ANOTHER VOICE
Focus on the British system of government: pledge-ocracy
MATTHEW PARRIS
It was God who started this dreadful pledging business. 'I do set my bow in the cloud,' said the Lord, 'and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth.' Or so records Genesis. 'And the waters', said the Lord, 'shall no more become a flood to destroy all flesh.' The rainbow is our token.
Even as a child I thought that demean- ing. It suggests we might not quite trust God — one of those types who look you in the eye and say, 'Trust me; here's my card.' I agree with the Quakers' conscientious objection to swearing on oath, for if to swear on oath adds veracity, then that must imply that an unswom statement lacks it. Jesus's exasperation with His followers whining 'Give us a sign', and the beautiful simplicity of His remark, 'If it were not so, I would have told you,' said all that needed saying. Yet here was the Old Testament God reminding us that he was a pretty straight sort of a guy. A proper God should have no need to offer undertakings; a prop- er respect for God should require none.
But now Tony Blair and William Hague are promising, vowing and covenanting too. We are becoming a pledge-ocracy. God did it. in rainbows; the Prime Minister does it on coffee mugs. God's covenant was forev- er; the Opposition Leader offers a ten-year lease (renewable) on his Euroscepticism.
Labour's coffee mugs form a set of five, each in a special colour yet adding up to something less than the rainbow. They were on sale at Labour's last conference. Each reminds us of one of five pledges: 1) not to increase tax rates; 2) to reduce NHS wait- ing lists; 3) to reduce class sizes for chil- dren aged five to seven; 4) to be tough on crime; and 5) to provide more jobs for young people.
This manner of discourse with the elec- torate creates two difficulties, of which the first is presentational. There is something cringing in a leader assuring those he is supposed to lead that he absolutely promis- es to take them to the land of milk and honey, 'and here's a checklist to assess my performance mile by mile: the first honey should be ready for tasting by mid-August 1999; milk will be in sight by Christmas. And do complain if we don't deliver.' This is undignified. Manifestos begin to resem- ble those miracle cures for baldness: money back if we fail to please, letters from satis- fied customers available for inspection. Then Mr Blair commissions 'focus groups' to discover what people are saying about what he is saying — the better to trim his sails to what he takes to be the wind: like a commanding officer asking the infantry whom they want him to fight. Reaching for a referendum every time the clock strikes risks the same tentativeness: ambivalence on the nature of leadership, a half-abdication of authority.
You may argue that a prime minister is neither a warrior nor a prophet, but servant of the people, a sort of elevated employee taking instructions from his democratic masters. That is one approach to the job, but a leader who sees it thus should for- swear the use of the charismatic, saintly or heroic styles of command. Mr Blair leans heavily on all three. 'Can I be your hero? Now, what do you want your hero to do? Score me out of ten on this performance- sheet' — a craven populism, demagoguery pandering to a herd which cheers but mis- trusts its leader.
Or so a psychopolitical scientist might speculate. To the student of civic affairs, however, government by pledge raises a second, more practical problem. Is the mindless pursuit of mission targets a ratio- nal way of ordering our affairs in a turbu- lent and unpredictable world? An early and melancholy example was Harold Macmil- lan's 1951 pledge to build 300,000 houses a year. He succeeded. All over Britain, hur- riedly constructed estates a mile out of town are the socially corrosive legacy of his success. Placing a handful of stupidly spe- cific numerical goals on pedestals for public inspection forces a distorting straitjacket onto a programme of public administration, particularly if the pledges have to fit on cof- fee mugs. Initial anxiety lest the goal be missed yields to worries that it is being tar- geted too single-mindedly.
Take coffee mug 5, 'more jobs for young people'. That was the pledge and Mr Blair must stick to it. The minimum wage may now be set at a lower rate for those under 21, for fear the result might otherwise be fewer jobs for young people. Thus teenagers further undercut jobless non-teenagers: another blow to the not-so-young but unskilled section of the population to whom recent years have been so cruel. Employers who favour older job applicants are now working against government poli- cy. But — count on it — there will be more jobs for young people. Or take coffee mug 2. Are waiting lists really the best measure of NHS perfor- mance? Crude totals conceal so much, There must now be a danger that, to spare Frank Dobson's blushes without contraven- ing coffee mug 1 (no tax increases), existing NHS resources will be retargeted to achieve a press-releasable reduction in the headline total for waiting lists, yet make no sense at all in healthcare economics.
The easiest way to deliver on coffee mug 3 (but pace coffee mug 1) is to increase class sizes for age groups other than five to seven, and redirect resources. Or you could close small village schools or postpone new science labs. No head teacher should be under such pressure. Resources should be rejigged on educational grounds, riot because a memo from No. 10 on the Edu- cation Secretary's desk says, 'Quick! Cut class sizes for ages five to seven before the next Labour conference!'
This all seems to betray a lack of moral confidence. Labour are in charge, they won, and they should steer by their own compass, unintimidated by silly pledges or predictable shrieks about broken vows. The future is imponderable; a Cabinet should decide public policy on expert advice, according to circumstance and to their own estimation of public need — and according to nothing else. May they treat old promis- es lightly. Nor do I want William Hague's hands tied over the single currency, upon which his native scepticism is a better guide than any pledge — because who knows? I hope Gordon Brown will not need to increase taxes, but, who knows, I would be unnerved if a coffee mug should trump his better judgment. And I do hope God never wants to send a second Flood. Who knows, though? If in His wisdom this should become advisable, He has my permission to rat on His covenant. I'll overlook the rainbow.
Matthew Parris is parliamentary sketchwriter and a columnist of the Times.
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