Why the birds are angry

Listen up, Glenn Beck: Angry Birds is a socialist analogy

Late one night, while hurling animated birds at a fortress containing smug little green pigs, I began to wonder if "Angry Birds" - the smart phone game that's sold over two million copies - could be seen as a socialist analogy.

For those who haven't played Angry Birds, the premise of the game is this: malevolent pigs have stolen all of the birds' eggs and barricaded themselves in wonky citadels, in preparation for inevitable avian retribution. The player's goal is to catapult (understandably) "angry" birds at these structures, in order to topple them, kill the pigs and reclaim their eggs.

I Googled "Angry Birds socialism", to see what the internet had to say about it. The first result was an article on tech news site TG Daily about ranting US radio show host and Tea Partyist Glenn Beck linking the game to the far-left.

“Ah", I thought, "Glenn Beck denounces Angry Birds as socialist propaganda. How like him". Then I read the article properly. Beck wasn't condemning Angry Birds, he was using it for his own means. According to Beck, the birds represent the "wealthiest one per cent of society". The pigs are the "mooching" poor, who have stolen the rich birds' hard-earned eggs. This logic is completely upside-down. Beck has tried to claim Angry Birds for the right and it's now my personal mission claim my favourite iPhone game for the left.

First things first. The birds aren't rich bankers and businessmen, they're disgruntled workers. Birds don't "earn" eggs, as Glenn Beck's warped logic would have you think, they make them. The eggs represent the worker birds' industrial output, the profits of which have been harvested by the capitalist pigs (could this be any more obvious?).

What's more, although the birds come in several different colours, the original bird is red. Coincidence? And it's also interesting that the capitalist pigs happen to be green - the colour of (cue drum roll) the US dollar.

And as if all this weren't enough to set the player's political compass twitching, some of the pigs wear soldiers' helmets and even crowns. None of the birds have helmets. They're a ragged band of unarmed freedom fighters. And the crowns? Could this possibly be a more blatant anti-monarchical message?

So, Mr Beck, you can spit all the bile you like about liberalism. You can foam at the mouth about gay marriage and abortion. But Angry Birds belongs to the left and there's nothing you can do about it.

 

Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.

ELLIE FOREMAN-PECK FOR NEW STATESMAN
Show Hide image

Craig Oliver, Cameron's attack dog, finally bites

A new book reveals the spiteful after life of Downing Street's unlikely spin doctor.

It must be hard being a spin doctor: always in the shadows but always on-message. The murky control that the role requires might explain why David Cameron’s former director of communications Craig Oliver has rushed out his political memoirs so soon after his boss left Downing Street. Now that he has been freed from the shackles of power, Oliver has chosen to expose the bitterness that lingers among those on the losing side in the EU referendum.

The book, which is aptly titled Unleashing Demons, made headlines with its revelation that Cameron felt “badly let down” by Theresa May during the campaign, and that some in the Remain camp regarded the then home secretary as an “enemy agent”. It makes for gripping reading – yet seems uncharacteristically provocative in style for a man who eschewed the sweary spin doctor stereotype, instead advising Cameron to “be Zen” while Tory civil war raged during the Brexit campaign.

It may be not only politicians who find the book a tough read. Oliver’s visceral account of his side’s defeat on 24 June includes a description of how he staggered in a daze down Whitehall until he retched “harder than I have done in my life. Nothing comes up. I retch again – so hard, it feels as if I’ll turn inside out.”

It’s easy to see why losing hit Oliver – who was knighted in Cameron’s resignation honours list – so hard. Arguably, this was the first time the 47-year-old father-of-three had ever failed at anything. The son of a former police chief constable, he grew up in Scotland, went to a state school and studied English at St Andrews University. He then became a broadcast journalist, holding senior posts at the BBC, ITV and Channel 4.

When the former News of the World editor Andy Coulson resigned as No 10’s communications director in January 2011 because of unceasing references in the press to his alleged involvement in the phone-hacking scandal, Oliver was not the obvious replacement. But he was seen as a scandal-free BBC pen-pusher who exuded calm authority, and that won him the job. The Cameron administration, tainted by its association with the Murdoch media empire, needed somebody uncontroversial who could blend into the background.

It wasn’t just Oliver’s relative blandness that recommended him. At the BBC, he had made his name revamping the corporation’s flagship News at Ten by identifying the news angles that would resonate with Middle England. The Conservatives then put this skill to very good use during their 2015 election campaign. His broadcast expertise also qualified him to sharpen up the then prime minister’s image.

Oliver’s own sense of style, however, was widely ridiculed when he showed up for his first week at Downing Street looking every inch the metropolitan media male with a trendy man bag and expensive Beats by Dre headphones, iPad in hand.

His apparent lack of political affiliation caused a stir at Westminster. Political hacks were perplexed by his anti-spin attitude. His style was the antithesis of the attack-dog mode popularised by Alastair Campbell and Damian McBride in the New Labour years. As Robert Peston told the Daily Mail: “Despite working closely with Oliver for three years, I had no clue about his politics or that he was interested in politics.” Five years on, critics still cast aspersions and question his commitment to the Conservative cause.

Oliver survived despite early wobbles. The most sinister of these was the allegation that in 2012 he tried to prevent the Daily Telegraph publishing a story about expenses claimed by the then culture secretary, Maria Miller, using her links to the Leveson inquiry as leverage – an accusation that Downing Street denied. Nevertheless, he became indispensable to Cameron, one of a handful of trusted advisers always at the prime minister’s side.

Newspapers grumbled about Oliver’s preference for broadcast and social media over print. “He’s made it clear he [Oliver] doesn’t give a s*** about us, so I don’t really give a s*** about him,” a veteran correspondent from a national newspaper told Politico.

Yet that approach was why he was hired. There was the occasional gaffe, including the clumsy shot of a stern-looking Cameron, apparently on the phone to President Obama discussing Putin’s incursion into Ukraine, which was widely mocked on Twitter. But overall, reducing Downing Street’s dependence on print media worked: Scotland voted against independence in 2014 and the Tories won a majority in the 2015 general election.

Then came Brexit, a blow to the whole Cameroon inner circle. In his rush to set the record straight and defend Cameron’s legacy – as well as his own – Oliver has finally broken free of the toned-down, straight-guy persona he perfected in power. His memoir is spiteful and melodramatic, like something straight from the mouth of Malcolm Tucker in The Thick of It. Perhaps, with this vengeful encore to his mild political career, the unlikely spin doctor has finally fulfilled his potential. 

This article first appeared in the 29 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, May’s new Tories