end of Christmas crackers. And for what purpose: it hadn’t even raised a smile, rather, it was only something to deride.

Adam Smith gloried in analysing these types of interactions; in his “The Wealth of Nations”, he performed a similar analysis regarding the production of a pin. A pin, unlike a Christmas cracker, is actually useful, as any tailor will tell you or anyone who needs to press the reset button on a Microsoft wireless mouse. In this instance, rather than satisfying some requirement, these interconnections serve no good purpose. I shudder to think of the carbon footprint involved.

This leads me to austerity. Admittedly, it has become a contentious word. It raises ire among both the right and left who want to quibble over its implications, in particular, as to the restraint or lack thereof of state spending. However, as a society, we should be embracing austerity as a cultural feature in order to strike down the endemic waste that permeates Western Civilisation and which makes us utterly immoral.

The Christmas cracker is a relatively harmless example; however I encounter a more serious illustration of waste nearly every day. I usually arrive back home around 4:30 PM, as I work flexible hours: at that time, I often see parents picking up their children from a local school. A sizeable proportion of the vehicles used are Land Rovers and other SUV’s. Judging by the absence of mud stuck to their tyres or the sides of the vehicle bodies, it is unlikely that these are being used to drive their children over rough terrain to rustic cottages. Rather, the sparkling chrome trim on the vehicles and the designer outfits of the drivers suggest that it is a status symbol. These clog the parking spaces and small, winding streets of my town.

At this point, it’s best to cast aside personal irritation, step back, and do another audit. There are not only the fuel consumption considerations, but the amount of metal, rubber, leather and plastic used in the creation of each vehicle, and the plethora of components that wing their way around Europe, America and Asia before arriving at the assembly plant. These behemoths are generally relatively new: it is rare to see an old-style Defender with dents in it. Therefore there is also the disposal of the predecessor to be taken into account, whether it is sold on as used, melted or turned into scrap. All told, the loads being created, destroyed, and transported hither and yon are not calibrated to a particular utility, rather, it is a luxury.

“Luxury” can be found in something as mundane as office work. For all the ballyhooed talk about the imminent arrival of the paperless office, I am still bombarded with brochures and bulletins on a regular basis. Marketing materials are expected to come in nice folders which use glossy paper. Our establishment is judged less upon what it can do and the excellence of its previous research than on how it presents itself. Think again about the trees felled, transported, processed, the inks made and used, the number of times that test copies needed be thrown out, the transport costs for all involved.

My grandfather was acutely sensitive to such waste. One day, he was stuck in traffic with my mother; apparently he told her, “You know, some of these people, they could have stayed at home.” Quite. Unless it’s absolutely necessary, our technology should liberate us from the need to be in the office all the time. Taking that principle further, we should rely more on electronic forms of presentation, rather than consuming more paper. We should use modest means to transport ourselves and our families, using only what is absolutely necessary. We can skip the Christmas cracker: just bring the food out before I am ready to collect my pension cheque. All told, we need austerity, the kind which cuts into the consumption that arises out of irrational compulsions, or more accurately, the kind that counteracts consumption provoked by vanity, stupidity and greed. Unfortunately, however, our modern consumer society and economy is largely based on vanity, stupidity and greed. One need only look at a cosmetics advertisement to see the point illustrated further: “Because you’re worth it”, women are expected to believe that a particular skin cream is going to turn them into a facsimile of a Hollywood starlet, no matter how much logic may dictatate this outcome is unlikely. Fashions, designed to be throwaway by their very seasonality, are just as wasteful. I recall taking my girlfriend shopping for shoes along the King’s Road in London on a Spring afternoon; we had ransacked a dozen shops and she had tried on and discarded a large number of pairs which looked acceptable. I asked her why she was being quite so discerning as it was unlikely that anyone was going to be staring at her feet; using myself as a test case, I said I certainly wasn’t going to be casting a gaze in that direction for very long. She told me I was missing the point, and that women dress for other women. No homoerotic implications were intended, rather, her statement was competitive in nature. I couldn’t help but think about the societal construct that had not only driven her to this length, but had also created a vast infrastructure to support it, all of which implied damage, and creating ever more damage, not just to the planet, but to the self-image of individuals. This is never going to make us healthy or happy.

A bracing, purging austerity should cut deep. It probably should slash even deeper than the regime which existed in Britain during the Second World War. While we rightly look back on our forebears as knowing how to shun excess, there was waste even during that period. For example, young ladies used to use gravy and eyebrow pencil in order to give themselves the appearance of wearing silk stockings. We need a dramatic break, which stands astride history proclaiming loudly, enough!

Of course, the avatars of our modern state would be horrified by such a change; their task is to spur economic recovery as soon as possible. The British Value Added Tax cut in 2009 was not intended to restrain the appetite, but to sharpen it. However, we are at a unique point of self-awareness as a society: we realise matters have simply gone too far, in banking, in debt, in faith in the market. We may merely need to extend this consciousness just a bit further to find a better way to live.

Travellers to Britain are advised that they may run into a type of person colloquially known as an “eccentric”. These individuals can be identified by their penchant for wearing purple and green striped blazers during Wimbledon fortnight, a bowler hat in the middle of July, or more commonly, by their insistence on sitting in train stations during all kinds of weather and marking down carriage numbers in a large, red leather bound notebook.

Do not engage in conversation with them, unless you are interested in discussing each individual shot Steffi Graf took in the 1996 Wimbledon final or relish long soliloquies about the culinary perfection of beans on toast. If by accident you do end up locked in verbal repartee with such a person, deploy the following emergency phrase: “I am seeing a therapist”, whereupon the “eccentric” will break off, believing you to be more mad than they are.

I’m kidding, of course. However the jest contains a kernel of truth about British society: few are willing to “come out of the analyst’s office” and admit they are seeing a therapist. Therein lies an interesting paradox: it is quite all right to act “barmy” or claim to be “bonkers”, it’s quite another to seek professional help. Personally, I have been seeing one for the past six months, but as one of my best friends recently reminded me, as I’m an American this is not a surprise. Indeed, as I’m originally a New Yorker, I was probably given a referral the moment I was born.

There is much to admire in a skillful therapist’s technique: the careful, patient listening, the insertion of critical insights, the gentle guidance towards self-revelation. No flat-out cure is necessarily on offer, but certainly understanding and an enhanced ability to cope with life’s problems do arise out of the process. I have thought on the long walks home after sessions about how lovely it would be if whole nations could take a moment to lie on the proverbial couch and talk out their hopes, their fears and their haunting nightmares.

If both Britain and America could do so, I imagine that much would be said about a loss of faith in themselves. Politics see-saw between two political parties, neither of which is competent nor organised. Business is full of thieves, the media is full of scandal-makers and scandal-mongers, our food is genetically modified, our air is impure, some of our scientists may have tipped over into becoming propagandists, Lady Gaga wins music awards and even our documentary makers proclaim with pride that they smothered former lovers with pillows. We’re utterly screwed up. As the tagline on American news programmes would say, “film at eleven”.

At such a point, perhaps the therapist would suggest that the patients reflect on what is going well. For all the faults that have just been described, there are good things happening at the moment: the economy has stopped declining. Doctor Who is coming back this year. Shani Davis won a gold medal at the Vancouver Olympics. Organic food and farmers markets are popular. Big Brother, at long last, is coming to an end. Seeds of hope are germinating and may soon come into bloom.

Then it may fall to the therapist to suggest that the patients do something in order to give greater reasons for optimism; in my experience, that something is usually practical and focuses in on one problem rather than trying to address all of them at once. In this case, an adequate place to start may be the first issue in the litany: the see-saw nature of political discourse and governance.

America, and to a lesser extent, Britain suffer from having a binary choice in who governs them. In America, the selection is either the kind-of-sort-of left-of-centre Democrats or the kind-of-sort-of right-of-centre Republicans. I add these qualifiers because while the Republicans have a strong and militant far right, as exemplified by people such as Senator Jim DeMint of South Carolina, they also remain home to much more moderate politicians such as Senator Olympia Snowe of Maine. The Democrats’ personality is even more distorted; at one point in its history it was simultaneously home to Maxine Waters and Zell Miller, whose ideological positions are on opposite sides of the universe. Such a coalition is only possible in a duopoly, because the parties are not there to represent a viewpoint in particular, rather, they are broad coalitions in the pursuit of power. Each party may gravitate towards a particular ideological pole, however they are really working towards getting a sufficient amount of centrist support in order to win. As we’re witnessing in the United States, once a majority is achieved, the party often may have problems using it decisively, particularly if it wants to continue on into the future. The result is inertia.

How does one reshape politics so that it becomes more about ideas rather than the pursuit of pure power? Though I’m no “political therapist”, I have a suggestion. One of the most beautiful diagrams I have seen is of the composition of the European Parliament. Its multicoloured dots, each representing a Member of the Parliament, look like a scattering of Skittles candy, a sweet from my youth that was memorable for its strong flavours and its slogan, “taste the rainbow”. What the diagram shows is how a different system of voting, namely, proportional representation, can shift politics to a more strongly ideological footing.

For those who are not familiar with Europe’s political spectrum, the blue and orange dots represent various type of conservative; light blue dots are the more moderate kind, the orange are the more militant ones who advocate the dismantling of the European Union. The gold “Skittles” represent the various liberal parties. The green, naturally, are the Greens and ecologically minded parties. The shades of red are reserved for the left and far left. No one party holds a majority: thus legislation must be achieved through finding consensus between multiple factions. However, the strength of this system means that ideas are let rip in the corridors of power, not smothered in backroom deals and hidden behind party manifestos. It is not a perfect model: in the case of Israel, proportional representation has been taken too far, and small, extreme parties hold undue influence; however that is a flaw of method rather than principle.

At this point, both American and British readers may decry the idea on the basis that it is either “un-American” or “not cricket”. However, the mathematical formula which is used in many European elections (including Britain’s allocation of European Parliament seats) should assuage such fears. The “D’Hondt Method” was originally devised by none other than Thomas Jefferson; in his case, he used it to allocate Congressional seats on the basis of population. Proportional representation thus has a direct linkage to one of the finest and most enlightened minds in the English-speaking world and is decidedly not some “scary foreign import”.

Were it adopted, a renewal in both British and American politics might ensue: people would be free to vote for what they believe, rather than choose between two evils. The duopoly could be broken: Greens and Libertarians could sit in Congress alongside Moderates, Liberals and Conservatives. Each issue could then be approached from a different angle, unbound from the discipline of party whips. Perhaps genuine idealists would feel more free to step forth and persuade. Inertia could be smashed. Given these potential benefits, at the very least, “tasting the rainbow” should be tried. It is preferable than remaining a prisoner of the couch, able only to ruminate rather than resolve. As someone who does go to therapy, I know that at some point that it will end, and I will have to cope on my own: there is no shame in needing help during the broad, deep night times of one’s life. However, daylight and cheer return with both the passage of time and a willingness to do something. Perhaps if we focus less on complaining and rejoice more in doing, even that which is different, wild and “eccentric” as compared to past history, we will restore ourselves to a better state of health.

For those who haven’t been keeping up with the news or those who live outside the United Kingdom, the biggest news story which is exercising the British public lately has nothing to do with economics or the Winter Olympics; rather, it is a matter of life and death.

A quick recap: the documentary maker Ray Gosling admitted in the course of a BBC television programme to having smothered his former lover to death. The rationale was that the young man was dying of AIDS, and in Gosling’s words, “in terrible pain”. Gosling also stated that the doctors could do nothing further and suggested they had purposefully left the two of them alone to carry out the deed. His testimony was moving, though I did raise an eyebrow at the ease with which Gosling suggested he was able to suffocate his companion. The spark of life is not easily doused; he made it sound like it was an altogether gentle task.

That aside, Gosling didn’t help himself with an interview he gave on BBC Radio 4 the following morning: I had assumed that the man Gosling had killed was his life partner, or at least someone with whom he had an enduring relationship. Apparently not: he referred to the dead man as his “bit on the side”. Gosling also apparently suffers from little self-doubt; he suggested that the victim was smiling down from Heaven upon his actions. To add insult to injury, Gosling was quite rude to the Radio 4 presenter and gave off the impression that the law didn’t apply to him so long as his conscience was clear.

After the interview concluded, I was deeply troubled by what had been said: a “bit on the side” is lucky to get an invitation to a funeral, let alone act as a decision-maker for a terminally ill person. Furthermore, no clear process had been set out: Gosling suggested that he and his erstwhile lover had discussed the matter, but he did not say there was a living will, nor did he suggest there was a letter, nor even something written on the back of an envelope which would indicate an adequate expression of wishes. Rather, it sounded like a owner talking about having his beloved pet put to sleep.

This is an issue in which politics is definitely personal. My position is informed by two items; during the Terry Schiavo fiasco in 2005, I listened to an American radio talk show which was kicking the issue back and forth. A lot of heat was generated, but no light. Then a caller to the programme came on who unlike the panellists had actually been in a position whereby his life could have been terminated. According to my recollections, the gentleman in question had been in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury which could have left him in a permanent vegetative state. He was adamant: it was his wishes which should be considered sacrosanct. Given that he had left no clear guidance, the focus had been on palliative care: by an extraordinary stroke of luck, he had recovered with only marginal impairment to his long-term memory.

That said, I have more intimate experience with the dilemma: my maternal grandmother suffered from Alzheimer’s, which eventually led to her death.

Alzheimer’s is often referred to as “the long good-bye”; in my grandmother’s case, there was quite a lot of personality to cart off to the afterlife and so the farewell was particularly drawn out. It hit rather suddenly and was entirely unexpected given how healthy she was: I recall an afternoon in the early 1990’s, during which I was walking to the train station with both of my maternal grandparents. I was eighteen or nineteen at the time; my grandmother, who was then in her early eighties, was keeping up with me while my grandfather trailed behind. We stopped for a moment on a street corner to let him catch up. My grandmother said with a mixture of pride and apology, “Your grandfather says I walk like a young girl.” And so she did: she had a lightness of step which belied the difficulties in her life. Her story began in Sweden, detoured through Weimar Germany while it was in the throes of chaos and hyperinflation and ended up in the United States, where she endured both the Great Depression and World War II.

The progression of her disease was tragic: one of the first visible signs of her deterioration was her loss of emotional control. She would break down in the middle of the night or during lunch, plagued by insubstantial fears. She began to lose her ability to cook meals and remember names. My grandfather did his best to look after her, but as the disease progressed, this became impossible; eventually, my mother found a local rest home which took over her care. I saw her only once during this period: she was no longer the sprightly woman of my memory, rather, frail, white haired and dressed in a brilliant white nightgown, she seemed like a Swedish angel, ready to ascend to the beloved country of her youth. She did not recognise me.

According to my mother, my grandmother was aware, to the extent that she was able to be cogniscent of such things, that something was wrong: she frequently said, “My head is broken”. Shortly before Christmas 1996, my mother had one last conversation with her, and said to her in Swedish, “It’s OK, you can go now.” My grandmother blinked in reply. Less than 48 hours later, she passed away.

My grandfather had been weakened by her long illness: he had become painfully thin and was consuming the adult equivalent of baby formula in order to ensure he was getting enough vitamins. Her death was a shattering blow. He sat in my parents’ kitchen with his head in his hands and cried, “I want to go too.” At the funeral, he stated in Norwegian to her, “I will see you in Heaven.” Less than nine months later, he died.

Would it have been better if my grandmother had access to services and procedures to end her life, as another Alzheimers sufferer, Terry Pratchett, has suggested? I don’t know. Personally, as my mind is the best asset I have, I would rather die than live with losing all the faculties which allow me to engage in living. However, my grandmother left us no guidance, so therefore my family worked to make her comfortable as possible, to provide the best palliative care we could find and cross our fingers. It never would have occured to my grandfather to smother her, as for him, the spark of life, even hesitant, flickering, contained an element of hope. He spoke to me about his dreams of a medical breakthrough which would restore her to her former robust health. Were these aspirations forlorn? Yes. But at the same time, he passed on his memories of my grandmother, a conversation which might not have taken place had the end come more suddenly: it was during this time that my family got the full measure of them both and stories which will ripple down to future generations. In a sense, while both of them died, they still live even more brilliantly and vividly than before.

Given this history, I find it very difficult to support what Gosling did. The Nottingham police have arrested him on suspicion of murder, which is an appropriate and understandable response. The difference between murder and merciful release in this case hinges upon that which is most unclear: the express wishes of the dead man. Unless Gosling or relatives of the deceased can straighten out these matters, it was indeed a step too far and should be treated as such. It is sickening to think that he proceeded without such explicit consent in mind, and his vanity enabled him to act as arbiter of life and death; indeed, Gosling’s undoubted flair for the dramatic hints at more than a fair dollop of narcissism on his part. Contrary to what he may think, we, as individuals, are the sole sovereigns of that domain. While there are circumstances in which we may want to depart, unless we make it starkly clear under what conditions that particular passport is to be stamped, all we can expect of our loved ones is to act out of the kind of love which seeks ease and rest for the afflicted, not life’s premature end. I don’t believe I will be alone in saying this: while Gosling has stirred up a debate that we as a society should have, at the same time, it would have been better done had he approached it as a great documentary maker rather than a bringer of death.

I don’t recall the last time a Winter Olympics began with the death of one of the competitors. Yesterday, an athlete from the former Soviet republic of Georgia, Nodar Kumaritashvili, crashed and died during a practice run on the luge track: officials believe that he failed to steer his sled with sufficient care on what has been hyped as the “fastest track in the world”.

There is something compelling about Kumaritashvili’s tragic story: he was only 21 years old, he was full of patriotic fervour, and he was willing to push his personal boundaries for the possibility of achievement. I believe I’m right in saying that Georgia is not considered a top flight nation insofar as the luge is concerned: his efforts were the first tentative steps by his nation into a new field of competition. In short, this athlete’s tale is decidedly Olympic in nature, detailing an expansion of frontiers at every level. No wonder his passing cast a pall over the Opening Ceremony.

There are other reasons to see Vancouver through darkened glass: the Games have been overshadowed by difficulties – technical, meteorological and economic. This was evident even in the opening ceremony: for example, it may just have been a matter of broadcast delay, but from my perspective it was obvious that the young lady singing the Canadian National Anthem was moving her lips out of synch with the music. Furthermore, the ceremony during which the Olympic flame was lit apparently lacked one large pylon out of four; this left one of the celebrity torch bearers looking rather forlorn.

More significantly, costs are also out of control; for example, the original budget suggested that security would cost $175 million. This figure has since been revised upward to $1 billion. Meanwhile, due to the overall economic situation in Canada, cuts in public services such as primary education are happening at the same time. This paradox of extravagance amidst penury has spurred significant local opposition to the Games, and indeed inspired the creation of a local watchdog group.

Furthermore, the Games have been dogged by weather problems, some of which may be symptomatic of climate change. As I sit here on the afternoon of February 13, it is uncertain if the weather will sufficiently co-operate to allow the blue-ribbon event of the Games, men’s downhill skiing, to take place. Additionally, Cypress Mountain, which is being used for the freestyle skiing events, has suffered from a lack of snow due to El Niño. According to the Christian Science Monitor, some “20 Big Bens” worth of snow have had to be shipped in to the venue. It is certain is that the lack of snow was beyond the ken of those who planned the Games, though their Sustainability Agenda indicates that the environment was at least in the back of their minds. Even so, there are criticisms of the Games insofar as its green credentials as well: some have gone so far to suggest that the Games will leave a legacy of social and environmental destruction. Upon examining the facts, it is difficult to disagree: as has been stated by an activist, the most environmentally friendly Games is one that doesn’t take place at all.

I don’t believe organising a trouble-free Olympics is beyond the ability of the Canadians; I recall the 1988 Calgary Olympics with some fondness. I particularly remember the relatively simple Opening Ceremony, which featured the Canadian National Anthem being movingly sung by a Native American in his own language. The current difficulties may be merely a reflection on the abilities of the organisers, the International Olympic Committee, or simply a mix of bad luck and overbearing ambition. At first glance, I cannot help but compare Vancouver to Beijing: the latter was organised with such stark precision that it took one’s breath away. Upon reflection, it may be that the scale of the Games has always been better suited to the talents of authoritarian or dictatorial regimes; it is difficult to imagine the omission of a pylon being allowed in any Chinese spectacular, simply because of the range of punishments that exist for failure. A Games organised by a free nation has to contend with the imperfections inherent in wilful people absent the restraining force of retribution. For such an Olympics to be memorable, it has to overcome this barrier and tug on sentiment.

There were moments during the Opening Ceremony that suggest this outcome is possible; while the Canadian National Anthem was botched, k.d. lang’s rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Alleluia” was heartfelt. Given Death’s unwelcome intrusion at the start of the Games, her touching performance was particularly apropos. The athletes themselves looked happy to be there: I was cheered to see Iran’s first female athlete at the Winter Games bearing her country’s flag. It was also inspiring to see the first ever delegations from Pakistan, Ghana and Peru. These were reminders that the Games still retain the ability to transcend the confinements within which they take place and the unremitting mess of running them.

Still, Vancouver has had a less than stellar start: the task now falls on the competitors to give us the drama and excitement that make the event worthwhile, and the organisers must wade through the detritus of their original planning in order to bring lasting benefit to the city in a manner that does no further harm. For the next two weeks, I’ll be on the edge of my seat, hoping that the Games will step out of the shade, inspire and shine.

Yesterday, I attended an activists’ training course which was held at my union’s headquarters in London. I arrived slightly early, but as I sat down, I noticed that the overhead projector was switched on and that a Powerpoint presentation was ready to go. I raised an eyebrow: the presentation’s template was one that I had utilised at a previous event. I opened my pack of course materials and found a printout of the slides: to my surprise, I found that fully a third of them were ones that I had written. No acknowledgement was present.

My suspicions were further aroused when the trainer entered the room: upon seeing me, he became pale. He did verbally acknowledge my contribution; however, he let slip two facts which added to my discomfort with the situation. First, he made it clear that he was being paid by the union to train us; in contrast, I had used up valuable holiday days to attend yesterday’s course and previous ones. Second, he made it clear that the course was winging its way around the country. I have no reason to think that the appropriate attributions have been made in these additional sessions.

Part of the purpose of the course is to build enthusiasm for the creation of “action groups” on university campuses. One would think that after having indulged in a petty act of plagiarism, the trainer would have sense enough to give me a wide berth. However, my union is under pressure: it and two other unions took government money with the promise that they would set up these “action groups”. The numerical targets, which are to be achieved by Spring 2011, are laughable to say the least. Nevertheless, the union is making a go of it and going at it hard: I first heard about these groups in late November from the same trainer; I attended a further session in early December, and though I was visibly ailing from the last stages of the flu, he asked me how setting up the action group in my vicnity was going. At that point, my choked up voice and coughing did the talking for me.

He felt the need to press me on this issue again yesterday; when I explained to him that the results of such efforts were unlikely to be instantaneous given the exam period, Christmas holidays and the threat of redundancies among university staff, he replied, “What, after all the training we’ve given you?” If yesterday’s session is included, the sum total of the “training” was 3 days. The “training” has included a request for donations from my local chapter, as well as an attempt to sell books to the participants at the course. Furthermore, if one takes into account the slides and some of the themes I had raised at previous sessions which were then repeated, it would appear that the relationship was not a one-sided matter of his giving and my taking. Strangely, if his statement was a joke, it fell flat, if he was being serious, his quip was laughable.

After the session ended, I proceeded home and mulled over the day. I not only thought about the trainer’s actions, but also how the union had gotten itself into the mess. No doubt there were good intentions, but they had grabbed hold of government cash without a clear plan of achieving their targets. Furthermore, “not criticising the government” was part of the deal: this struck me as odd. As union members, we not only have a right to “speak truth to power”, often, it’s a duty. One of my colleagues was openly frustrated that the “action groups” and by extension, the unions, had been stitched up in this manner. The whole business remains a dreadful muddle, and it made me question the wisdom of the union’s management, from engaging in the project to begin with to its choice of trainer and project manager.

It’s at this juncture that one has to stop: venting is fine, up to a point. However, it would be unrealistic of me to expect the union to be run entirely by altrusitic idealists who are always exemplars of probity. While this was a mistake, or indeed, a series of errors on the union’s part, the causes for which it stands are not devalued. It may reach around in the dark, but at least it is tasked with looking for the light.

It’s often tough to remember this; we live in a world that increasingly believes in throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Sometimes this tendency is perfectly understandable and reasonable: Tiger Woods probably shouldn’t show his face in public for a while. He’s a great golfer, but considering the frequency and the brazenness of his liaisons, it will take more than sporting triumph to resurrect his image.

A more important example is the set of scandals associated with the science of climate change. The contents of the hacked emails from the University of East Anglia and the mistakes made by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change regarding the retreat of Himalayan glaciers are well known. To add insult to injury, because of the widespread misinterpretation of the term “global warming”, in Capra-esque fashion, “every time a snowflake falls, a climate change denier takes wing”: the recent blizzards in both Britain and America haven’t helped matters. However, in order to deny climate change, one has to adhere to an unrealistic proposition: i.e., man’s influence on the environment is not significant. This is simply not true; dramatic examples abound, from the Great Smog of London in 1952, which killed 12,000 people to Three Mile Island and Chernobyl in more recent years. We do have the power to affect the world around us, and in quite profound ways. It’s not a pleasant truth, but the truth it remains.

Under these circumstances, acting as if our emissions are harmless is taking a tremendous risk. As I said to my colleagues yesterday, even with the most generous spirit towards the climate change deniers, following their way is rather like handing over a Smith and Wesson with one chamber loaded and inviting the recipient to play a game of Russian roulette. The only way to be absolutely sure of emerging alive is not to pick up the gun.

Climate change deniers, if pressed, cannot be absolutely sure that we have no or only marginal effects on the planet; truly, science is generally a matter of inquiry, not certainty. However, the message of climate change denial is particularly potent because it is so convenient. It’s lovely to think we can keep on using our cars, our television sets, and our jet aircraft without consequences forever. The sheer beauty of this illusion makes matters difficult for those sounding the alarm: I believe the detrimental activities of the UEA and IPCC were due to their desire to find something suitably dramatic with which to fight back. However, they forgot to be scientists first, and to leave propaganda and spin to politicians. Mixing the two roles is invariably a recipe for disaster, and only helps those who are all too ready to dump proverbial infants by the lorryload along with the water in which they bathe.

I really am not sure what to make of the mess with my union; I probably will bring up my concerns but do so calmly, and attribute what has happened to individuals being misguided. There is value in what the union does; but extrapolating from a statement by Karl Marx about society, without the dynamic of criticism, nothing can progress. But criticism is not abandonment, nor rejection; we do not live in world populated by angels, it is ridiculous to expect it to be such. The best thing we can do is try to keep our heads about us and not be swayed by momentary wrath, passions or delusions: this is easy to say, but as events prove, very difficult to follow through.

The British have a talent for self-deprecation. For someone with American origins this is nothing but refreshing: indeed, when I visit my family in the States, I am constantly reminded how patriotism can be elevated from a mere sentiment to a religion. The Stars and Stripes is everywhere: it appears as a gigantic banner fluttering above car dealerships, it’s emblazoned on the front of baseball caps and pinned to the lapels of every national politician. Indeed, the flag is almost a required accessory for every American. It is also conversationally dangerous to suggest in the presence of some Americans that their country may be anything less than extraordinary. At best, one will be reminded in the strongest possible terms that is the “best country”, “land of the free”, “last best hope of mankind”, and so on.

There is nothing wrong with self-confidence, but there is a point when it tips over into vanity, and a further milestone when it implies paranoia. It is upon arrival at this juncture that one is reminded that a national psyche can be as fragile as that of an individual, subject to the pitfalls of pride and avarice. Perhaps one of the more disturbing aspects of the present “Tea Party” movement is a neurotic compulsion at its heart: a fear that America is not what it once was, and that the promises which underpin its self-image, i.e., that of unlimited plenty and prosperity, are no longer achievable. It is perhaps not surprising that the Tea Partiers wrap themselves in the flag rather like a small child clinging to a safety blanket and that they call upon the imagery of the American War of Independence to buttress their perceived authenticity.

The British approach is quite different: someone who wraps themselves in the Union Flag is generally either on their way to the Last Night of the Proms or a member of the British National Party. Fortunately, there are more of the former than the latter. Scepticism is more the national creed than unquestioning patriotism; true, love of country does emerge at moments, such as during the last segment of the Last Night of the Proms when the massed voices sing “Land of Hope and Glory” or “Jerusalem”. However this is a much quieter aspect than the rhetorical fireworks provided by America’s jingoists; it is also difficult to imagine an American anthem referring to “dark Satanic mills” as “Jerusalem” does. I suggest the British way is much healthier. If one is sceptical, then it becomes easier to look problems squarely in the eye as difficulties are expected rather than seen as a intolerable violation of a nation’s self-image.

It is easy to deride the behaviour of British MPs and Peers at the present time, and it’s true, the conduct of their financial affairs was entirely unacceptable. However, while there remains a palpable sense of outrage, in-built suspicion means there was an expectation of their malfeasance and a willingness to face up to the task ahead: for example, it was announced this week that 3 MPs and 1 peer face criminal charges although they have laughably tried to claim immunity from prosecution. At the same time, America’s political process has been purchased by lobbyist cash. While the linkages between politicians and corporations are an open secret, it may very well be the narcotic of patriotism which is squelching sustained efforts to deal with the problem. Some, such as those who voted for Scott Brown in Massachusetts, apparently believe it is sufficient to merely vote in a different set of politicians, instead of engaging in wholesale reform. After all, genuine change may disturb the supposedly sacred designs which are part of the national delusion. Britain, in contrast, is surprisingly flexible: over the past ten years, the constitutional arrangements have been found to be imperfect, particularly in serving the needs of the various nations that make up the United Kingdom. Therefore, powers have been devolved to assemblies in Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. No one got dressed up in suits of armour and suggested returning to the Magna Carta; scepticism prevents too much idealisation of the past. It is also insurance against simplistic answers: this character trait may be what made Britain impervious to the ideological lunacies of the Thirties, both Stalinist and Fascist, and should keep the nation safe in the future.

I am not sure that America is so well insulated. During Stephen Fry’s recent tour of America, he took tea with Peter Gomes, a Professor of Divinity at Harvard. Professor Gomes said bluntly that Americans dislike complexity, even when the more intricate explanation was the more interesting and correct one. President Obama’s present troubles in the polls are symptomatic of this tendency: he was voted in because he was seen as an agent of change. Yet merely voting for him did not make the land burst forth with plenty: governance is a difficult and painful business and legislation is often sausage making at its worst. Despite the President’s attempts to communicate with the public, the instinct for simplicity, fed by the insistent itch of patriotism, demands much more instantaneous results despite whatever reality may dictate.

Meanwhile, Britain is preparing for its next general election; this will occur by June at the latest. While the campaign poster for the Conservatives has rightly been much derided for its airbrushed portrait of David Cameron, its statement that “Things can’t go on like this” is quite correct and taps into the nation’s mood. It is difficult to see how such a negative message would fit into an American Presidential campaign: ever since the 1980 contest which contrasted Reagan’s “Morning in America” with Carter’s more bleak message, only positive, sunny, and above all patriotic messages are permitted by the coterie of spin doctors and media advisors which flank every American politician of note. Attempts to force feed this culture to the British public has made the appearance of “spin” positively dangerous to any political party; New Labour’s demise is almost guaranteed by its failure to realise this.

It is a matter of personal choice, but I prefer a nation that has a more nuanced and realistic view of itself. I don’t expect the sun to shine all the time; I would be worried if it did. It’s sufficient to have enough sun that breaks through the clouds to illuminate the landscape on occasion. I would be concerned if everyone wanted things to be perfect, because they’re bound to be disappointed; a psyche that is satisfied with quiet and comfort is much more appealing. It may be this characteristic, more than any other, that means when I arrive back in Britain after any trip abroad, my first thought is, “Home Sweet Home”. I use the word “home” advisedly: a home is, by definition, an imperfect place. There is always a door with a squeaky hinge or a pipe that drips, but it is loved with full knowledge of its faults. The strongest and most enduring affections are those which have this acceptance at their heart; the most fleeting and dangerous are those which contain a demand for purity. So when I say, I love it here, I do not expect it to be what it is not. I question what the ideologues in America love, how they love, and if they genuinely love at all; if the nation is to progress, perhaps the question should be more aggressively asked.

Last October, my parents paid a visit to London. They spent the first few days of their holiday sampling the delights of the capital: they visited restaurants they enjoy, went to the theatre and did a bit of shopping. Then my father began to feel pain in his lower back; it became serious enough that he decided not to attend a performance of “Carmen” at the Royal Opera House. It was a very bad sign: early the next morning, he found he was in so much pain that he could not move.

The emergency services were called: after some pleading by my mother, an ambulance was dispatched. My father was taken to the nearest National Health Service hospital for examination; two of the attending doctors decided it was simply a muscle spasm. They prescribed him some painkillers and discharged him: he was literally wheeled out into the street. Yet, my father still could not move.

Fortunately, he had retained the services of a London doctor. Even more fortunately, he was due to see the doctor that morning; after a brief telephone call, the doctor told him to proceed immediately to his offices. A quick examination was sufficient to compel the physician to demand that my father be admitted to a nearby private clinic. A battery of tests were carried out with alacrity; it was suspected that my father had an infection of the spine. This diagnosis was later confirmed.

I don’t live in London; but as soon as I could, I made the trek into the city to see him. When I stepped into his room, it was a shock: my father is a hale and hearty man in his early sixties, who has taken pride in having maintained a rigorous fitness programme for many years. At that point, however, he was pale, sweating lightly due to a combination of the pain and the painkillers, and drifting in and out of consciousness. His dark eyes were sunk back into his head and had a glassy, almost tearful look in them. My sole consolation at being presented with this sight came when I took his hand in mine: at least the grip was still strong.

It took weeks for the doctors to come up with a detailed diagnosis. I took comfort from the fact that the clinic had tapped into the resources of University College London, one of the finest institutions in the country: a microbiologist was summoned as well as a team of doctors. The precise bacillus was identified. An ultra-strength antibiotic was administered. My father slowly began to improve.

It was important for him to maintain as much mobility as possible; the clinic provided a contraption called a “support walker”, which is generally given to patients recovering from surgery. It has four wheels and chest high arm rests: the patient pushes themselves along, letting the bulk of their weight settle on the rests. I accompanied my father on brief walks up and down the pastel peach coloured hall: he was sweating, grunting, working through the pain. This did not diminish his manners: he gave the nurses and support staff a grin and a friendly “hello” as we passed. All the while, he spoke about the future: I would complete my doctorate, Christmas was coming, there were trips we would take as a family in 2010, 2011 and 2012. He wanted to go to Paris, Istanbul, Rome. His eyes focused on me, then focused ahead, as if he was pushing himself towards the goals of which he spoke.

At long last, he recovered sufficiently that he was able to fly home. He received extended care in the United States; he ceased taking the massive doses of antibiotics in December. Unable to engage in the usual festivities, my sister and mother stuffed the Thanksgiving turkey. Stuck in Britain, I had additional impetus to pull myself together sufficiently to finish the doctorate; I successfully defended my thesis at the end of November. By the time I finally got to America a few days before Christmas, my father was able to walk with the assistance of a cane. He was pleased with the fact that he had lost thirty pounds, though neither he nor his American physician would recommend the method. The holidays echoed with his repetition of Barack Obama’s campaign slogan whenever he wanted to go anywhere: “Fired up and ready to go! Fired up and ready to go!” His recovery continues apace; he, and by extension, my family and I, are very lucky.

This tale is only a fortunate one because somewhere, somehow, a prayer for contingency was answered: note how the National Health Service fell down at the time of asking. This was not due to the service itself being uncaring or inattentive: my father had nothing but praise for the ambulance drivers in this instance. On a previous trip, he had come down with food poisoning and the NHS dealt with it efficiently. However, due to the government’s insistence on saving money rather than lives, there is an in-built bias in the system to discharge difficult cases. It was nothing short of a blessing that my father had sufficient connections and frankly, enough money, to be able to go an alternative route. His American doctor later told him that if he had merely followed the advice of the doctors at the NHS hospital, he might have ended up partially paralysed.

Both America and Britain are caught up in an ongoing debate about health care: what shape should the system take? Who pays? How should it be run? What are the values which will underpin the system? What balance is there going to be between efficiency and providing thorough care? The example of my father’s treatment suggests that contingency, i.e., some resilence within the system that provides an alternative means of achieving a proper result, needs to be more than prayer, it is a requirement. I am not confident that the politicians in Washington or London, absorbed as they are by bland statistics and the sweet nothings whispered by lobbyists, are fully aware of this need. Rather, they appear to be more interested in using health care as a political football, or more accurately, a bludgeon with which to beat each other. In light of my father’s experience, their behaviour is more than offensive, it’s disgusting: no doubt this sentiment is echoed on both sides of the Atlantic by people who have had similar experiences. Perhaps the politicians should stop for a moment in indulging their petty vanities or engaging in micro-Machiavellian tactics and think of a father and son pacing together down a long corridor and telling each other stories about the future intended to take away terrible pain. A spasm of mental clarity might occur: within that space, decency could triumph.