(First published in the Dominion Post, August 8.)
I WAS INTRIGUED to hear Sir
Bob Harvey, the personable former Waitakere mayor and tireless champion of West
Auckland, describe himself on TVNZ’s Q+A
programme recently as a socialist.
Obviously the meaning of the
word has changed. The classical definition of a socialist is someone who
believes in state control of the economy, but no intelligent person – and
Harvey is an intelligent man – could seriously argue that the heavy hand of the
state creates happy, prosperous societies.
I mean, what shining examples
are there? The Soviet Union? North Korea? Chaotic, wretched Venezuela, perhaps?
The truth is that wherever it
has been tried, socialism has been synonymous with economic failure, misery and
repression. That’s why it’s almost
extinct. People aren’t stupid.
I can only conclude,
therefore, that when people like Harvey describe themselves as socialists, they
actually mean something else – perhaps a gentler, kinder socialism that hasn’t
yet been revealed to the rest of us.
Here’s my theory. I suspect
that to call yourself a socialist these days is to announce to the world that
you have a social conscience, and are therefore on a higher moral plane than all
those heartless people who are interested only in their own wellbeing.
In addition to that, I
suspect that “socialist” has become a code word for someone who feels guilty
about enjoying the trappings of capitalism – the stylish clothes, the
overseas holidays, the restored villas in fashionable inner-city suburbs.
Most of the people I know who think of themselves as socialists enjoy pretty sweet lives. Capitalism has been
very kind to them. I bet Harvey (who made his name in advertising, possibly the
least socialist business imaginable) isn’t exactly short of a buck.
But we’re talking about a
generation that lived through the heady era of the protest movement, when
capitalism was the enemy, and part of them has never moved on.
Even when they’ve grown sleek
and prosperous, in their minds they’re still marching down Willis or Queen St protesting
against apartheid or the Vietnam War. Calling themselves socialist is a
convenient way of resolving the contradiction between their romantic ideals and
the reality of their very comfortable capitalist lives.
True socialists like the
founders of the Labour Party wouldn’t recognise these people.
Being a socialist in those
days meant getting your head bashed in by a special constable on horseback. Now
it means sitting around a Kelburn dinner table tut-tutting about income
disparity while someone opens a bottle of 2003 Felton Road pinot noir and
wonders whether to go to Morocco or France for their next holiday.* * *
IT’S DECADES since newspapers
decided they would no longer accept letters written under pseudonyms. Most
require that the writer supply a full name, home address and phone number. It’s
not foolproof, but it weeds out most of the mischief-makers who don’t have the
guts to put their names to their opinions.
Predictably, the quality of
letters improved almost overnight when the rules were changed.
Contrast this with the
approach of the Sunday political TV programmes Q+A and The Nation, which
seem happy to accept anonymous texts and emails commenting – often scurrilously
– on the issues under discussion and the credibility of the politicians
interviewed.
Some contributors provide a
first name, but the viewer has no way of knowing whether it’s genuine. Occasionally
the commenter is identified in full, but most are anonymous.
Given that the comments are
displayed on screen almost instantaneously, there’s no way the producers can
vet them in the hope of weeding out propagandists and barrow-pushers.
How many of the snide messages
running across the bottom of the screen are from party members and activists?
There’s no way of knowing. In effect, they’re no better than the cowardly trolls
who infest the Internet.
I WONDER, is there a club for
people who can’t stand Te Radar? If not, I might have to start one.
I admit I’m out of step with
public opinion here. Clearly, lots of people love him. Why else would TVNZ (or to be
precise, the taxpayer through New Zealand on Air) keep paying him to
jaunt around the Pacific making prime-time documentaries?
But something about Te Radar
irritates me, and I can’t figure out exactly what it is. The frizzy hair? Those nerdy glasses?
That nasal Kiwi voice? The contrived Peter Pan quirkiness? All of the above?
What bothers me most is that
the people he encounters in faraway places might make the mistake of thinking
he’s representative of the rest of us. Now there’s a scary thought. 