TONY PALMER
Last week I went to a meeting of the Seventy-six Group, an underground organisation whose aim is the destruction of television as it is structured in Britain today. The Group, whose members include many of the famous discontents of TV, has been in existence for a year under the guidance of Stuart Hood formerly of the talc and Doreen Stephens formerly of everywhere. Its original intention was to lobby for a Royal Com- mission on broadcasting in order to prevent the status quo being immortalised when both the BBC and Ira charters come up for renewal in 1976. To aid this campaign, it said it would organise ad hoc political action (unspecified) both outside and inside the in- dustry, and would proselytise—its own word—to ensure 100 per cent union representation within television and radio. Its achievements so far have been nil since most of its front-room meetings have degenerated into self-interested squabbles; after all, one of the paradoxes of those in the communications media is their total inability to communicate about themselves and their dilemmas to anybody else. Nil, that is, until last week when they finally lured the man reponsible, the man in whose hands lay the power to put right the whole shambles, the Minister of Posts and Telecommunications, Mr Christopher Chataway. It was, to put it mildly, a startling encounter. 'Hello chaps. Urn', he began. 'Um'. The acoustics of the hall were so terrible that it was almost im- possible to hear any of the questions put to him let alone the answers. Still, such are the hazards of communication these days. The Minister absolved himself immediately from any blame, saying that television was wonderful, those present were wonderful, he was wonderful and Mr Heath was in- dubitably wonderful. He waved his hands in the air, in his pockets, on the table—indeed, anywhere that was decent. For decent was the key word. If only we behaved like decent fellows, he said, it would be all right. To every question he gave not so much a reply as a friendly word of encouragement. Every fact put before him he disputed, or disagreed with, or dismissed. Ideas seemed to confuse him and demands for action he parried with the disclaimer that he was, after all, only a Junior Minister and as such had no real power. In all, it was a pathetic performance.
What was it that the Seventy-six Group were so urgently asking him to consider? Nothing short of the assertion that if television continued in its present pattern there will be no need for any renewal of charters in 1976 because the medium as we understand now will be dead, reduced to a blathering and ineffectual noise machine devoted to mindless entertainment for the mentally and physically crippled of sE49. Chataway's most notable contribution to broadcasting so far, they argued, had been to cancel the Noel Annan Commission which had been appointed in the last gasp of the Labour government. Annan's brief had been to examine the kind of television
service that society in 1976 need or deserve. Would its priorities be educational? What would be its role as a public service? Information or entertainment or both? And so on. In other words, the intention had been to examine on the widest possible basis the sociological and philosophical, quite apart from the political, implications of this undernourished medium. It would not pat the sac on the head or provide more pay-offs for Conservative party financiers in the disguise of Iry contracts. When asked what would be the future of the BBC, Annan had merely replied, 'Will there be a Inc?' But Chataway, after immense thought and between a few 'urns' and a few 'old chaps', had swept all this aside. After only two days of life, Annan had been throttled. The reason, said Chataway, was to facilitate public debate. Hence the White Paper on the future of radio which was to be published in the spring. This, he said, 'was to prepare the ground for public debate'. (His favourite phrase.) And if he lost the debate, asked one speaker, would he in any way change his mind? Of course not, replied our Chris. Don't be silly.
He also spoke of a technical inquiry which would advise him about 'this exciting technological age' in which we live (two cheers), and then rambled on about cassettes and other goodies as if to say: 'Wait till we have back-to-front coloured Paul Fox [Head of sec I] and then all our problems will be solved'. Not once did he mention the major concern of the Seventy-six Group and of everyone else actually working in television—the quality of the programmes. In fact, he didn't mention anything that his Labour predecessor Mr Stonehouse had not said a hundred times. Meanwhile, irreversible decisions as to the organisation of TV were being made at half-cock. Creative people were being made redundant through fear of offending the management. Short term con- tracts were being made shorter term. Middle management was spreading like fat round the belly in the interests of so-called efficien- cy. While the BBC was going bankrupt, it was lying about the reasons it transmitted such bilge as it did. It had destroyed its regional system of sound and Tv while ignoring a universal shout of protest. It refused to recognise any kind of official union represen- tation from the Acrr in spite of having pro- mised the Beveridge Report in 1950 that it would eventually do so.
The fundamental idea of public service broadcasting had been totally discred- ited—television had become a demand satisfying medium and was crippling intelligence instead of stimulating it. The planners' dream that the BBC or Iry would be at their most efficient when there were no programmes to worry about, would soon come to pass—and what was the Minister going to do about it all?
`Well, chaps,' he replied, 'Jolly good show, and keep batting.' Those whom he en- couraged with these sporting metaphors included some of the best minds at work in broadcasting. Three years ago, they would have defended the BBC and even certain parts of the urn with total conviction. Now, they are in rebellion with all the blindness and pomposity and. revenge that this sometimes entails. How ironic that since both the BBC and rrs categorically refuse permission for any of their employees to speak to the press, these people should have been forced un- derground, the classic position for revolu- tionaries. 'Nation shall speak peace unto nation' runs the BBC'S motto. Except when it concerns broadcasting. Then it will tell lies.
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