I blame the scapegoats (15 page)

16
March 2002

People
are always saying they'd like to see more bobbies on the beat. Well, this week
there were 5000 policemen all walking down one road in London. Unfortunately,
they still didn't notice that bloke smashing the car window and nicking the
stereo.

In what must have been the most unusual
demonstration in living memory, no banners were confiscated, no police
helicopters drowned out the sound of the speakers, no activists were covertly
filmed and the only unpleasant incident was when one officer became so confused
that he dragged himself out of the crowd for being lippy and then beat himself
up in the back of the van. Some of the marchers from outside the capital were
not sure of the route to Westminster; they were hoping to ask a policeman, but
you can never find one when you want one, can you? A few anarchists did turn up
to act as impromptu stewards, but the police were not willing to do as
instructed. For goodness sake, these anarchists are only trying to do their
job, they are the thin multicoloured line who prevent our society from
collapsing into, er, anarchy, no, hang on, that can't be right. . .

Of
course, for every 5000 policemen going on a march to Whitehall, there are
another 15,000 filling out the relevant paperwork back at the station. (This
situation is repeated in every area of police work. For every police sniffer
dog searching for drugs, there are another four Alsatians putting their paw
marks on bits of paper.) The march's organizers claim that police morale is
very low, although most policemen I encounter can never stop laughing. All I
said was, 'So is there any chance of getting my bike back?' The trouble is that
new recruits go into the police force with an unrealistic idea of what the job
involves. They've watched
The Bill
and
Cops
and they imagined it
would be all kicking down doors and finding villains in bed with
forty-something peroxide blondes. Police dramas should be forced to be more
honest about the mundane reality. Scene One: Inspector Hooper is sitting in the
youth magistrate's court waiting to give evidence. Scene Two: He looks at his
watch - it is an hour later. Scene Three: He is still sitting there. In fact,
this new, no-holds-barred police drama continues in this vein for a whole hour
until the final action sequence, when the clerk of the court wanders in to tell
him that the case has been adjourned because the defendant couldn't be bothered
to turn up. Roll credits as the continuity announcer says, And there'll be more
real-life inaction next week, when Inspector Hooper escorts an extra wide load
at ten miles an hour down the entire length of the Ml.'

It is partly to free up the police to spend
more time actually solving crimes that the idea of civilian community-support
officers was conceived. But the police are also angry about other proposed
reforms, including cuts to overtime pay. They don't blame David Blunkett for
all this; apparently their chief suspect is a young asylum seeker who they say
has just confessed to everything in a police cell in Stoke Newington.

There
are currently no plans for another march, although personally I think it would
be an excellent idea. Except next time they should march in uniform and spread
out much more, so that there'd be a couple of them marching through every major
crime spot of the inner cities. But it's hard to know where the police can take
their protest next. They could try withdrawing goodwill, refusing to do some of
the additional extras that so brighten up our lives. Imagine no more big yellow
placards on the pavement saying 'Murder, Rape, Kidnap in your very road just
the other day. Were you scared? Well, come on, you must be now.' Or in court
they might resolve only to read out their evidence in a dull monotone, making
it impossible for anyone actually to listen to what they're saying. But if none
of this worked, then perhaps they'd be forced to break the law and down
truncheons. A national police strike could be this Labour government's greatest
test. Hundreds of ex-miners would have to be recruited to prevent the striking
policemen from travelling around the country. Pitched battles would be fought
as the police formed mass pickets around Wormwood Scrubs, trying to prevent the
delivery of convicted felons.

'We are asking our comrades from the criminal
fraternity to support our action by refusing to cross this picket line.'

'Oh, all right, I'll
go home then.'

Conservative Party activists would set up
strikers' support groups, providing hot meals of roasted pheasant and donating
cast-off
clothing
such
as old Barbour jackets and
green
Wellingtons.
At
which
point the public
would decide the police had suffered enough. But of course we could
never
really
have
a police strike - if
we did
there
might
be lots of crimes and most of
them
wouldn't get cleared up. And a scenario like that - well,
it's almost impossible to imagine.

23
March 2002

This
week David Blunkett announced that thousands of non-violent offenders would be
released from prison early. Panic spread around the country as everyone
simultaneously had the same terrifying thought: 'Will this include Jeffrey
Archer?' Prisoners will be released sixty days early but will have to wear an
electronic tag which can only be removed by a designated police officer or by
using that machine on the clothes counter at British Home Stores. Of course
there is a danger that the tags will become something of a status symbol, and
before long kids will be mugging each other for them. And some might argue that
just wearing a little bracelet is not much of a punishment for somebody who was
supposed to be in jail. But digital signals emanating from the tag mean the
convicted criminal is prevented from having too much fun while he is out and
about. For example, if the wearer goes to the cinema, the device keeps ringing
like a mobile phone just to embarrass him. The gadget is also designed to block
out all television signals except Channel Five and UK Living, a feature that
has prompted widespread criticism from Human Rights organizations. And at all
other times, a built-in MP3 player plays 'Music Is My First Love' by John Miles
over and over again. More serious offenders get a loop of 'Like To Get To Know
You Well' by Howard Jones.

Electronic tags were
originally piloted when New Labour was first elected to office. A specially
selected group were forced to wear them at all times so that their every
movement could be tracked and recorded. Back then the tags were called 'MPs'
pagers'. The technology has now advanced to the stage where the movements of
thousands of offenders wearing tags could be monitored, so if the satellite
picture shows a particularly heavy build-up of criminals in one particular area
then local radio stations could warn commuters. 'A lot of trafficking near the
Hanger Lane gyratory system, where a lorry has just been turned over, so do
expect further hold-ups at banks and post offices in the area.'

The idea of releasing criminals into the
community was begun by Group 4 security a while back. The private firm who won
the contract for transferring offenders from one prison to another were shocked
to discover that their vehicles were not secure enough and that the convicts
kept jumping off the back of the tandem. But now 'Criminals in the Community'
has become official policy and the next stage will have to be finding suitable
jobs for the people who are serving out their sentences in our midst. For some
industries it is a great opportunity: 'Estate agent seeks experienced
con-artist to lie convincingly and obtain large amounts of money for no work.'
'Electrical retailers require fraudsters to swindle gullible customers with
extended warranty scam.' 'Experienced in daylight robbery? We need you to sell
our designer greetings cards and wrapping paper!'

Tragically, one of the most obvious jobs for
them would not be possible because their curfew would prevent them from turning
up to sit in the House of Commons in the evening. Although, on second thoughts,
that hasn't seemed to bother anyone else. The released offenders have to be
inside their own homes by seven o'clock in the evening otherwise their tag
bleeps and their carriage turns back into a pumpkin. So for twelve hours a day
they are effectively swapping their old prison cells for their own houses. When
offenders realized that this meant they had to pay for their own dinners they
nearly rioted, but they'd just had the roof mended and didn't want to chuck any
tiles into the begonias. 'I refuse to share a cell,' said the painted sheets
hanging out of the windows. 'Conjugal Rights Now!' said another, and his wife
shouted through the loud hailer, 'Well, make your bloody mind up!'

Apart from relieving prison overcrowding, the
idea of the tag is to help reintroduce prisoners to normal society. They are
prevented from going out after dark so that they end up just falling asleep in
front of the telly and eventually struggling up to bed. So in that sense it
works fantastically: they're behaving exactly like the rest of society almost
immediately. The prison population now exceeds 70,000, which is about the
population of Bedford. It's hard to imagine things getting much worse for
prisoners, apart from having to live in Bedford. The chances for rehabilitation
must be greater if former offenders are playing an active role in normal
society, and now they can walk around our towns and cities once more and see
how things have changed since they were first sent to jail. And then they can
get mugged, have their car hijacked, be burgled and then be set upon by a gang
of drunken yobs; at which point they'll go running back to Wormwood Scrubs,
bang on the doors and shout, 'Let me in - let me back in - they're all bloody
criminals out here!'

30
March 2002

Twenty
years ago this week the news came through that Argentina had invaded the
Falkland Islands. Details were sketchy in those first few hours, though some
people thought they might be in the Indian Ocean maybe, or perhaps near
Australia somewhere. While the Foreign Office were still leafing through their
big dusty atlas with the British Empire bits coloured in pink, Margaret
Thatcher had already decided to go to war. Almost overnight she went from being
a vulnerable and deeply unpopular Prime Minister to being an unassailable
politician who was then in a position to do to British industry what she'd just
done to the
Belgrano.
A
fascist dictatorship was toppled in Argentina, but apart from that, everything
went the way she wanted it.

Now in the same way George W. Bush has been
turned from discredited leader to popular national hero by embarking upon
military action overseas. They are rewriting the lyrics to Edwin Starr's
classic peace anthem. Now it goes: 'War! Hurr! What is it good for? Approval
ratings for national leaders, yeah! War! Hurr! What is it good for? Deflecting
attention from complex domestic problems! Say it again!'

Back
in 1982 America supported Britain in the Falklands War on condition that the
British government signed a special contract drawn up by the Pentagon which
stated, 'In return for US backing, Britain hereby promises to support every
armed intervention that America undertakes for ever and ever.' There can't be
any other explanation for this country's consistent enthusiasm for every America
bombing raid or new missile deployment. When the White House declared a war on
drugs, British jets were scrambled ready to bomb a solitary dope-dealer in
downtown Detroit. If the President's daughter reveals her battle with underage
drinking, then the SAS are sent in to battle with the demon drink on her
behalf.

But
if we believe we can influence US foreign policy by sticking beside America,
then we are deluding ourselves. Britain can no more affect the direction being
taken than some teenage girl gripping onto the passenger seat as her joyriding
boyfriend speeds out of control.

One day in the not too distant future, Tony
Blair will appear in tears opposite George W. Bush on the
Jerry
Springer Show.
'On today's programme, "World
leaders who promised special relationships".' The host will put a
reassuring hand on the British PM's shoulder as a bitter Tony recounts how much
he did for this guy; he went to war for him, he stuck up for him when no one
else would, even though all his friends warned him not to get too close.
Because George had promised Tony that they would always do everything together.
But then Bang! Bang! and it was all over; George had got what he wanted and he
wasn't bothered about Tony any more. And then the audience will boo George from
Texas as he shrugs and sneers, 'Hey, I get into bed with whoever suits me - who
knows what I promised Terry here.' Cue the shouting and the undignified scuffle
as they cut to the ads and Jerry Springer says, 'Coming up after these
messages: "My brother screwed Florida"!'