SPECTATOR'S NOTEBOOK
J. W. M. THOMPSON
Two conflicting urges in our society—to pre- serve liberty; to do good to people, if neces- sary against their will—are heavily involved in the argument about cannabis. Hence most people are slightly confused about it by now. Smoking 'pot' has certainly attracted censure for a long time. 'A custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the_ lungs, and in the black, stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottom- less.' Actually that wasn't illegal pot: that was legal tobacco, in James l's famous Counter- blast. Many of those most strenuous in con- demnation of pot puff away at their tobacco today; they might well have echoed the royal disapprobation in 1604.
I suppose, as the Wootton Committee seems to hint, we shall get to the legalising of pot one day. Something else may come along by then to steal its novelty; or we might simply have grown used to the idea of hashish, even though (like tobacco) it is dangerous. (And,, incidentally, aren't those who try to argue that pot is not dangerous being either stupid or disingenuous?) People don't necessarily reject a desired or convenient activity merely be- cause it is dangerous; every parent setting out on a holiday in a car knows that he and his family may be maimed or killed in a crash during their journey; it is a hazard he accepts. What does seem important, though, is that any risky source of pleasure—wine, beer, cigar- ettes, or whatever—should be a known and tolerably well understood quantity, along with its risks. This surely is where the 'legalise pot' argument fails at present. We misuse drink, no doubt, but at least we know what it's all about by now; not so with pot.
What would we do if a new way, of taking alcohol were to be discovered—an alcohol pill, say, swallowed as easily as an aspirin but equivalent to a large whisky in intoxicating power? It sounds fun. But our tradition is to absorb intoxicants as liquids, and we have embellished the practice with pleasant social customs. A whisky, pill would cut all that out. It would introduce a new element into the man/drink relationship. So although in terms of chemistry there would be no more reason for prohibiting it than for prohibiting drink, in practice I don't doubt it would quickly be placed outside the law—where pot had better remain for the present.
Rebound
Quite apart from the fresh air and exercise thereby obtained, political 'demonstrations' have come to appear in some eyes as good in themselves, without much reference to the causes they are supposed to be advancing. Whether or not this concept of the 'pure' demonstration will be shaken as a result of last weekend's events I do not know: but there were two examples of how this activity can at times be positively self-defeating (except perhaps in terms of sheer self-expression, like amateur painting). The students marching for 'one man, one vote' at Newry in Ulster had planned a non-violent demonstration, which might well have been impressive It ended in a destructive riot. One of the participants later gave a rather endearing explanation of this dis-
appointment. They (the students) had 'thought the issues out,' she said, but 'ordinary people' had not attained that level of sophistication and therefore joined in by throwing bricks.
The crowd which attacked the South African embassy in Trafalgar Square had also no doubt 'thought the issues out.' They presumably believed, or wished to believe, that they were actually doing something to help the oppressed black people of South Africa. What they in fact achieved was a bill for damages, which the British taxpayer will have to pay, and the mortification of witnessing repeated official apologies by Britain to South Africa: none of which could possibly bring one particle of com- fort to one single suffering victim of apartheid.
Nothing sacred
A frenzy of mating elephants is what the big business scene suggests at the moment. On every side great companies galumph and cavort in search of huge and winsome new partners. Elephants I like, and their matrimonial ven- tures attract my benign regard; but 1 experience many a misgiving at this ponderous rush to unite. At times it seems that we progress inexorably to the dread days when there is simply The Company, running everything. Some of us are even innocent enough to find it surprising still that a Labour government should signal (1) a happy boom time for render shareholders; and (2) an era in which Big Business grows ever bigger and at a galloping pace. But we shall no doubt live to see stranger things. And for me, at any rate, all these feelings are submerged by the Wag- nerian drama at this moment transfixing my native city. That Rowntree's of York should tremble on the brink of possession by some- thing called General Foods Corporation of America and someone (highly praiseworthy, I'm sure) called 'Tex' Cook! Only he who knows Yorkshire knows the special esteem for Rown- tree's and the .tone of voice it inspires, laden with respect for godliness plus sober industry, a whole obsolescent world of pious and high- minded moneymaking. 'It is as if,' a York- shireman said to me this week, 'Billy Graham were to make a bid for Westminster Abbey.' I thought he was putting it very mildly.
How the old place changes!
The atmosphere in London today can be almost eerie in its relentless frivolousness. . . Deca- dence is the word some have applied to the national mood. . . . Of course it is no crime for a people to think and talk about sex and money instead of their national problems. . . What is bound to worry some who love this country is the feeling of unconcern about problems that are Britain's to solve.' (Anthony Lewis, Lon- don correspondent of the New York Times, June 1966.) 'The troubles of the Queen Elizabeth 2 have illuminated a new British national characteristic that puzzles foreigners. Self-denigration, some have called it. There is an element in it of hypochondria, of obsessively taking one's tem- perature every seven minutes. . . What it adds up to is a seeming joy in mortification of the national flesh. (Anthony Lewis. New York Times, January 1969.)
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