DIARY
CHARLES MOORE We do not know what, if anything, Mr John Major, the new Foreign Secretary, thinks about Hong Kong. But at least he was not the author of any agreement over the colony's future. It is a misfortune for everyone else when politicians decide that they are the architects of particular policies and regard them as 'very much their baby'. Sir Geoffrey Howe took just such a person- al interest in the Sino-British agreement over Hong Kong, which was signed in 1984. As a result, he has been unable to Confront the failure of the policy arising from it and to admit that the Chinese government, which he thought was so progressive, open and accommodating, is in fact paranoid, murderous and unstable. After the massacres in China, The Specta- tor and others compared Sir Geoffrey with Neville Chamberlain. He was, apparently, Offended . The description was meant to be highly critical, but not insulting. Chamber- lain was in most respects an admirable Politician. He was a good organiser; he was decent; he was hard-working; he had an intelligent administrative mind. What he lacked was the imagination to understand real horror when he saw it and the daring to confront it. The situation of Hong Kong is by far the greatest horror resulting from British policy in recent years, a fact which Sir Geoffrey could not be expected to see. It is just possible that Mr Major will see it.
West Midlands police have been to Miami to study ways of combating the crack problem. This is supposed to be the new menace on Britain's streets, although I notice that a very big raid in Handsworth last weekend found no crack at all. Last Year, (see The Spectator, 21 May 1988) I Joined a detachment of the Miami police for one of their drug 'stings' when they pretend to be dealers in order to entrap customers. Watching film of such a sting on the television on Monday, I noticed that it was taking place in the very same road Where I had seen it. It is the greatest fun for locals and for visitors like myself and, of course, for the dozens of policemen who take part in it. But it is an expensive waste of time, catching poor, pathetic little People and doing nothing to diminish the drug trade. I hope the police do not try it here, and if they do, I hope they are put in Prison as agents provocateurs.
Now that the heat prevents me from Sleeping at night or from working by day, I loll around and wonder what the political effect of global warming (assuming that is What we are suffering from) might be. I do not mean voters' conscious reactions to the issue, but the effect upon the character of a
people of being hotter the whole time. Montesquieu, who tried to systematise these things, was in no doubt that climate dictated much of a nation's political condi- tion. Being thorough, he even supported his view with an experiment on a sheep's tongue. When he froze the tongue, he found the papillae on it 'considerably diminished'. When the frost went off, they began to rise. All of which helped to prove that people in northern nations had less vivacity, but cooler judgment. He writes:
The heat of the climate may be so excessive as to deprive the body of all vigour and strength. Then the faintness is communi- cated to the mind; there is no curiosity, no enterprise, no generosity of sentiment; the inclinations are all passive; indolence consti- tutes the utmost happiness; scarcely any punishment is so severe as mental employ- ment; and slavery is more supportable than the force and vigour of mind necessary for human conduct.
Indeed, Montesquieu argued that it was heat that gave rise to slavery. Certainly it makes it far harder to take the politics of a free country seriously. When I was a political correspondent, I used to find it almost impossible at this time of year to cover debates in Parliament with any show of respect. MPs look absurd on the green benches when they are wearing ice-cream suits, and few can keep up the pretence (thin at the best of times) that they are deeply concerned about the issues. In fearful heat, the powerful are likely to put all their energies into forcing the weak to do their work for them. Which leads me to think that black emancipation in the South of the United States owes more to air conditioning than to Martin Luther King.
Montesquieu also says that 'from the delicacy of organs peculiar to warm cli- mates it follows that the soul is most sensibly moved by whatever relates to the union of the two sexes.' This was not the state of my soul last week when I put on a boiling dinner jacket and attended the stag party of an old friend. The evening fol- lowed the traditional pattern. Fourteen of us ate a good dinner. Then, about mid- night, pretending that this was what we really wanted to do, we trooped off to a club in Soho. It was supposed to be metaphorically hot, but was in fact only literally so. All the other men in the club seemed to be foreigners and were mostly fat. Much the same could be said of the women who lined the walls and tried half-heartedly to entertain the men. We had a certain safety in numbers and were left alone to watch the 'cabaret' which came, from 'Gay Paree' (though it was heterosexual, inasmuch as it was anything- sexual) and then from Las Vegas. The first scene was of nude women pre- tending to be a motorbike. Then there was a wedding march, and when the bride turned round, her bottom was naked. When a number of (fully clothed) moppets came on and started yelling, I decided it was time to go. The best thing to do about these occasions is to forget them, but long experience has taught me that there is always one memorable feature — the bill. On this occasion, it was £163.00 per stag.
0 n Saturday, The Spectator plays the Coach and Horses in a cricket match at the Oval. I shall probably attend since it would seem churlish not to and I do rather look forward to seeing our High Life correspon- dent's first attempt at the sport; but the match's imminence has made me try to analyse why it is that cricket sinks me into such gloom. It is not that all sport bores me — I like tennis and soccer and riding and shooting. And it is not boredom tout simple: I am bored by all things nautical and by geology and by arguments about missile systems, but none of them provokes in me the resentment I feel towards crick- et. Perhaps it is the way one is expected to enjoy cricket as part of being 'civilised', as if it were something beyond a sport, an intricate expression of a way of life. One of the chief arguments made in favour of the game is that it goes on so much longer than other sports, and so raises itself to a subtlety, intellectuality and artistry which they lack. There are thousands of people, mainly men, who want to watch this thing continuously for five-day stretches. It is a measure of Englishmen's conceit that this is considered a matter for self-con- gratulation.
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