A Pudding Without a Theme
According to legend, Winston Churchill once sent back a pudding he was served with the following critique: “it has no theme”. As I watched BBC Parliament last night, I couldn’t help but be reminded of this story. If the election is comparable to a pudding, it is admittedly a bland, soggy one that appears to be more syrup than sponge, and it is definitely lacking a clear motif. The BBC is apparently bored; yesterday, a reporter felt the need to illustrate the tedium by playing a clip of Nick Clegg, flanked by two of his PPCs, discussing local architecture and school holidays. This was apparently how the Liberal Democrat leader felt he should use a prime-time opportunity for greater publicity. Worse, and more important, the first week has been dominated by a series of arguments about relatively minor changes in taxation; the £12 billion in “efficiency savings” that the Conservatives are talking about are unlikely to be achieved, thus their proposed tax cuts have an inadequate provision behind them. However, in the grand scheme of the challenges facing the nation, these arguments are very small beer. The big ideas are apparently confined to only a few constituencies like Cambridge and Brighton Pavillion; for the vast majority, the present ideological recipe yields only a very thin gruel.
Contrary to what Francis Fukuyama’s diminishing band of followers might think, we are definitely not at “the end of history”, and thus dull politics are not something we should accept as being “normal”. For example, it is very clear that the balance between labour and management in this country is terribly broken and steps should be taken to start afresh.
I speak with some experience in this regard as I have worked in both private industry and in the academic sector; I also hold a position of responsibility within the local chapter of my trade union. Based upon what I have seen, I suggest there exists a pernicious management culture in the United Kingdom which demands absolute deference to whomever is “the boss”. Furthermore, the trade union movement, which prior to the Eighties was a counterbalance, has largely been emasculated. According to a recent report in the Economist, trade union membership which reached a high of 53% of the working population in 1979, has dropped to 27% now. Worse, the concentration of that membership is now largely in public sector jobs; this has led to problems for many unions who want to engage in industrial action. Whereas in the Sixties and Seventies there was a substantial segment of the population that might be in sympathy, nowadays, it is a pocket of inconvenience; only when the service in question tugs on the wider public’s heart-strings, such as the fire service, is this barrier overcome.
There is a new role for unions, however. The future may lie in replicating how labour and management work together in Germany: the structure there is that of a partnership, as both sides treat their company as a social, as well as economic organisation, and both sides are interested in the enterprise’s long-term viability. The continued success of Germany as an exporting nation and the relative strength of its economy is indicative of how well this approach has worked. However, my reading of management in Britain is that it is not ready to accept that it doesn’t know everything: the pervasive business culture, exemplified by the television programme Dragons’ Den and the salaries accrued by the head of banks, is still that of reliance on individual, all-knowing, all-seeing “heroes”. But business is not meant to be heroic, it it is meant to serve the public and be sane. When I was in private industry, I used to laugh at the projected annual targets that were cooked up by Finance Directors, as the “heroes” at the top demanded ever more growth built into the figures. Such things, in my opinion, were largely unknowable, and thus difficult to plan: I later found I was expressing a quasi-Keynesian thought about “irreducible uncertainty”. Never mind: egotism and force of will were supposed to overcome all difficulties and make ethereal hopes concrete.
We can say conclusively that this approach hasn’t worked, largely because knowledge in any organisation is diffuse, not concentrated. It is usually the people who work “on the ground” who tend to have a better idea about the “irreducible uncertainties” as well as current problems than the “heroic” leaders. Ignorance and a lack of understanding of human nature at the top are the leading causes of our present problems. Trade Unions can step up to the role of ensuring management doesn’t cut its own throat and in the process wreck the lives of their staff. Providing the political and legal structures to empower unions in this manner is not a big ticket item on the political agenda; it appears that Labour, the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats are relatively satisfied with the post-Thatcher “settlement”. Indeed, I can only imagine that Gordon Brown was relieved that the proposed industrial action by the RMT was struck down by judicial fiat. Of course, a vocal minority within the union movement adds to its burdens by indulging in Trotskyite fantasies; I suggest the “permanent revolution” they should be more concerned with has to do with the changes that come every time a chief executive is replaced and staff numbers are reviewed. I also suggest that trade unions should be pointing out the real waste in government and business, which usually has more to do with processes than staff: changing systems such as procurement, usually takes longer to implement and thus is less popular with politicians and business leaders alike, but generally speaking most worthwhile and enduring changes take time to implement.
As has been demonstrated, the structure of British labour relations is just one theme among many that could be addressed and could generate genuine debate. The pudding could be rich in flavour rather than insipid; if the “big three” politicians wonder why they’re failing to engender enthusiasm, they might well want to consider this point. While leaders need not themselves be heroic in order to create inspiration, the ideas they espouse need to be bracing. Otherwise the electorate will find it difficult to swallow, or at worst, send the confection back to the symbolic kitchen.
I live in a quiet, semi-rural area in which change comes slowly; the recent demolition of an old telephone exchange and the remodelling of the Butter Market required a great deal of discussion and numerous planning applications before they were allowed to proceed. An understated affluence is also a feature of the area: the designer fashion-clad “yummy mummies” drive brand new Mercedes and BMWs, country pubs are slowly surrendering to haute cuisine, and on many a summer evening, gentlemen in cricket whites can be seen playing on well-tended village greens. Given this context, perhaps it’s not surprising that this constituency has been electing only Conservative Members of Parliament since 1924. At the last election, the sitting MP had a majority of over 10,000; this is among the safest of safe seats.
This is the fifth general election I’ve experienced since my move to the United Kingdom; I recall the topsy-turvy contest of 1992, which led almost inexplicably to John Major’s triumph. I remember that glad morning in 1997 when New Labour took office; it was a bright, unseasonably warm May day and the event was covered in detail by a series of breathless reporters and hovering helicopters. Though I was sceptical about how much positive change would occur, I grudgingly felt a certain amount of hope when Tony Blair walked into Number 10. The elections of 2001 and 2005 were very dull in comparison: I went to bed early on Election Day in both instances with the certainty that Labour would remain in office. This time is different: as I look out of the corner of my eye, I can see on television that the green beside the Houses of Parliament is crowded with politicians, pundits and reporters in full flow. This may be a natural expression of long suppressed feelings of excitement and tension. In addition to the aforementioned emotions, there may also be a sense of relief. At long last, the matter will be decided: who is going to run the country? What direction will we go? What will be the disposition of this nation when it comes to war and peace?
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
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.
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.
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.
I'm a Doctor of Creative Writing, a son, a brother, a boyfriend, a published novelist, a technology enthusiast, and still an amateur in much else.



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