Some of the midwives and patients from the fifth series of One Born Every Minute. Photo: Phil Fisk
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One Born Every Minute is the opium of the masses

Like millions of others, I love Channel 4’s maternity documentary. But it is feeding us an overly rosy view of an NHS suffering from staff shortages and cutbacks.

OK, OK, so we all know that Made in Chelsea and The Only Way is Essex aren’t actually depicting the reality of life in Chelsea or Essex, but there’s something about medical reality TV programmes that somehow makes you think what you’re seeing is real. Channel 4’s Bafta-winning documentary series One Born Every Minute (OBEM) has recently returned to our screens for a fifth series. While its popularity is partly rooted in a certain voyeurism, many women (myself included), have watched it in the run up to childbirth in the hope of learning something of what was to come. After all, it’s a documentary, and though edited, isn’t scripted or staged. The care is real. The cleanliness, the calm, the almost ideological commitment to the profession, are all a true reflection of what our maternity units are like. . . right?

Like millions of you, I’ve tuned in to watch the messy business of childbirth. I’ve watched aghast as devoted midwives stay on past their shift to see through the labour of a woman whom they were so attentive to, you’d be forgiven for thinking they were long-lost friends. In one episode, they actually were! In more precarious situations, hoards of impeccably timed, rigorously diligent and profoundly empathetic midwives work in perfect harmony to support women, as if they were mythical angels of midwifery. The rose-tinted atmosphere is heightened by personal narratives from the midwives, who often talk about their profession as a dream vocation. While I don’t doubt many midwives do enter the profession thanks to vocational aspirations, statistics also tell us that midwives are leaving the profession in droves, suggesting that “tea and cake interspaced by miraculous experiences” might not be an entirely accurate portrayal of what their working lives are like.

For me, OBEM was a window – or so I thought – into the type of care I could expect to receive on the NHS. I wish I could confirm that the series offers an accurate depiction of the type of care you can expect to receive as an expectant mother, because frankly, it is exactly the level of care women should be receiving. And for many health professionals, it is precisely the type of care they wish they could deliver. But both my personal experience and crucially a range of figures, suggest otherwise.

One can safely assume that the maternity wards that agree to be filmed are not those struggling with staff shortages or overcrowding problems, as many of our maternity wards currently are. But I’ve come to wonder whether OBEM doesn’t actually act as a sort of pacifying decoy where there might otherwise be mass indignation as to what is truly happening in our hospitals.

The programme has aired over a period during which NHS restructuring means many maternity units are being downgraded or even shut down because of staff shortages and overcrowding. According to a recent survey, new mothers describe maternity units as “severely understaffed “with “overworked staff” on postnatal wards in particular. More than half of birthing units are not meeting the staffing guidelines set out by the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists and a third of mums in labour are now being turned away from wards, a scene we have so far seen only once on the last season of OBEM! The Royal College of Midwives is campaigning for 5,000 more midwives to be recruited to meet growing demand and speaking last year its chief executive Cathy Warwick warned: “We are many thousands of midwives short of the number needed to deliver safe, high-quality care.”

In the series, we watch as consistently composed midwives with all the time in the world tend compassionately to labouring women in state-of-the-art facilities. And yet meanwhile, many of us experience a system in which overworked and over-stretched midwives struggle to meet requests beyond the barest essentials. And who can blame them when, unlike the midwives on OBEM who seem to enjoy endless tea breaks, the midwives who don’t make it onto our screens report that missing meal breaks and finishing shifts late is a daily occurrence. As one midwife confessed to me: “One Born Every Minute is about as similar to my experience of being a birth centre midwife as Green Wing is to working in a hospital.”

We have our own perceptions of the NHS, shaped by the images we see on our screens. In the case of OBEM, these images are embellished with stories of women’s struggles within a pristine and perfectly-oiled system. If our own experiences differ from the narrative, we assume it’s an anomaly, an exception – that we were simply “unlucky”.

The reality is that the NHS chief executive Sir David Nicholson says £20bn must be shaved from the budget by March 2015, much of which involves hospital closures or downgrading. This is something which many campaigners see as cost-cutting not, as is claimed, an attempt to provide a more efficient service. While we happily watch an army of midwives fawning over newborns in immaculate hospitals, the government is undertaking the biggest NHS restructuring in history, which massively impacts the levels of care women can expect to receive.

The Maternity Services Survey 2013, which examines the experiences of women in 137 NHS Trusts in England, found that “more women felt that they were treated with kindness and understanding and had confidence and trust in the staff caring for them during labour and birth” than during the last survey in 2010. But it also revealed some worrying findings.

Among them was the fact that almost one in five women feel their concerns during labour were not taken seriously. Of the 230 women who provided comments about their experiences of accessing care, only one comment was positive. Of the remaining comments, over 87 per cent referred to women’s negative view of their care.

The UK may well be one of the safest places in the world to give birth, but all is not well. It has one of the worst rates of stillbirth in the developed world, and according to a globally-renowned professor of maternal care, government restructuring is to blame. What’s more, despite the majority of maternal deaths happening post-birth, budget pressures mean that almost half of new mothers are not immediately made aware of how to spot life-threatening conditions. And although the government has pledged that women can expect consistent care from a single midwife during labour, 46 per cent say they do not receive this.

OBEM has shone much-needed light on the experiences of women in labour, but the programme’s rosy depiction of our maternity wards shields us from the gruesome reality of what’s actually happening to them. If we were privy to the strains being placed on our wards, we might just be spurred into action. While the NHS is in need of profound change to render it more sustainable, care for women and babies at the very start of life should be shielded from cuts. Let’s not confuse the care we wish we had with the care we actually have and in so doing, end up lulled into a false sense of security. In the age of progress, we often assume things can only get better. The truth is, programmes like OBEM depict how it should be. Sadly, for many of us, that won’t be the reality.

Myriam Francois-Cerrah is a freelance journalist and broadcaster (France, Middle East and North Africa, Islam) and a DPhil candidate in Middle Eastern studies at Oxford University.

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Jeremy Corbyn's fans must learn the art of compromise

On both sides of the Atlantic, democracy is threatened by a post-truth world. 

Twenty years ago, as a new and enthusiastic Labour MP, I wrote an article for The Observer in praise of spin. I argued that if citizens are to be properly informed and engaged in their democracy, politicians - and in particular governments - have a duty to craft their messages carefully and communicate them cogently. It was a controversial notion then but less so now that we have entered the era of post-truth politics. In the old days, we used to "manage" the truth. Now we have abandoned it. 

We’ve probably come further than we think, for when truth is discarded, reason generally follows. Without a general acceptance of the broad "facts" of any matter, there can be little basis for rational debate nor, therefore, for either the consensus or the respectful disagreement which should emerge from it. Without a commitment to truth, we are free to choose and believe in our own facts and to despise the facts of others. We are free too to place our faith in leaders who make the impossible seem possible. 

We condemn the dictatorships which deny their citizens the right to informed and open debate. But in our own societies, unreasoned and often irrational politics are entering the mainstream. 

The politics of unreason

In the UK, the Leave campaign blithely wedded brazen falsehood to the fantasy that Brexit would cure all ills – and millions of voters enthusiastically suspended their disbelief.  “We want our country back” was a potent slogan - but no less vacuous than the pledge to “make America great again” on which Donald Trump has founded his election campaign. On both sides of the Atlantic, people want to take back control they know they never had nor ever will.

Both campaigns have deliberately bypassed rational argument. They play instead to the emotional response of angry people for whom reason no longer makes sense. Since the time of Plato and Aristotle, democracy’s critics have warned of the ease with which reason can be subverted and citizens seduced by the false oratory of charismatic leaders. Trump is just the latest in a long line of the demagogues they feared. He may not make it to the White House, but he has come a long way on unreasoning rhetoric - and where he leads, millions faithfully follow. He has boasted that he could commit murder on Fifth Avenue without losing votes and he may well be right.

But if Trump is extreme, he is not exceptional. He is a phenomenon of a populism of both right and left which has once more begun to challenge the principles of parliamentary democracy.

Democracy in decline

All over Europe and the United States, consumer-citizens are exasperated by democracy’s failure to meet their demands as fully and as fast as they expect. If the market can guarantee next day delivery, why can’t government? The low esteem in which elected politicians are held is only partly the consequence of their failings and failures. It is also evidence of a growing disenchantment with representative democracy itself. We do not trust our politicians to reflect our priorities. Perhaps we never did. But now we’re no longer prepared to acknowledge their unenviable duty to arbitrate between competing political, social and economic imperatives, nor ours to accept the compromises they reach - at least until the next election.

We have become protesters against rather than participants in our politics and, emboldened by hearing our chosen facts and beliefs reverberating around cyber space, have become increasingly polarised and uncompromising in our protest. 

The Trumpy Corbynites

Which brings us to Labour. Despite the obvious political differences between Jeremy Corbyn and Donald Trump, there are striking similarities in the movements which have coalesced around them. For many of their supporters, they can simply do no wrong; each criticism provides further evidence of a corrupt establishment’s conspiracy against them; rivals, including those who share many of their beliefs, are anathematised; unbelievers are pursued across the internet; inconvenient facts are reinterpreted or ignored; rational, civil debate is shut down or drowned out. 

There are other similarities in these insurgencies: both mistake slogans for policies and mass rallies for popular support; both are overwhelming and quite possibly destroying their own parties – and both, ultimately, are movements without practical purpose.

Trump may give vivid expression to his followers’ grievances but, other than building a wall along the Mexican border, his plans for government are obscure. Similarly, while Corbyn and his supporters know what they’re against, they have not yet articulated a clear vision of what they’re for, much less how it can be achieved. For many of them, it is enough to be "anti-Blairite". 

But in disassociating themselves from a Labour prime minister’s mistakes, they are also dismissing their party’s achievements under his leadership. Their refusal to acknowledge the need for compromise may well enable them to avoid the pitfalls of government. But government’s potential to bring about at least some of the change they want does not come without pitfalls. In wanting it all, they are likely to end up with nothing.

The art of compromise

Democracy cannot be sustained simply by what passionate people oppose. And though movements such as Momentum have important roles to play in influencing political parties, they cannot replace them. Their supporters want to be right - and they often are. But they are rarely prepared to test their principles against the practical business of government. The members of political parties want, or should want, to govern and are prepared, albeit reluctantly, to compromise – with each other, with those they seek to represent, with events -  in order to do so. Parties should listen to movements. But movements, if they are to have any practical purpose, must acknowledge that, for all its limitations, the point of politics is power.

We have to trust that the majority of American voters will reject Donald Trump. But closer to home, if Labour is to have a future as a political force, Corbyn’s supporters must learn to respect the historic purpose of the Labour party at least as much as they admire the high  principles of its current leader. There isn’t long for that realisation to take hold.

In the UK as in the US and elsewhere, we need to rediscover the importance of common cause and the art of compromise in forging it. The alternative is a form of politics which is not only post-truth, post-reason and post-purpose, but also post-democratic. 

Peter Bradley is a former MP and director of Speakers' Corner Trust, a UK charity which promotes free speech, public debate and active citizenship.