Even if Cameron is right and true, he can't be good.

I believe that David Cameron will be our next Prime Minister. I am not happy about this. This is not because I have any warm feelings for the current PM. It is simply because I feel uneasy about David Cameron.

This morning, I was directed to Cameron's articles in the Guardian by a tweet from Richard Reeves, director of Demos.   In the articles, Cameron outlined his concept of Progressive Conservatism.  He stated that the power to change communities must be given to citizens; suggesting that the complex bureaucracy of government must be simplified and broken down in order for people to bring about the changes that they desire.  

At the heart of Cameron's conception of Progressive Conservatism, is the sense that people conceive themselves as citizens.   There is a passionate optimism in this idea; one that should not be dismissed lightly.  There can be no greater democratic aspiration than that of empowering communities to hold themselves accountable and responsible for the process of social change.   

Cameron's ideas chime with those presented in many of the papers put together by Demos; which is, no doubt, why Reeves called the Guardian articles excellent in his blog.  The articles also brought to mind the kind of political ideals presented by President Obama.   In Dreams from my Father, Obama argues convincingly for the distribution of power.    But unlike Cameron, Obama's convictions seem to have a clear narrative line.   In his memoir, Obama managed to give his optimism a human face.  The hope that he consistently described during the election seems to be directly founded on the actions of the groups and individuals that he worked with.   

I do not want to suggest that Cameron is disingenuous.  I am almost certain he believes what he says; and that he has clear intentions for when he is in power.  But despite his intentions, the overwhelming feeling Cameron brings to my experience of contemporary politics is dischord.  When I saw Cameron's articles in The Guardian, I didn't feel that he was inviting me to join him, but that he was coming to get me.  Perhaps this feeling was authored by my own preconceptions; however, such preconceptions are defined by a prejudice that has developed of its own accord. When I listen to Cameron, I hear him complain.  When he makes positive suggestions, he manages to shroud them in contempt for the current administration.  

As I watched Obama campaign, I was swept up in a movement towards hope.   I started out cautiously; patiently teasing out the policy differences between Clinton, Edwards and Obama. However, as time went on, I felt the emotional and rational draw of a unifying figure.   

Ultimately, it is a sense of hope that is vital in progressive politics.  Cameron does not engender hope; and that is why he can be right in both his analysis and his policy, without having a chance of generating unifying social change.   Every time Cameron attacks Brown, he chips away at his ability to sweep Britain towards a place where people act as citizens, where individuals work together to achieve the kind of compassionate society outlined in his thoughtful articles for The Guardian.   

It is not that Brown does not need to be opposed and criticised; however, the contempt with which Cameron attacks Brown is unhelpful.  I believe that whilst Brown is not a good leader, he is interested in affecting positive change.  (Change shaped by ideals not too dissimilar to those presented by Cameron.) When Cameron attacks Brown, he attacks a man who is not good enough to hold such prestigious office.  He doesn't attack Brown's ideas, so much as his character.  Social progress must be steeped in empathy and inclusion.  To think of myself as a citizen, I have to feel that I am a part of something.   Although I don't want to sound too much like Polyanna, I am genuinely (and rightly) uncomfortable at being included in attacks on a man who is trying his best and only achiving poor results.  When Cameron calls the Prime-Minister a "loser" I don't want to be on his side.

In Dreams from my Father, we get the picture of a man drawn towards politics through the recognition of a gift for bringing individuals and groups into a forceful unity.  In Cameron's writing I get a sense of a man with the right idea.  He may be the man to bring the Conservative Party into a new phase, but the negativity that I feel when I hear him talk about change makes me think that he wants my vote more than my goodwill. 

Britain's Citizens Get What They Deserve

I have spent the last week in a rather furious state of disbelief.  My anger spiraled so far out of my own control that, in order to stop myself from shouting obscenities at the radio, television, newspaper and computer, I have had to isolate myself from anything bearing a resemblance to news.  That was until this afternoon, when, for some strange reason, I couldn't stop myself from watching  Question Time on iplayer.  I don't know why I did it.  I knew I would be apoplectic with rage at the end of it.  I couldn't help myself. My name is Campbell; I'm addicted to shouting at idiots who I will never meet, who can't hear me.  

The rage has pretty much subsided now; strangely, the emotion I am left with is admiration.  Not for the pompous, ill-informed fuck-heads who apply to be in the audience of Question Time, not for the smug journalists and commentators who sit in judgement of the week's events, but for the politicians, William Hague and Ben Bradshaw.  I wasn't particularly taken with their comments or answers, the thing that drew my admiration was their apparently endless compassion.  Ben Bradshaw might as well have been the Dalai Lama.  I am baffled as to how these men could sit there and listen to the utter rubbish thrown at them without responding with sarcasm, fury and utter contempt.

I can only think of one instance where an audience member's question illustrated that he had attempted to inform himself, in some vague way, about the nature of our political and legal systems.   For the most part, it appeared as though the entire congregation had pieced together an understanding of recent events by reading one half of a newspaper article in the salon, and the other half of a different article in the queue at Sainsburys.  The audience clapped unanimously when it was suggested that we needed a general election.  They clapped unanimously again when Bradshaw made the point that, in order for the guilty politicians to be held to account and the innocent politicians to be exonerated, we would have to wait until an independent investigation of MPs' expenses was completed.  At the end of the evening, the consensus generated amongst the mob appeared to suggest that the nation would be best served by a government of independents elected by spite.   

At the end of the programme I sat alone and took some deep breaths.  It crossed my mind that the electorate gets the kind of politics it wants and deserves.   Ben Bradshaw was vilified for crimes he does not appear to have committed, by an audience who probably wouldn't have recognised him before the evening had begun.  Maybe he has a safe seat.  But if the Question Time audience has anything to do with it, any member of parliament who speaks in carefully worded sentences, and who doesn't spout emotive rhetoric, will be gone from British politics for good.  The British public will congratulate themselves on a moral victory as intelligent debate and dialogue are permanently erased from the collective memory.

Hopefully, when it all happens I will be alone in my bunker with a bottle of Scotch, where the only thing to do with an op-ed piece from the Telegraph is use it to wipe my arse.  

A vote of no confidence in the BBC

This week, as the apparent constitutional crisis involving the Speaker of the House of Commons unfolded, I found myself questioning the quality and nature of the public service the BBC was providing.  Starting within the isolated confines of the coverage of Michael Martin's dismissal, I came to the conclusions that the BBC is broadly failing in its mission, and that other broadcasters might be able to provide better information, entertainment and education with the use of my £142.  

One might suggest that the qualities of excellence and impartiality are both difficult to attain; and that they are only ever realised in subjective terms.  However, the BBC is straying so far from impartiality and excellence in its news coverage that I don't think anyone can claim I am being harsh in my appraisal.  

This week, I watched moments of parliamentary debate televised live, only, seconds later, to be appalled by journalists, staring directly into the camera, recreating the scenes as dazzling fictions.    Facts were mixed with gossip; interpretation and analysis were mixed with reportage.  

The saga surrounding Michael Martin's resignation reached its nadir yesterday morning, when hours were spent reporting an event that had yet to occur.   On BBC News 24, a panel of guests and journalists  speculated  about a resignation that had been reported but had not, in fact, happened.  The very word 'news' surely precludes journalists from reporting and interpreting the future.   News should, at the very least, have already occurred.

It is in no way novel to note the prevalence of opinion and analysis within contemporary news-casting; however, I take severe issue with the notion that replacing impartial reporting with speculation constitutes a public service.  This is a serious problem for me as a television-owner who pays a fee, demanded by law, to the BBC.   

It is true that in a social democracy we must often contribute funding for things we neither use nor value; however, the legality of the TV licence depends entirely upon the broadcasting institution's ability to fulfill its remit.  The BBC has not proven itself to be impartial, excellent, or accurate in terms of the information with which it attempts to educate and entertain me. Nor does the institution appear to be consistently good value for money.  Last week a BBC newscaster was cajoled into admitting she earned £92,000 by the Labour peer Lord Foulkes, who was quite right in saying that she was spouting nonsense about the distribution of government finances. Surely misinformed, blonde TV presenters can be procured for less than £92,000 a year.

Within the BBC's mission statement, there is the claim that trust is at the heart of public service broadcasting.  Establishing just how important trust in an institutional brand might be for consumers is vital in judging the public value of the BBC for citizens.  After this week, I don't trust the BBC to do what we are paying it to do. Beyond this fact, I know that whilst the BBC funds the creators of good content, it is the content itself, and not its association with the BBC, that I admire.  I use the BBC frequently.  My life would be less rich without the content provided by the institution.  However, there is a difference between the content the employees of an institution create and the institution itself.  Without the BBC, David Attenborough, Louis Theroux, Andrew Davies, Ricky Gervais, Mark Lawson and many others would find opportunities to create good work.   Indeed, with the possible exception of David Attenborough, I believe they all have.  

One might argue that the BBC bankrolls quality programmes with fairly limited audiences; a practice that has always been recognised as the heart of good public broadcasting.  However, the internet is providing more and more platforms for content as interesting and esoteric as the most niche programming found on BBC radio and TV.  Yesterday afternoon, I listened to four episodes of Philosophy Bites with Nigel Warburton.  I downloaded the episodes for free from itunes, and they were every bit as thoughtfully created and researched as In Our Time or The Moral Maze.   

Of course, we cannot demand that broadcasters give away content for free, but we can note that the model of itunes provides users with the opportunity to pay for programmes on demand.  It seems to me that such technology spells the end for the BBC's right to receive the licence fee as a provider of a  public service.   When content was limited by the constraints of a limited schedule and limited channels, it was perhaps right to create a publicly accountable arbiter for content. However, through the internet, we can have practically limitless access to all kinds of digital content. 

Public service in broadcasting can no longer be primarily realised though the selection and creation of content.  Instead, the focus of public broadcasting must be on the creation of access to information and content.  The funded institutional monopoly of the BBC cannot compete with the internet at large as a point of access or platform for information and entertainment.  It is true that I might choose to provide funds for an organisation such as HBO or the BBC to develop talent and content for me to watch; however, it is only logical to make this choice as a consumer and not as citizen.     

I am no longer comfortable with the notion that the BBC, as a public institution,  should choose content for me.  Part of this discomfort is dictated by developments in technology, which allow me to locate and choose exactly the kind of information by which I might be educated, informed and entertained.  The need for a gatekeeper is gone.  However, the larger part of my discomfort is found in my belief that the BBC no longer really has my trust as the world's best and most unimpeachable broadcasting network.  For me, HBO creates the best TV drama, free podcasts from the New Yorker and beyond are a match for Front Row, and BBC journalism is not necessarily better than the journalism provided by many other reputable broadcasting corporations.   The tendrils of BBC News may reach further than those of other British news networks, but this is only because of its monopoly over the funds generated by the licence fee.  

I propose a vote of no-confidence in the BBC as a public service.  In a world without the licence fee, I might well choose to pay for BBC programmes; but with the internet as my oyster, I might send some of my £142 Nigel Warburton's way.

The Art that is Happening

I have been thinking about the process of making art a lot recently.  I have also been thinking about whether authentic art can still be made.    However, my thoughts have had a sort of meandering quality.  I wasn't sure where they might lead me, until this morning when, whilst flicking through the channels, I paused to watch Shaheen Jafargholi on Britain's Got Talent.  As he sung, my thoughts about art in the modern age were shaped into coherence.

As I drank my coffee, I found myself entranced by the twelve-year-old boy's performance.  This was an unnerving experience for me.  I was, until this morning, fairly secure in my beliefs regarding Britain's Got Talent.  The producers' apparent attitude towards the elderly, the eccentric and the unattractive is fairly mean-spirited.  I find the reaction shots of Amanda Holden unnerving and manipulative, and the evils of Simon Cowell surely need no introduction. Nonetheless, I sat on my sofa and thought to myself: This is authentic art.   Not just the boy's performance, but the production and the concept too.

I sipped my coffee again and wondered where such a thought might have come from.

I recognised Theodor Adorno's shadow bearing down on me, urging me towards some kind of recognition about the true nature of art.   This, of course, seemed strange.  How could Adorno, the doyen of elitist aesthetic theory and all-round Frankfurt School grump, be encouraging me to write about how ITV is broadcasting authentic art to the unschooled masses?  

It seems logical to believe that Britain's Got Talent functions as the lowest common denominator of entertainment.  It doesn't invite us to think or contemplate.  It asks us to deride or admire a rag-tag bunch of hopefuls.  We laugh, we cry, we cringe.  ITV celebrates the mass appeal of watching people with an assortment of 'talents' and 'gifts' try  to and achieve the non-specific dreams associated with fame, as an unruly crowd goads and applauds, with Brighton's answers to Machiavelli at the helm.  

It is easy to by cynical about the programme.  It relentlessly attempts to sell a manufactured reality to the contestants and the viewers.  Plying us with stories of the performers' struggles as Britain's single parents, factory workers and disenfranchised odd-balls.  You can see a cash register chiming in Cowell's eyes everytime something marketable presents itself on stage. Piers Morgan is on it.  

When Shaheen sang, Cowell manufactured some drama by rejecting the boy's choice of song, demanding he sing something else.  The dream could have ended there.  But as the keyboard intro of the Jackson Five's 'Who's Loving You' chimed, and Shaheen's single mum watched with clenched fists and tears in her eyes, everyone knew that the boy had talent.  Records would be sold; dreams would be realised; life would change.  

All in all, this seems to be exactly the kind of thing that Adorno bemoaned as the crushing commodification of the art of making and appreciating music.  However, even when taking into account that everything is for sale and everyone can be manipulated, Britain's Got Talent somehow manages to avoid falling into the pitfalls of banality, fetish and commodification that shapes so much of our culture.    Shaheen may sell millions of records, his life may change, Simon Cowell may get to buy another house; but none of this has any bearing on the reason why the performance was so moving, so interesting, so much a piece of great art.  

When Shaheen began to sing, we had no idea who he was, we had no idea that there was something to buy.  We simply hoped he could bring us pleasure within the confines of the moment presented by the format of the television show.  He was just a normal, little boy, slightly camp, with cute dimples, defined in our awareness only in relation to the fact that he hoped he could entertain us with a song. When he belted out the first few bars of 'Who's Loving You', it was immediately apparent that he was capable of fulfilling both his intentions and our needs.  He had a great voice.  Everything else was briefly suspended as I enjoyed experiencing the pleasure of hearing a human being create a lovely sound.  It was the fulfilment of a perfect contract between me, the boy and art itself.    

Of course, the cash register lit up behind Cowell's eyes, Amanda Holden showed us how well she could look moved by the dreams of a little boy, Piers Morgan was Piers Morgan; but none of that could touch a perfect art-moment, where nothing was for sale, and the only thing that occurred was creation itself.

That is why Britain's Got Talent can shine as a diamond, even if it is trying its hardest to be piece of coal.  Shaheen may well sell some records, but I doubt he will ever make art again so easily.  The moment he stepped off the stage he became a singer.  Simon Cowell said, "That is how a song can change your life."  He was right.  Shaneen went from a glorious example of the humane power of music and communication to a commodity in the space of a few seconds. 

Fans may buy the album, but they will never get the experience they really want.  The experience that I felt as special was generated in the perfect meeting between a person, audience and format, where my expectation of surprise and mutuality was met by the right person at the right time.  The quality of meeting between Shaheen and I cannot come again.  It cannot easily be bought, and it cannot easily be made.  Most importantly it cannot be sold; because it is manufactured in mutuality between spectator, artist and medium.  Everyone in the moment is a creator, so there is no one left to buy the product.  The only thing to be purchased is nostalgia, and that can't be great art, because we don't want nostalgia to change us; we don't want to learn anything from nostaliga, we only want it to affirm our existing feelings about the world.  

I am still elated by having had an 'art-experience' when listening to a pop song.  I have been reading Bill Drummond's wonderful book, 17.  In it he claims: "All recorded music has run its course.  It has all been consumed, downloaded, understood, heard before, sampled, learned, revived, judged and found wanting." Shaheen's music was recorded, its true.  However, I can't experience the recording as art more than once, so watching it again is pointless.  

Britain's Got Talent has developed a modern medium for mass-consumption that can create a kind of art that taps into some of the most profound forms of cultural communion.   In the end, it may generate products for sale, but we can't buy the experience of 'liveness' at the programme's heart.   Adorno is probably spinning in his grumpy, atonal grave, but I feel good about art today.  I feel good about people.  I feel possibilities for communication arising and evolving. Authenticity is still possible.  The medium is the message.  Shaheen is the messenger.  

But I still can't watch more than ten minutes of the show without wanting to kill myself, so thank God for The Wire.