Question marks over Rory Stewart’s superfast vision of the “big society”

Under the banner of accountability, the coalition is laying waste to our public services.

Writing in the Observer on Sunday, Rory Stewart, former diplomat and now Tory MP for Penrith, describes how community activists in his constituency are co-operating to bring superfast broadband to the isolated hills of the Eden district in Cumbria – an area he says is in the vanguard of the "big society".

Stewart names some of the scattered enthusiasts behind the scheme:

Libby, in Kirkby Stephen, is photographing and mapping all existing telecoms cabinets. Freddy, in Morland, is exploring alternative technologies, from microwave transmitters and wireless hubs to laying fibre in sewers . . . Kate, in Stanwix, is training people to get online. Daniel, in Alston, is piloting medical tests from homes.

In other words, the project (it's been around for years but Stewart hopes it will now win government funding) is the work of an informal network of people, local in scale but not confined to one small village; indeed, "they came from 100 villages".

This isn't like a neighbourhood clubbing together to save the BS symbol par excellence, the local pub. No single village could provide all the expertise required to provide broadband for an entire region. Empowering the people most capable of making a difference isn't always the same thing as decentralisating decision-making as far from Westminster as possible.

Unfortunately, this isn't a lesson that fits in with the wider picture of government's attitude towards our public services.

Take the school sports fiasco, which forced the government into an embarrassing U-turn in December. The plan was to abolish School Sport Partnerships (SSPs) – which create links between state schools to enable children to play more sport – and leave the responsibility with schools.

Although Michael Gove branded SSPs inefficient, they do things that individual schools don't. They bring children from different schools together for competitive sports days and allow children to try out niche activities that their individual school couldn't provide. They represent money dedicated to sport which cash-strapped schools might rather spend on subjects more critical to the next Ofsted inspection.

Lots of people kicked up a fuss, and it became clear that the SSPs had increased participation in sport. The folly became obvious, and now at least some of the funding will remain in place.

But the rescue of one valuable programme from the bonfire shouldn't distract from the wider picture, which is one of whole levels of state organisation being stripped away with little thought for who will take over their responsibilities.

Storm warning

The announcement that the government's budget for flood defences is to be cut by 30 per cent – when it was already far short of the £1bn a year the Environment Agency says we should be spending – met with howls. To spend less on flood defences, when each pound spent saves an estimated eight down the line, is the definition of a false economy.

The problem isn't just underfunding, though. The idea of devolving responsibility for flood management to local councils is concerning in itself.

Natural disasters are unruly beasts that don't care about the boundary lines separating one local authority from another. Flood runoff can end up spoiling carpets far from where it breached the riverbanks.

Accordingly, the measures we take against flooding should not be confined to the very local, any more than they should be completely centralised: some planning must take place somewhere in the middle, on the scale of water tables and flood plains. It is difficult to model flooding on that scale, which means that local councils won't have the expertise or the money to do it.

After the disastrous floods of 2007, the government's Pitt Review recommended setting up "catchment floor management plans" to model flood risk for each river basin. The Environment Agency duly set up the plans, to be administered by the EA in each of England's nine regions.

Unfortunately, the English system of regional government was uncomfortably unaccountable and bureaucratic. Consequently, the entire system is being abolished by the coalition. This quiet upheaval leaves what has been described as a "black hole" in our planning system.

As for the question of who will be responsible for the aspects of contingency planning that local councils are not equipped to deal with . . . well, let's solve that problem when the water is lapping at the sandbags. Cut first, ask questions later.

Imagine if the government were to approach Cumbria's internet shortage in the same way. Instead of empowering the local networks that are ready and willing to provide the service, the response of the real-life government would be simple: ask each village council to cough up for the scheme out of its own (reduced) budget.

Local councils might not want to fund high-speed broadband, and individually they wouldn't be able to do so. Too bad – carry on living in the slow lane, Cumbria.

Demonstrating how community-based, collaborative, bottom-up governance can work is all very well, but doing so while laying waste to our existing public infrastructure takes the shine off that somewhat.

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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.