A race to judgement

Late yesterday afternoon the Football Association published the full report of its Independent Regulatory Commission into the racial abuse of Patrice Evra by Luis Suarez in October.

It’s a very long (and sometimes repetitive) document, but in essence it came down to three questions.

1. Did Suarez use abusive and/or insulting words and/or behaviour towards Evra?

The vast bulk of the report is geared to answering this question. There is evidence from the players involved, plus Dirk Kuyt who was closest to the incident; from several Manchester United players as to what Evra told them had been said; from the referee and his team as to what they were told both on the pitch and in the dressing room immediately afterwards; and from Liverpool backroom staff as to what Suarez told them he had said.

The Commission found that while Evra’s statements were consistent with other available evidence, such as the referee’s report, the sequence of events seen on the video, and the fact that several United players independently said that Evra had told them the same thing, the submissions from Suarez were inconsistent and confused, and changed as new evidence was made available to him.

It’s worth noting that all parties – including the lawyers for Suarez and Liverpool – accepted that the case was not simply about “one man’s word against another’s”, because there was enough associated evidence to allow the Commission to decide whether one or other of the points of view was closer to the truth.

The best – and possibly crucial – example of this concerned an exchange between Liverpool’s Director of Football, Damien Comolli, and the refereeing team of Andre Marriner and Phil Dowd. Comolli had become involved as a Spanish speaker (Suarez speaks and understands very little English) when a member of staff had made him and manager Kenny Dalglish aware that Evra and his manager Sir Alex Ferguson had made a complaint to the referee. Comolli actually went to the referee’s room under his own steam immediately after Dalglish was summoned there, to “confirm the version of events told to Mr Marriner by Mr Dalglish”.

The evidence from Marriner and Dowd was that both Dalglish and Comolli had said that Suarez had told them that he had said “[because] you are black” to Evra, although it was unclear in what context. This came across identically in the English (from Dalglish) and the Spanish (from Comolli), but importantly Dowd asked Comolli to spell out the Spanish “tues negro” for the report.

Comolli later denied spelling out “tues”, and said that he had only done so with the word “negro”, but the Commission decided that it was unlikely that Dowd and Marriner had made this up in a report written within hours of the event.

The reason this was so important was that Suarez’s case was that he had only said “Por que, negro?” (“why, black?”) in response to a statement by Evra, and in a manner that would have been considered friendly in Uruguay. By introducing the “tues” (“you are”), the whole meaning of the phrase changed. The corroborated evidence suggested that what Suarez said translated as “because you are black” rather than “why, black?”

Even allowing for this decision, the Commission did make strenuous efforts to discover whether the phrase “why, black?” could, as Suarez claimed, have been a friendly attempt to calm things down. Two experts in Spanish language and culture in South America were asked to produce reports. They stated that, yes, in some contexts the word “negro” was used as a “matey” term, in the same way we might use “fatty”. But they also reported that some black residents of the area found this unwelcome and, more crucially, if anyone used it in an angry or confrontational way it would be understood to be racially offensive.

It was also noted that Suarez only began using the argument that he used the word “in a conciliatory manner” after he had seen the experts’ report which discussed this as a possibility.

Having weighed all of the evidence, and discussed it together with the balance of probabilities and the motivation of each party, over around 330 paragraphs of text, the Commission found that Suarez did use abusive and/or insulting words and/or behaviour towards Evra. It also rejected a claim from Suarez’s lawyer that it should decide whether Suarez intended the words to be abusive and/or insulting, in the same way that it would not normally judge serious foul play on the intent but on the action.

2. Did the words and/or behaviour include a reference to Evra’s colour?

The FA rules are specific in making reference to ethnic origin, colour or race an aggravating factor when considering the penalty for using abusive and/or insulting language.

In this case, the Commission pointed out that because the abusive word in question was specifically concerned with Evra’s colour, it was pretty clear that this aggravating factor was present – in fact, it was impossible to argue that it was absent.

3. What should the penalty be?

The standard penalty for a player sent off during a match for this offence is two matches, and the FA rule states that the “entry point” where there is an aggravating factor of colour should be double the normal penalty. (It also goes on to state that for a second similar offence it should be at least treble the normal penalty, and for any further offences a permanent ban can be considered.)

The Commission listened to submissions from both sides as to the appropriate penalty and decided that, because Suarez used the abusive and/or insulting words seven times, and in three different phases, it was far more serious than the “entry point” of four games which would have applied for just one use. The Commission added:

“Those who are victims of misconduct of this nature should know that, if they complain and their complaint is upheld, the FA will impose an appropriate penalty which reflects the gravity of this type of misconduct.”

There were a couple of other points which are worth noting from the hearing. The first is that, to an extent, Evra started it. The exchanges came about after he complained to Suarez about a foul five minutes earlier. The Commission is quite clear (thanks to the aforementioned Spanish experts) that while Evra’s initial comment translates directly as “your sister’s cunt”, in common use its meaning is closer to “fucking hell”. In any case, Suarez confirmed that he did not hear this, and Evra mentioned it of his own accord.

Second, nobody at any stage claimed or found that Suarez “is a racist”, as opposed to “said racist things”. The finding is essentially that we all do really stupid things that we regret, or fail to appreciate the impact of, but that we should nevertheless be prepared to take the consequences. I suppose an analogy is that someone who causes death by careless driving is not “a murderer” but will still find himself in prison.

The overall impression given by the full 115-page report is of a Commission absolutely determined to do, and be seen to do, the right thing. All of the arguments advanced by “interested parties” in the days after the announcement of the suspension – “it’s OK in Uruguay”, “Evra’s a liar”, “it was one throwaway comment” – are dealt with at length and in detail. The report suggests that by the end of the proceedings Suarez accepted that he was wrong to say what he said, and promised that he wouldn’t do it again.

Where does this forensic approach leave Liverpool FC and its fans? Twenty-four hours after the suspension was announced, the team, including manager Kenny Dalglish, warmed up at Wigan in T-shirts bearing Suarez’s name and picture, in a gesture of “support”. Nobody at the club seems to have considered what a message this sent out. Knowing all the evidence in the case, they still saw fit to act as though one of their players had been imprisoned in a foreign jail for missing the team bus.

And after the event, the club’s official website – not an unpoliceable fans’ forum, the official site – treated us to a full photo gallery of the T-shirt campaign. This has, unsurprisingly, been picked up (by an unrelated retailer) as a marketing opportunity. A football club can’t necessarily be held responsible for the worst excesses of its “supporters”, as widely and horrendously demonstrated across the Internet in the last fortnight, but it should at least make sure that its actions don’t inflame things. A one-line statement saying “Liverpool FC is disappointed with the suspension and is considering whether to appeal” would have maintained the position while not doing anything to foster the rabid outrage mentality. But even the initial statement, let alone the stupid T-shirt stunt, talked of “extraordinary” decisions and encouraged disciplinary retaliation against Evra.

Given the comprehensive reasoning of the Commission, I’d find it astonishing if Liverpool actually launched their appeal. Perhaps they could get a couple of games knocked off – but they could also get a couple added. Middlesbrough have previously demonstrated the folly of launching daft appeals, conincidentally also after a match at Anfield.

So, only one question remains from the whole affair. With its actions in the days immediately following the announcement of the suspension, Liverpool FC appears to have committed a prima facie breach of Rule E3(1), the same rule used to convict Suarez, which states (with my emphasis):

“A Participant shall at all times act in the best interests of the game and shall not act in any manner which is improper or brings the game into disrepute or use any one, or a combination of, violent conduct, serious foul play, threatening, abusive, indecent or insulting words or behaviour.”

At what point will the FA find it appropriate to launch proceedings? Maybe they will wait until after any appeal. However I don’t think the two things are linked, so this coming Tuesday seems like as good a time as any.

Why Occupy? An outsider’s view

So. What exactly is the “Occupy” movement all about? What do the protesters at St. Paul’s Cathedral hope to achieve? And how do they intend to go about it?

If you read what I will lazily call “the media” – which for me is almost exclusively online these days – you will find as many answers as there are articles. Every commentator has their own view on what it’s all about, and in the week following the start of the occupation, none managed to convey to me the single overarching vision that motivates people to start a village in the middle of a city.

One word that does recur throughout the coverage, however, is “anti-capitalist”. It’s a word I really struggle with. For me, and I suspect for millions of others who have largely viewed the world through the eyes of the mainstream media, it conjures visions of silly masks, straggly hair, multi-coloured wool, and quite often a trail of smashed windows. The protests that accompanied May Day in 2001, and a succession of subsequent summits all beginning with G, have led to a general perception that if somebody is “anti-capitalist” then they are also “anarchist” and probably “violent”.

The other reason I struggle with the term “anti-capitalist” is that even if it’s clearly defined I don’t instinctively agree with it. Google’s definition of capitalism reads: “an economic and political system in which a country’s trade and industry are controlled by private owners for profit”. It strikes me that that’s a fairly good definition of a system that for a couple of hundred years has served us reasonably well.

The thing is, I like McDonald’s. Not the corporate structure, but the quarter-pounder with cheese. I like Tesco. I’d rather they didn’t build on school playing fields, but as a one-stop shop for relatively cheap stuff to keep me alive they’re pretty hard to beat. I even like Shell and BP. It’d be great to be able to source my own diesel for the car I love driving, and the petrol for the go-kart that I pay a for-profit company to occasionally chuck around a track, but it seems easier to let a specialist do it, and if they want to make a bit of money from the process then that seems reasonable.

So it’s fair to say that I approach anything describing itself as “anti-capitalist” with extreme caution. Everything I have seen on the telly leads me to believe that anti-capitalists want to tear down every structure that has conspired to give me a relatively warm, comfortable and hunger-free life.

On the other hand, it’s increasingly clear that the picture that comes through the television screen only shows whatever the cameraman points at, so the only way to really find out what’s going on for sure is to see it for yourself. Fortunately, as I have mentioned before, London is an easy train ride away, so last Saturday saw me tolerating the Byzantine fare structure imposed on the people’s railways by a privatised industry….sorry, I mean pootling off to the capital to see the occupation at first hand.

Banner centrepiece

First impressions count, they say, and mine weren’t brilliant. The most visible statement of the camp is a large banner proclaiming “Capitalism Is Crisis”. I had to look a few times to make sure the “Is” wasn’t an “In”, which might have made more sense as a headline, but as a statement of ideology it’s pretty unequivocal. At the time I arrived, an Egyptian activist named Nawal el Saadawi was just starting to address the crowd, on her 80th birthday. As is usual at this type of city centre gathering, the megaphone was hopelessly inadequate, so nobody behind about the third row could hear a thing. However, the sign she was holding read “Tahrir Square WC2”, which seemed a bit over-ambitious, but gave an idea of the message she was bringing.

Nawal el Saadawi addresses the occupation

Around the edges of the crowd listening to the speaker, there were a number of small groups sitting in circles, deep in conversation. I assumed that these were the various working groups referred to on the occupation’s website. I wandered round the camp for an hour or so, looking at the various posters on the pillars of the surrounding buildings and reading the “declaration” posted by the information tent.

Still nothing came across to me more than a woolly notion of “this is bad, let’s do something about it”. Some of the posters were amusing, some were cutting, and there was nothing in the declaration to disagree with. But concrete solutions seemed very thin on the ground.

The agreed aims of Occupy LSX

Poster at Occupy LSX

Out of interest, I strolled round the exterior of Paternoster Square, immediately to the north of the cathedral. This area is home to the London Stock Exchange, and was the space originally due to be occupied on 15th October. Unfortunately it was rather too well-trailed, and the owners had revoked all public access well before the protestors arrived. By the time I was there, this had been reinforced with deep crowd control barriers and security guards on all entrances, although the square did seem to serve as a handy car park for a number of police vans.

Further round the corner, the front entrance to the Stock Exchange was guarded by two more police, but otherwise there was little sign of the nation’s trading centre being unduly disrupted by a protest that was supposed to be occupying it.

When I returned to the steps of St. Paul’s, a selection of protest musicians and poets were providing the warm-up act for the promised “Public Assembly”. The occupation makes all its decisions by means of a twice-daily “General Assembly”, the minutes of which are published on the Internet (or at least were – they seem to have disappeared since the weekend). I was interested to see whether the public version was the occupation addressing the public, or the other way around, because one of the noticeable things about the day’s programme of events was that it seemed to have a booming subtext of “this is us, you can come and see what we do, but you’re not part of it”. I hoped this was not the intention, and the Public Assembly seemed to be the chance to find out.

In the meantime, I watched the people who were milling around. As a very rough estimate, I’d have put the proportion of “recognisable” anti-capitalists at around half of those assembled. And yes, by “recognisable” I do mean wearing the uniform I mentioned above, be it the Mick Aston jumpers or the plastic masks. The other half were, I suspect, very much like me: interested to see what was happening, why it was happening and what might happen next.

Realistic demands

It was only when the Public Assembly began that I started to actually understand the whole thing. I don’t know how the speakers were selected, but none of them were “occupiers”. Among others, a mother from Cambridge spoke passionately about how she had lived the capitalist dream and not noticed that the system was screwing the next generation ever further down; an activist from Tottenham explained that the periodic killing of his neighbours and then lying about it wasn’t conducive to community cohesion; and a former financial sector worker whose view was that the whole “game” was skewed to the benefit of the institutions and against society as a whole.

The first thought I had was that this was more of the same. None of the people who spoke had any real connection to each other. Each of their grievances was specific to themselves and their situation. And then I realised that this was the whole point of the occupation. If it’s anything, it’s a focal point. My grievances with life are not the same as those of a kid on a Peckham estate, or a farmer in the Yorkshire Dales, or a Carlisle librarian – but all of us can, in large part, trace their root cause to a system that is completely in thrall to the corporate sector.

Public Assembly

I wanted to hear some of the speakers at the scheduled “teach-in” later in the afternoon, and I was particularly interested in the promised “Tour of Corporate Greed” due immediately afterwards. Apart from anything else, unlike the previous week’s blocked invasion of Paternoster Square, the details of its itinerary were unpublicised, which meant the prospect of the police either allowing it to continue or reinstating their notorious kettling tactic, and I wanted to see how things would develop.

So now seemed as good a time as any to duck out for a while, and the Fleet Street branch of McDonald’s seemed as good a place as any for a coffee stop. At this point I hadn’t seen Danny Baker and Paul Merton’s rather excellent debunking of Louise Mensch on Have I Got News For You, but watching it later it served as welcome reinforcement of my growing realisation that it’s perfectly acceptable to be unhappy with the worst excesses of the system without necessarily wanting to tear it down altogether.

I got back to St. Paul’s a bit after 3pm and was a bit surprised to not see an obvious focal point for the “teach-in”, but a quick check of Twitter confirmed that while I’d been away they’d all toddled off to sit in the shadow of the Bank of England (actually technically it was in the shadow of the Mansion House, and quite breezy with it…). I was too late for Polly Toynbee, who was the only speaker I’d actually heard of, but the person who really grabbed my attention was James Meadway.

Talking at the Bank

James is described as “Senior Economist” with the New Economics Foundation, an organisation which “aim[s] to improve quality of life by promoting innovative solutions that challenge mainstream thinking on economic, environment and social issues”. This sounds like the type of guff that appears on so much blurb these days, but Meadway speaks with a passion and articulacy that grabs your attention and holds it. His full talk lasted eleven minutes, and I’m hugely grateful to Jon Cheetham for uploading it in full. If you have the spare time, I urge you to listen here.

If you haven’t time to listen, in summary Meadway told us that the only reason for the “austerity” currently being forced on the country and the world is to ensure the survival of the corrupt financial sector that caused the crisis in the first place. This does seem self-evident to me, but the national narrative since 2008 has led us all away from that line of thinking, and all but convinced us that it’s all our own fault for spending too much on infrastructure and public services and the legions of people who sit in council offices and hospitals doing absolutely nothing all day.

The “national credit card” analogy, so over-used and so inaccurate, has been devastatingly effective in persuading people that the ideological cuts being imposed are unavoidable. The next speaker said some interesting things about bond markets and tax havens, but it was Meadway’s polemic which had really resonated with me, and validated my earlier thought about the reason for “Occupy” and its associated events existing.

Crowd at St Paul's

The “Tour of Corporate Greed” was due to start from St. Paul’s, so I returned there to find an increasingly large crowd forming around a samba band performing on the cathedral steps. Before long, the shout went out that the Tour was about to begin, and that the band would lead the way. It was pleasing to note that, as well as the maybe 1000 people (and that’s a very uneducated guess) taking part in the march, several riot vans wanted to come along as well, presumably to help with illumination.

As we meandered through the streets to the east of St. Paul’s, led by the samba and some impromptu footballers, pausing only to engage in the ancient ritual of shouting “Pay Your Tax” at the Philip Green-owned Top Shop, the police reaffirmed suspicions that their primary focus was protecting corporate interests by ostentatiously guarding a mobile phone shop.

The Orange Guards

The march arrived at Bank and collected those who had stayed on to ask questions of the speakers. As they joined, the band turned left and headed up Threadneedle Street. It occurred to me that if this was a tour of financial institutions then it was being run by one of those cabbies who insists that the best way from your house to the town centre is via the railway station, because the meter fails if he drives in a straight line or something, but I figured that they knew what they were doing – they were right outside the Bank of England, after all.

And then they kept on marching, northwards, onto Moorgate and up the City Road, probably parallel with, but certainly not threatening any road housing any institution of significance. The marchers and footballers in front of the band, and the accompanying battalion of police officers, resembled unsure puppies as they stopped to wait at every road junction to see where the march would head next. A man in a silly mask wandered alongside a tall Inspector, pressing him to see if he knew where we were going. If he did, he wasn’t letting on.

Suddenly, as we passed Marks & Spencer, people were running, both marchers and police, up ahead. I sprinted to catch up, and by the time I reached Finsbury Square, maybe eight tents had already been inflated, and more were appearing all the time. Massive poles in the centre of the square housed a protester each and an anti-Vodafone banner. Someone beside me gasped “they’re so quick!”. I took a few pictures, then noticed the line of police forming behind me between the square and the main road. I slipped out in case a kettle formed, and went round the back where it was more sparsely populated.

Finsbury Square occupied

Within ten minutes the new occupation was established, and the people with the megaphones were using the “human microphone” system to convey their message: that this was a second occupation, that St. Paul’s was staying put but they needed more space, and that they were going to be here for a long time. And then they simply got on with the job of recreating their community. By the time I reached Euston on my way home, Twitter was alive with appeals for supplies, tech equipment, and moral support to build up the Finsbury Square occupation. Far from running out of steam, Occupy London was revitalising itself, and maybe building the foundations of a new democracy.

Finsbury Square occupiers take aim at Vodafone

What did I learn from my day at the occupation? Something which I’d started to realise a couple of years ago.

Remember when the political parties took four days to sort out a coalition after the 2010 General Election? They must do it quicker, was the cry, because “the markets don’t like uncertainty”. The reason the Government must take an axe to the welfare state and public service provision in general? “The markets are nervous about debt and deficit”. Even as I finalise this post, the BBC is making great play of the need to agree a bold Eurozone rescue package “because in financial markets panic spreads like wildfire”.

The thing is, the job of Government is not to make life easier for corporations, markets, “high-worth” individuals, or indeed anyone else. It’s to regulate so that society functions in a way that’s most beneficial to all its members.

That might mean regulating companies or people. For example, if the best interests of society are served by having a competitive market in fast food, set some minimum conditions around employment and safety, and then let competing operators get on with it. We’ll choose the burgers based on flavour, price and convenience – and we’re quite capable of doing so, and have plenty of scope to do so.

Similarly, if it’s in society’s interest to punish individuals who kill others, or injure them, or steal from them, then Government must regulate: by making laws to prohibit the act, and by setting a series of penalties for breaking the laws.

And if you have a person, or a supermarket, or a whole industry, that turns out to be doing what they like, ignoring the safeguards and breaking the laws, then tighten them up and punish those responsible. And if your response, instead of doing that, is to pay them some more money that you’ve taken from the more vulnerable members of your society, and then to ask the culprits what they would like you to do next, don’t be surprised if some of the little people also start to ignore your regulation and pitch a few tents.

My suspicion – my hope – is that the more the Government press on with their current agenda, the more tents will spring up in the more places, until maybe the Tahrir Square analogy is not quite so over-ambitious and “the people” start to force change.

What is the “Occupy” movement all about? Nothing specific, just everything. It’s a focus for the mass of people who have realised, or will come to realise, that the system is not working for them, and needs at the very least to be rebalanced.

A quick chat with Andrew Lansley

I half agree with Samuel Johnson’s maxim about a man who is tired of London being tired of life. I actually think that he’s just tired for the day, and one of the benefits of living in Milton Keynes is that for only thirteen of your English pounds you can have a full day in the capital and still get home to somewhere quieter within half an hour.

So whenever possible I try to get there for at least one day, mostly just to walk, look and digest. I can tolerate the headache I invariably have by lunchtime as the price for absorbing the sheer energy of the place. It’s an energy that comes from several hearts – political, commercial, financial and cultural (some of which have multiple centres themselves) – and being a bit of a (lapsed) political geek I usually head for Westminster, to see what’s going on, where the news cameras are pointing, and if the mother of all Parliaments has yet succeeded in ridding its immediate surroundings of any sign of dissent.

This morning was no different, and as I wandered down Whitehall I noticed a few people hanging around outside the Cabinet Office. I paused for literally five seconds until Health Secretary Andrew Lansley emerged and strode off in the direction of Parliament. I sometimes kid myself I know what I’m doing with a camera, so I kept pace on the opposite side of the road to try to get a decent shot.

Andrew Lansley

Well, it’s a picture, anyway. And I was nervous in case an anti-terrorist SWAT team descended from the Ministry of Defence behind me to confiscate my camera, but it seems that only applies to small children eating ice-cream rather than Cabinet Ministers. Unless they were all busy with Adam Werrity.

As Lansley approached Downing Street he disentangled himself from the news crew and started to cross Whitehall. The press photographers opposite the gates, who looked bored enough to have been camped there for some hours, sprang to life and rattled off a few shots as he approached….and then he ended up on the pavement right beside me.

I have a general rule of not pestering well-known people in the street, on the basis that I probably wouldn’t want pestering myself if I were in their position, and anyway I don’t really know them. This was crystallised when I once got off a train immediately behind Sue Nicholls, to be met by excited screams of “AUDREY!”. I suppose it goes with the territory to an extent, but it would do my head in. The advent of Twitter might blur this rule somewhat, of course, because it’s now possible to have a certain element of interaction with those who want it, and get a general idea as to whether they’d be the type to react favourably to a cheery “hello!”.

Politicians are definitely exempt from the rule, though, and it would have seemed a wasted opportunity to not say something given that as far as I know Lansley is engineering the wholesale privatisation of health care provision in the biggest shake-up since 1948. Unfortunately, I had not anticipated having unfettered access to the Health Secretary, otherwise I might have done a bit of research and planned a couple of questions.

As it was – having politely asked if he minded having a chat as he walked – I stuck to the basic theme I’ve been banging on about since the advent of PFI/PPP deals in local councils about a decade ago. If we’re trying to deliver the best possible health service, I asked, was it worth the risk of the worst-case scenario, that services and therefore funding would coalesce in the hands of a very few large companies, who could then basically charge what they liked?

Lansley replied that he didn’t think that that could happen as a result of his proposals, because of the independent nature of the clinical commissioning groups which would take over the Secretary of State’s ultimate function of procuring healthcare. I persisted with a similar line, asking if it wasn’t the case that the lessons of similar previous reforms to other sectors, such as transport and local councils, was that we ended up with something approaching a cartel (the word “monopoly” escaped me in the rush). Again the response was that this simply wasn’t possible.

I wanted to go on to the other point I normally make in these debates, regarding where exactly the risk of failure falls. It seems self-evident to me, both in theory and practice, that in the end the public authority will be left to pick up the pieces if and when the enterprise providing the service fails for whatever reason, or comes back for more money because it has found it so difficult to make double-digit returns under the contract as initially negotiated. But we had reached the entrance to Richmond House, where the Department of Health lives, so I only had time to ask if the bit about not allowing monolithic provision was explicit in the Bill, and Lansley said that it was. I thanked him for his time and refocussed on my original train of thought, which was finding somewhere with an outside table to get a croissant and a coffee.

I have no idea whether what the Health Secretary told me was correct. I was thinking on my feet so much that I have no idea if I even asked a relevant question, let alone the right one. But it just felt, at that moment, that the opportunity to get a point across to him – that a random, slightly scruffy bloke in the street was hugely concerned about the future of the Health Service he had grown up with – was too important to pass up. My guess is that it’s unlikely the House of Lords will delay the Bill for long, and that within five years we’ll be talking about picking up the pieces of the NHS. And that Andrew Lansley won’t be in post to take responsibility.

Gritty numbers

I’ve mentioned Tim Harford on this blog before. Tim is basically the UK’s “Mr Statistics” – as well as his books and newspaper columns, he presents the BBC’s flagship/only stats programme More or Less. Every Friday for half the year, Tim and his colleagues shine a light into the gloom of dodgy numbers propagated by (mostly) politicians, public bodies and the media.

You’d think that, in the presence of forensic minds like Harford and his militant twin Ben Goldacre, such spreaders of misinformation might tread carefully and stick to the facts, without too much spin and bluster. If you DID think that, you’d be reckoning without the Milton Keynes Liberal Democrats.

This month’s edition of the lovingly-photocopied “Focus” newsletter includes a topical paragraph on the subject of “grit bins”, complete with the obligatory picture of Councillor Sam Crooks leaning on one. (It’s tempting to suggest that the article illustrates the picture, given their relative size and prominence on the page). The article, in full, reads as follows:

Last year’s LIB DEM Council installed over 160 new grit bins throughout the city.

There’s been a 90% cut this year – barely a dozen new bins, we’ve been told.

“This is outrageous” says SAM CROOKS “Being able to help ourselves to grit when we need it prevents accidents and keeps us safe”

Well yes, it does. (I assume, I haven’t checked.) So I’d have thought that installing more of them would be a Good Thing, but Focus and Crooks have managed, with breathtaking cheek, to openly report an increase yet present it as a cut – and not just any old cut, but a whopping 90%. OK, the number of new bins installed will (if the figures are correct) be 92.5% lower than last year – but that really doesn’t add up to a cut of any description, let alone one imperilling the previously non-slip residents of Milton Keynes.

Two facts about Milton Keynes Council

1. The 2011/12 budget was passed prior to the most recent elections, at a time when the Liberal Democrats were the largest party. The budget motion was seconded by Councillor Sam Crooks.

2. Councillor Sam Crooks represents the same ward as Conservative Councillor John Bint, the current Cabinet member responsible for Transport and Highways.

Losing our Marbles

About six hours ago, I’d never heard of Jonnie Marbles. Now he is what Twitter knows as a “trending topic” in the UK, and his co-combatant Wendi Deng, wife of the billionaire Rupert Murdoch, is achieving similar notoriety on a global scale.

The first thing to say is that if you’re a comedian looking for a stage name, I’m not entirely sure that choosing one that makes you sound like a cross between a failed kids’ entertainer and a sarcastic Alexei Sayle creation (who could forget Bobby Chariot?) is going to lead to a series of appearances on Have I Got News For You. So from here on I’ll use his real name.

Why has the literal clown Jonathan May-Bowles moved me to write the type of knee-jerk opinion piece that I’m not particularly keen on? I think it’s because I have such a conflict of opinions as to his action in attacking said billionaire with a custard pie.

The last high-profile custard pie recipient I can remember was Jeremy Clarkson, a man who has managed the astonishing feat of being pet controversialist for both News International and the BBC for almost a decade. Clarkson is exactly the type of person who deserves a custard pie, knows he deserves a custard pie, and indeed treats custard pie attack as an occupational hazard of poking sticks at large sections of society.

And that’s fine, because what Clarkson does is low-level rabble-rousing. He plays to his gallery, gets the reaction he wants, and everyone goes home relatively happy. That’s one reason I wholeheartedly approve of custard pies.

Another reason is that it is very British. There is a long tradition of slapstick in our society, from Charlie Chaplin through Norman Wisdom, Frank Spencer, Lee Evans and, erm, the Chuckle Brothers. Protest by slapstick is an entirely acceptable, and often effective, way of puncturing the pomposity of those who perceive themselves to be at the top of society.

Many reactions immediately after the event were along the lines of “he could have had anything”. Well, allowing for the scanners that are presumably part of the Portcullis House security operation, I suppose he could…but again, this is London, not Washington DC, and it’s much more likely to be shaving foam than razor blades or anything more explosive. It’s sort of how we do things.

The issue at stake today, though, was far too important for water pistols and flashing red noses. The Murdoch family are accused of presiding over an empire of lying, corruption and criminality which extended not just to a single now-defunct tabloid newspaper, but also throughout the supposed law enforcers in the Metropolitan Police, and the political “masters” in Downing Street, where Prime Minister David Cameron was apparently deliberately kept in the dark as far as possible, while still employing one of the accused editors and being a neighbour and close friend of another. (I hope, by the way, that not many readers attach the same interpretation to the linked e-mail exchange that Tim Montgomerie has suggested. I simply can’t understand people who just write to spin like that.)

Some of us have been grumbling about the entrenched influence of Murdoch for years. Not only do his newspapers attempt to set the national tone at “lowest common denominator”, not only do they claim to influence society to the point of winning elections, but his television company has for the last two decades run football as a private plaything, to the detriment of the game in general and certainly of its supporters, who must tolerate Monday night trips the length of the country at the whim of the schedulers, and are force-fed the view that the national sport is essentially about four or five clubs in Manchester, London and, if they’re a bit pushed, Liverpool.

So the recent revelations, prompted by the dogged, almost solitary work of Guardian journalist Nick Davies, gave some hope that this corrosive force could start to be rolled back. Building all year from the resignation of Andy Coulson from his post of Downing Street communications chief, the final tipping point was reached just on July 4th when it was disclosed that the News of the World had listened to and, worse, deleted, the mobile phone messages of a murdered girl.

The intervening fifteen days have been nothing short of astounding. The swift closure of the offending newspaper was followed by mass resignations of senior executives to the point where it appeared that the only people left were the Murdochs themselves, and then finally by a set-piece grilling by a select committee, the more effective arm of the House of Commons. In the hearing, one of the world’s biggest and most durable media tycoons was put firmly “on the ropes”, largely by Tom Watson MP who has been outspoken on the issue for some time. This was a demonstration of British parliamentary democracy at its best – polite, without too much grandstanding, but comprehensive and incisive.

And then along came May-Bowles with his whistling trousers and custard pie. Not only does this kind of stunt give the news networks a sideshow to focus on at the expense of the main issue, but it gives apologists the chance to prattle on about security and disrespect in order to deflect attention. It gives Louise Mensch the chance to salute Murdoch senior’s courage, strength and indefatigability in hanging around to finish the session, safe in the knowledge that the entire building was on security lockdown. And it makes frustrated onlookers like me bang our heads on the nearest hard surface as another idiot diminishes our ability to take even the most serious matters seriously.

Don’t take Google’s word for it

A couple of mornings back I was indulging in my favourite pastime of wasting time at my PC while keeping half an eye on some recorded motorsport. This kind of prevarication is the sole difference between me and those dynamic young executives you see zipping around Canary Wharf in sharp suits making sure their iPhones are visible. Well, that and a keen sense of my own ridiculousness.

While the GP2 drivers investigated new ways of crashing into each other and the adjacent barriers, I noticed that the computer was somewhat busier than normal. It turned out that Google Earth was having one of its periodic bouts of Dr Who-esque regeneration, and needed most of my processing power and therefore temperature capacity to do it. When it had finished, I idly opened up the application to see if anything earth-shattering had changed.

What greeted me was the type of update that is purely designed to add to my timewasting ability. Large swathes of Britain now benefit from what Google describes as “historical imagery from 1945″. This is particularly interesting for residents of Milton Keynes, most of which didn’t exist until thirty years later. Having had my usual poke around at my own house, my parents’ house, my place of work and so on, it occurred to me to see what state the local RAF station was in at the end of the war.

This was very much an assumption on my part. Cranfield Aerodrome is now used for pilot training and assists the adjacent University with its hi-tech research in aviation and other fields. My assumption was that it was one of the spate of airfields chucked up in the 1930s as it became obvious that Hitler had certain expansionist tendencies.

Here’s the relevant aerial image.

Cranfield aerial view

The airfield location is to the left of the village – the main runway runs more or less parallel to the High Street. But the sharp-eyed among you will notice a distinct lack of airfield in the picture. This was a bit of a surprise. I know enough about Cranfield to know that it it shares the classic triple runway plan with all the pre-war airfields. Clearly it had been constructed, for some reason, well after hostilities had ceased. I thought I would have already known if it had any Cold War history, because those airfields tend to have hefty reminders of the fact in the form of large bunkers, missile storage and so on.

Intrigued, I headed over to the airfield’s “history” page to see what exactly prompted the building of an airfield that was apparently not used in either of the twentieth century’s big aerial conflicts, yet doesn’t function as a significant passenger or freight centre. Here’s the answer:

In 1936, construction of an airfield at Cranfield commenced, as part of a general response to developments in Europe….Cranfield RAF Station Headquarters opened on 1 June 1937 , and the aerodrome on 1 July, under the control of No 1 (Bomber) Group….Major work took place during the winter of 1939-40 to replace its grass airstrip with three properly surfaced hard runways. These became the targets of enemy attacks in the late summer of 1940 during the Battle of Britain, which damaged the airfield and local villages.

So, at least in this area, the “1945 imagery” isn’t from 1945. It’s at least nine years older than that. In a way, that’s reassuring, in that I wasn’t as ignorant of local landscape and history as I’d thought. In another way, it’s disappointing, because Google has to an extent set itself up as the leading purveyor of information to the world, and that’s a pretty spectacular margin of error.

On the other hand, it’s given me even more excuse to waste time, to see if I can find and research a few clues as to when the photographs were actually taken.

Lib Doom?

If there’s one overwhelming result of the 2011 local council elections, it’s that the Liberal Democrats are utterly doomed. Tomorrow, Nick Clegg will hand in his red box at the Cabinet Office reception, make sure he’s got Vince Cable’s set of keys for the party’s Cowley Street headquarters, pick up Miriam and the kids, and head off to a job as an ambassador’s assistant in the Canary Islands where he can spend the next forty years ruminating on the shame.

Or at least so the general consensus goes. Chris Huhne is apparently sharpening the knives, and Paddy Ashdown is shaking is head sadly. Twenty years of steady growth (I’m writing a quick post here, haven’t checked that one) sacrificed in one awful year of coalition.

Alternatively…..

The party has lost a huge chunk of council seats. It has gone from being everyone’s favourite protest vote to everyone’s favourite governing party to kick. Previously it was the recipient of anti-government votes on both “sides” – now, as part of that government, they are perhaps reverting to their “home” parties. It is also looking likely that the party will lose its not-very-cherished compromise referendum on voting reform. This is about as bad as it gets, yes, but that means it can invoke Labour’s infamous 1997 anthem “Things Can Only Get Better” with gusto.

Soon the Fixed Term Parliaments bill will become law. Even as barefaced an opportunist as David Cameron will surely not junk that, having (tacitly) supported it through two Houses of Parliament. So the next General Election will be in May 2015.

That gives the Liberal Democrats plenty of time to decide the right moment to leave the government. I haven’t re-read the Coalition Agreement yet today, to remind myself which bits have been implemented, which are in progress and so on, but maybe another year might be enough to get some chunky things done while pandering to the “economic reality” that looks so counter-productive to those of us who think a “big society” funds itself collectively, rather than expecting its individual members to decide how much they can each afford.

And then, maybe when the Olympics are over, Clegg can tot up the things he’s got done that wouldn’t have happened without a Liberal Democrat presence in government, pull the party out of the coalition, and spend the next two years going “all guns blazing” for Cameron on the topic of “bad faith” which has started to creep out of the Cabinet Room in the last few days.

Even the most bright-eyed Liberal Democrat would probably call this “looking on the bright side” (although not at the extremes – I haven’t even considered the possibility of a shock referendum result), but I suspect it’s not nearly as bad as the mood music this morning is suggesting. Those of us who follow England’s sporting representatives are familiar with the concept that victory indicates the best team ever, and defeat demands immediate dissolution of the entire structure. In the end, things carry on much as before, and significant improvement or decline is gradual. Nick Clegg should probably take heed.