Jill Stephenson and Andrew Hook
But we weren’t always so passive
The Booker prize-winning novelist, Howard Jacobson, is as well-known for his provocative journalism as for his fiction. A collection of his articles written for the Independent is available under the title ‘Whatever it is, I don’t like it’. This is a line taken from one of the Marx brothers’ films, ‘A Night at the Opera’.
It seems designed to appeal to grumpy old men but Jacobson offers an explanation for his choice: ‘It isn’t in my nature to be non-confrontational’. He is temperamentally inclined to enjoy ‘picking a fight with those who make the world more sanctimonious, more foolish and, in every sense, more impoverished than it needs to be’. He proceeds to cast his penetrating eye over a wide spectrum of topics: books, opera, fashion, death, travel, food, language, money, friendship, terrorism. The coverage is formidable and carried off with impressive wit and style.
The Jacobson collection made me wonder about the lack of real confrontation in much public discourse. How often do you see examples of indignation, anger, disgust, contempt or outrage in debates about important public issues? We have been house-trained into only expressing a range of permitted responses, emotionally controlled, supposedly ‘objective’, suitably deferential to those in authority, never straying beyond the unwritten rules of the game.
Anyone who disregards these rules is immediately consigned to the category of troublemaker, labelled ‘over the top’ and marginalised in future exchanges. In interviews, official spokespersons are rarely presented with questions carrying emotional force: this makes it easy for them to respond with polished charm in the face of evidence which may, in fact, be extremely unpleasant.
It is not as if there is any shortage of subjects about which we might want to protest in the strongest possible terms: political greed and incompetence; financial mismanagement; institutional failure and cover-up; injustice before the law; environmental vandalism; the obscene gap between rich and poor. Put them all together and you have a case for saying that our society is pretty shabby. But despite this, most of us are content simply to shake our heads in despair, exchange platitudes with friends about the latest examples of official deception or betrayal of trust, and get on with our lives as best we can. Public protests are rare and often attract only modest numbers. Robust, anonymous (sometimes actionable) comments can be found on the internet, but while these may provide therapeutic release for those who post them, they make no substantive impact of a kind that might lead to changes.
It is worth asking why there is so much passivity in the face of glaring instances of unacceptable conduct. Scotland, after all, has a proud history of political protest stretching back to the Red Clydesiders and beyond. In the 1970s there was strong support for the work-in at Upper Clyde Shipbuilders, led by Jimmy Reid, and the 1980s saw mass rallies against the poll tax. But several things have changed since then.
Those global media companies are not exactly accidental players in the extension of social apathy: they are major contributors to it. Until recently, the benefits system has kept the lid on simmering discontent among those living at the margins of society. Current attempts to reassess eligibility for state benefits have sparked some reaction which could ignite into more widespread protest.
One of the striking features of Scottish social and political commentary is the absence of much in the way of satire. There is no shortage of deserving targets: the puffed-up pomposity of many councillors and officials in local government; the antics of cultural organisations such as the National Trust for Scotland, Historic Scotland and Creative Scotland; the self-interest of professions such as medicine and the law, thinly concealed behind a veil of public-service rhetoric; the contradictions of university ‘missions’, contriving to be both elite and egalitarian at the same time; the feeble exchanges in the Scottish Parliament, where the quality of contributions often fails to rise above the level of a school debating society.
A few years ago, Andrew O’Hagan, a Scottish writer who is good at depicting some of the more unsavoury aspects of our society, observed: ‘Scotland is uncomfortable with the idea of difficult inquiry. It likes good news, like all small countries do’. A mature country needs to be able to respond to criticism and should welcome satire as a healthy sign of democratic engagement.
Howard Jacobson makes no great claims for the practical consequences which his provocative writing may produce. He wants to entertain more than reform and says, ‘I am a stranger to the current affairs agenda; and I don’t see myself as an opinion former’. But maybe he understates what his kind of writing can accomplish. Look at the impact which perhaps the greatest essayist of the 20th century, George Orwell, achieved, casting light on the nature of political power in ways that have continuing relevance.
Restrained inquiry is not enough: sometimes only provocation can begin to expose the disturbing truth behind the complacent reassurances of government and the public relations propaganda of business and the professions.
Walter Humes held professorships at the universities of Aberdeen, Strathclyde and West of Scotland and is now a visiting professor of education at the University of Stirling
