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The fire next time

Every attempt to make banks more responsible has made them more reckless. Unless the sector is radic

As the financial chaos that began with the collapse of Northern Rock in 2007 enters its second year, the question is: where do we want to be? Are the banks, as the British Chancellor of the Exchequer Alistair Darling has said, to use public capital to restore the relatively free-and-easy commercial conditions of the latter part of 2007? Or should we, as both Gordon Brown and Nicolas Sarkozy have suggested, try to use the 15 November meeting of the 20 chief industrial countries in Washington to establish a new era, like Bretton Woods in novelty if not character? With a new US president, in the person of Barack Obama, due to take office in January, the opportunity is for the taking.

Financial crises are like fireworks: they illuminate the sky even as they go pop. The disruptions of this autumn, the bank rescues, falling securities markets and currency turbulence, have revealed cracks and chips not merely in our financial system but in our general way of looking at the world. The expertise of the economists looks suddenly threadbare. As Robert Skidelsky, John Maynard Keynes's biographer, wrote in the Washington Post last month: "What is in even shorter supply than credit is an economic theory to explain why this financial tsunami occurred, and what its consequences might be. Over the past 30 years, economists have devoted great intellectual energy to proving that such disasters cannot happen."

Any new financial order for the world must tackle the three chief challenges of our age. The first is the privileges enjoyed by people in the banking and securities trade on a scale which would not have shamed the nobility of the ancien régime. The second is the perverse character of modern investment, by which financial surpluses generated by hard-working countries are channelled by the banks not to undeveloped nations that might turn them into prosperous future markets, but to the spoiled and elderly economies of western Europe and the United States, already awash with unproductive capital. The third is our most pressing engagement, which is to prevent further ravages to the natural environment and the general amenity of existence from the reckless combination of the previous two challenges.

The banking crisis that began in earnest with the failure of Lehman Brothers Holdings on 15 September, has lost its novelty as a public spectacle. As people turn back to their ordinary preoccupations, and to the prospect of President-elect Barack Obama, the bankers are lifting themselves up, dusting themselves down and preparing to do what they were doing before, only this time with £400bn of public money. However frightening the events of September and October, they were not frightening enough. As Eric Daniels, the chief executive of Lloyds TSB, put it: he did not expect the government, which has earmarked £17bn for a merged HBOS and Lloyds TSB, to "have an impact on our lending policies or conduct of business". At times our financiers sound like the Bourbon kings, who learned nothing and forgot nothing.

When the Bank of England cut the main rate of interest at which it lends to commercial banks on 6 November, by no less than 1.5 percentage points, the British banks must have thought Christmas had come early. When you can get your funds at an interest rate of 3 per cent and lend at 7 per cent, it is not hard to make money. With these windfall profits, the banks could soon rebuild their capital, repay the public loans and start making themselves lots of money.

The Chancellor and his team had other ideas. At a meeting at the Treasury on 7 November, senior commercial bankers were reminded, with the aid of some pertinent press cuttings, of just how unpopular they are. Now that the public owns Northern Rock and Bradford & Bingley, and is about to part-own Lloyds TSB, HBOS and Royal Bank of Scotland, ministers can no longer be ignored. Even Barclays, which has gone to great effort to avoid taking the UK government's money, raising £5.8bn at higher rates and more unfavourable terms from reluctant investors in Abu Dhabi and Qatar, is faced with the same public distrust and political interference.

Losing your capital is like losing your trousers. It is a real humiliation, and one not to be soon repeated. The British banks will be forced by the government to advertise attractive mortgages and other loans, but they will only make these loans on good security, and it is security that is in short supply. In the market for private housing finance, I imagine we will revert to the conditions of the 1970s, when buyers were expected to provide a quarter or even a half of the purchase price. Northern Rock, which has been longest at this sort of retrenchment exercise, had already reduced its outstanding loans by 10 per cent by the middle of the summer. The Bank of England estimates that, even with the extra share capital underwritten by the government, the largest UK banks would need to reduce their books of loans by around one-sixth to revert to the normal or half-normal level of 2003.

Banks will also try to shrink their establishments, bloated beyond all reason during the boom years or, as in the case of bank branches, maintained out of idleness and sentiment. If Lloyds TSB manages to consummate its union with HBOS, it intends to cut £1.5bn per annum by 2011 in overheads, particularly wages, from the combined business. A rough calculation suggests this could means a reduction of 20,000 staff.

At the heart of banking is a suicidal strategy. Banks take money from the public or each other on call, skim it for their own reward and then lock the rest up in volatile, insecure and illiquid loans that at times they cannot redeem without public aid. Put another way, the assets of the banking system belong to the joint-stock banks, but their liabilities (as we have learned in the past two months) are always and only public liabilities. I guess that is what the Chancellor means when he talks of the "part-nationalisation" of the banking system.

It is a dilemma that goes back to the origin of joint-stock banking at the turn of the 18th century. Whereas private bankers staked their credit, reputations and fortunes on their decisions to lend or not to lend, the shareholders and managers of joint-stock banks carried no such responsibility. That is why, in Britain at least, it was not until the 1870s that joint-stock banks received the protection of limited liability. Until then, their shareholders were liable for losses to the extent not just of their shareholding but of their entire property.

All attempts to regulate the banks have made this prudential problem, as it is known, worse. The Bank of England, which like so many institutions has suddenly become obsessed with history during the crisis in the same way that other people "get" religion, published in its latest Financial Stability Report a chart showing the effect of regulation on the caution of American bankers. In the 1840s, American banks held on average one dollar in their own funds to two dollars of loans and other assets such as government bonds. That meant that half their money was not earning anything, but also that half their loans could go bad without causing loss to depositors.

With the Civil War and the passing of the National Bank Act in 1864, that proportion fell to 25 per cent. In 1913, the Federal Reserve was founded and the proportion fell to 18 per cent. Since then, the bankers have managed to get various classes of asset exempted, and the proportion has fallen to under 10 per cent. Each attempt to make the banks more safe has made them more reckless. According to the Financial Stability Report, before the crisis of this autumn the chief UK banks had £200bn of their own capital to support £6trn worth of lending, a proportion of one in 30. As the Bank notes in a sort of wonder at the majesty of financial phenomena: "Recent events have illustrated that banks can now incur losses much faster than they can recapitalise themselves in stressed market conditions."

By choking off lending, the banks have set in train a decline in general trading activity that looks to be worse than those of 1991, 1982 and, possibly, 1974. My suspicion is that the semi-orderly contraction in bank lending envisaged by the Bank of England will drop us off in roughly the same place as if the likes of HBOS and Royal Bank of Scotland had been bankrupted. That, of course, can never be tested. Yet the result of the government rescue is to entrench a sort of banking nobility, endogamous and permanent, without responsibility and not subject to ordinary commercial law. It reinforces the vacuous and illiterate City culture of pecuniary display, cost-free philanthropy and nuisance travel. And it perpetuates banking practices whose eventual disintegration, ten or 15 years in the future, will make this crisis look routine.

So what is to be done with the banks? My own modest proposal, which has not many adherents, is to take away from joint-stock banks the privilege of limited liability which they abuse every moment of the day. That would certainly separate the sheep from the goats but would, perhaps, reduce the equity capital available to the banking system a little too sharply.

More realistically, now is the time for government authorities to begin slowly to peel back some of the other privileges, such as deposit insurance, that under the guise of protecting the public, merely protect the banker. What this means is that you and I will think for a moment before entrusting our money to a bank. We might ask for a balance sheet at the counter, the work of a few moments. We don't know how to read a balance sheet. The clerk will show us. The public, turned into infants by bank regulation, become adults again. Banks will be obliged by a discriminating public to carry more of their own capital. At Bradford & Bingley, the pretty woman in a green bowler becomes a plain man in a black one.

The second challenge, which arises from the imbalance of savings between west and east, is one that Keynes would have recognised even if, in his time, it was the US that had the money. The tendency of the west to borrow and spend and the east to save and lend is the shadow or phantom behind the banking crisis. China, Japan and the oil-exporting countries earned such colossal surpluses from their exports that they could find no other home for them than the indebted households and governments of the rich countries. In the case of the two Chinas, Japan, Russia and India, these hoarded surpluses exceed the entire resources of the International Monetary Fund, the institution set up at Bretton Woods to assist distressed countries needing access to foreign currency for their trade.

Meanwhile, the turmoil in the banking system has meant that entire countries - Iceland, Hungary, Pakistan and most of the poorer nations - can without warning lose all access to foreign currency to buy food for their populations. The answer is to increase the resources of the fund or some successor while recognising that the world has changed out of all recognition from 1944. The US is now a debtor, not a creditor, and the rich new powers of Asia need representation according to their wealth.

That leads to the final challenge of limiting the damage to the natural environment from the rapid expansion of trade and population in recent years. Even before the banks fell to bits, energy and grain markets, movements of people and climate patterns were frantically signalling that something was going awry with the worldwide commercial system.

At one level, the decline in business activity will be a blessing. Certain perverse projects, such as the expansion of the London airports, will not pay for themselves in the new world of tightened belts and shut wallets and must be delayed or even, God willing, abandoned. It is one of the bizarre features of our civilisation that money will do for its own preservation what we, for our own welfare, will not.

Here the conjunction of a new US administration and a disgraced business and financial Establishment is interesting, to put it mildly. If the investment, for example, necessary to limit or reduce carbon-dioxide emissions appeared to sceptics both uncertain and costly, the $3trn cost of cleaning up the current financial mess puts it into perspective. If some latter-day New Dealer is looking for counter-cyclical investment both to keep people in work and to raise public morale, the environment is by far the most promising field of activity. For example, the Detroit carmakers have jogged along for more than 80 years on a rich and combustive mixture of cheap gasoline and easy credit.

That era is now over, which is why the US motor industry is by almost every prudent measure utterly bust. There is no purpose in Barack Obama summoning from the tomb the corpse of Henry Ford. Any rescue operation in Detroit must take account of the new world of tighter credit and environmental standards and more costly motor spirit.

To concentrate merely on regulating the financial sector might buy stability for a year or two, but the weaknesses in energy and food supply and the degradation of the environment will not go away. The rainbow over the downtown skyscrapers will have but one meaning: no more water. The fire next time.

James Buchan is the author of "Frozen Desire: an Inquiry into the Meaning of Money" (1997). His latest novel, "The Gate of Air", is published by the MacLehose Press (14.99)

This article first appeared in the 17 November 2008 issue of the New Statesman, Obamania

RALPH STEADMAN
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The age of outrage

Why are we so quick to take offence? The Private Eye editor on Orwell, Trump and the death of debate in post-truth politics.

Anyone who thinks that “post-truth politics” is anything new needs to be reminded that George Orwell was writing about this phenomenon 70 years before Donald Trump.

Audiences listening to President-Elect Trump’s extraordinary disregard for anything resembling objective truth – and his astonishing ability to proclaim the absolute opposite today of what he said yesterday – will be forcibly reminded of the slogans that George Orwell gave to his political ­dictators: Black is White, War is Peace, ­Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength (the last of which turned out to be true in the US election). But any journalist trying to work out what the speeches actually mean, amidst the mad syntax and all the repetition (“gonna happen, gonna happen”), cannot help but fall back on Orwell’s contention that “political chaos is connected with the decay of language”. And the sight of Trump praising Secretary Clinton for her years of public service in his post-election victory speech while the crowd was still chanting his campaign catchphrase of “Lock her up” was surely a perfect example of Doublethink.

No wonder Trump is an admirer of Vladimir Putin, who is an admirer of the Soviet strongmen whom Orwell satirised so well. These echoes from the past are very strong in America at present but there are plenty of them reverberating through British and European politics as well. Our Foreign Secretary managed to accuse other European leaders of a “whinge-o-rama” when they issued qualified statements of congratulation to the new president-elect, even though he himself had previously accused Trump of being “nuts”. Black is White, Remain is Leave, a Wall is a Fence, two plus two equals five: but Brexit means Brexit.

You may find this reassuring, in that we have been here before and survived – or distressing to think that we are regressing to a grimmer Orwellian age. But one of the worrying developments attached to these “post-truth” political figures is the increasing intolerance in public debate of dissent – or even disagreement – about what objective truth might be.

A great deal has been written recently about the influence of social media in helping people to become trapped in their own echo chambers, talking only to those who reinforce their views and dismissing not only other opinions, but also facts offered by those who disagree with them. When confronted by a dissenting voice, people get offended and then angry. They do not want to argue, they want the debate to be shut down. Trump supporters are furious with anyone who expresses reservations about their candidate. Pro-Brexit supporters are furious with anyone who expresses doubts about the way the process of leaving the European Union is going.

I edit the magazine Private Eye, which I sometimes think Orwell would have dismissed as “a tuppeny boys’ fortnightly”, and after the recent legal challenge to the government about Article 50 being put before parliament, we published the cover reproduced on page 25.

It was a fairly obvious joke, a variant of the “wheels coming off” gag. But it led to a large postbag of complaints, including a letter from a man who said he thought the cover was “repulsive”. He also said he wanted to come around and smash up the office and then shove our smug opinions so far up our arses that we choked our guts out.

There was one from a vicar, too, who told me that it was time to accept the victory of the majority of the people and to stop complaining. Acceptance was a virtue, he said. I wrote back and told him that this argument was a bit much, coming from a church that had begun with a minority of 12. (Or, on Good Friday, a minority of one.)

This has become a trend in those who complain: the magazine should be shouted down or, better still, closed down. In the light of this it was interesting to read again what Orwell said in his diary long before internet trolls had been invented:

 

We are all drowning in filth. When I talk to anyone or read the writings of anyone who has any axe to grind, I feel that intellectual honesty and balanced judgement have simply disappeared from the face of the earth. Everyone’s thought is forensic, everyone is simply putting a “case” with deliberate suppression of his opponent’s point of view, and, what is more, with complete insensitiveness to any sufferings except those of himself and his friends.

 

This was in 1942, when the arguments were about war and peace, life and death, and there were real fascists and Stalinists around rather than, say, people who disagree with you about the possibility of reconciling freedom of movement with access to the single European market.

Orwell also made clear, in an essay called “As I Please” in Tribune in 1944, that what we think of as the new online tendency to call everyone who disagrees with you a fascist is nothing new. He wrote then:

 

It will be seen that, as used, the word “Fascism” is almost entirely meaningless. In conversation, of course, it is used even more wildly than in print. I have heard it applied to farmers, shopkeepers, Social Credit, corporal punishment, fox-hunting, bull-fighting, the 1922 Committee [a Tory group], the 1941 Committee [a left-liberal group], Kipling, Gandhi, Chiang Kai-Shek, homosexuality, Priestley’s broadcasts, Youth Hostels, astrology, women, dogs and I do not know what else.

 

When Orwell writes like this about the level of public debate, one is unsure whether to feel relieved at the sense of déjà vu or worried about the possibility of history repeating itself, not as farce, but as tragedy again.

The mood and tone of public opinion is an important force in the way our society and our media function. Orwell wrote about this in an essay called “Freedom of the Park”, published in Tribune in December 1945. Five people had been arrested outside Hyde Park for selling pacifist and anarchist publications. Orwell was worried that, though they had been allowed to publish and sell these periodicals throughout the entire Second World War, there had been a shift in public opinion that meant that the police felt confident to arrest these people for “obstruction” and no one seemed to mind this curtailment of freedom of speech except him. He wrote:

 

The relative freedom which we enjoy depends on public opinion. The law is no protection. Governments make laws, but whether they are carried out, and how the police behave, depends on the general temper in the country. If large numbers of people are interested in freedom of speech, there will be freedom of speech, even if the law forbids it; if public opinion is sluggish, inconvenient minorities will be persecuted, even if laws exist to protect them.

 

This is certainly true for the press today, whose reputation in the past few years has swung violently between the lows of phone-hacking and the highs of exposing MPs’ expenses. In 2011 I remember at one point a football crowd shouting out the name of Ryan Giggs, who had a so-called superinjunction in place forbidding anyone to mention that he was cheating on his wife and also forbidding anyone to mention the fact that he had taken out a superinjunction. He was named on Twitter 75,000 times. It seemed clear that public opinion had decided that his private life should be made public. The freedom of the press was briefly popular. Later the same year it was revealed that the murdered schoolgirl Milly Dowler’s phone had been hacked by the News of the World, along with those of a number of high-profile celebrities, and the public decided that actually journalists were all scumbags and the government should get Lord Leveson to sort them out. Those who maintained that the problem was that the existing laws (on trespass, contempt, etc) were not enforced because of an unhealthy relationship between the police, the press and the politicians were not given much credence.

In a proposed preface to his 1945 novel, Animal Farm, Orwell wrote: “If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.”

This is the quotation that will accompany the new statue of Orwell that has now been commissioned by the BBC and which will stand as a sort of rebuke to the corporation whenever it fails to live up to it. The BBC show on which I appear regularly, Have I Got News for You, has been described simultaneously in the online comments section as “overprivileged, right-wing Tory boys sneering at the working class ” and “lefty, metropolitan liberal elite having a Labour luvvie whinge-fest”. Disturbing numbers of complainants feel that making jokes about the new president-elect should not be allowed, since he has won the election. Humour is not meant to be political, assert the would-be censors – unless it attacks the people who lost the vote: then it is impartial and neutral. This role for comedy would have surprised Orwell, who was keen on jokes. He wrote of Charles Dickens:

 

A joke worth laughing at always has an idea behind it, and usually a subversive idea. Dickens is able to go on being funny because he is in revolt against authority, and authority is always there to be laughed at. There is always room for one more custard pie.

 

I think there is also room for a custard pie or two to be thrown against those who claim to be outsiders, against authority and “the system”, and use this as a way to take power. The American billionaire property developer who is the champion of those dispossessed by global capitalism seems a reasonable target for a joke. Just like his British friend, the ex-public-school boy City trader-turned-critic of the Home Counties elite.

The emblematic quotation on liberty is from a preface that was not published until 1972 in the Times Literary Supplement. A preface about freedom of speech that was censored? It is almost too neatly Orwellian to be true, and in fact no one seems to know exactly why it did not appear. Suffice to say that it is fascinating to read Orwell complaining that a novel which we all now assume to be a masterpiece – accurate about the nature of revolution and dictatorship and perfect for teaching to children in schools – was once considered to be unacceptably, offensively satirical.

The target of the satire was deemed to be our wartime allies the Russians. It is difficult to imagine a time, pre-Putin, pre-Cold War, when they were not seen as the enemy. But of course the Trump presidency may change all that. Oceania may not be at war with Eurasia any more. Or it may always have been at war with Eastasia. It is difficult to guess, but in those days the prevailing opinion was that it was “not done” to be rude about the Russians.

Interestingly there is now a significant faction on the British left, allied with the current leader of the Labour Party, who share this view.

 

The right to tell people what they do not want to hear is still the basis of freedom of expression. If that sounds like I am stating the obvious – I am. But, in my defence, Orwell once wrote in a review of a book by Bertrand Russell published in the Adelphi magazine in January 1939:

 

. . . we have now sunk to a depth at which the restatement of the obvious is the first duty of intelligent men.

 

Orwell himself managed to come round to a position of accepting that an author could write well and truthfully about a subject even if one disapproved of the author’s politics: both Kipling and Swift were allowed to be right even though they were not left enough. So I am hoping that we can allow Orwell to be right about the principles of freedom of expression.

In the unpublished preface to Animal Farm he writes:

 

The issue involved here is quite a simple one: Is every opinion, however unpopular – however foolish, even – entitled to a hearing? Put it in that form and nearly any English intellectual will feel that he ought to say “Yes”. But give it a concrete shape, and ask, “How about an attack on Stalin? Is that entitled to a hearing?”, and the answer more often than not will be “No”. In that case the current orthodoxy happens to be challenged, and so the principle of free speech lapses.

 

One can test oneself by substituting contemporary names for Stalin and seeing how you feel. Putin? Assange? Mandela? Obama? Snowden? Hillary Clinton? Angela Merkel? Prince Harry? Mother Teresa? Camila Batmanghelidjh? The Pope? David Bowie? Martin Luther King? The Queen?

Orwell was always confident that the populist response would be in favour of everyone being allowed their own views. That might be different now. If you were to substitute the name “Trump” or “Farage” and ask the question, you might not get such a liberal response. You might get a version of: “Get over it! Suck it up! You lost the vote! What bit of ‘democracy’ do you not understand?”

Orwell quotes from Voltaire (the attribution is now contested): “I detest what you say; I will defend to the death your right to say it.” Most of us would agree with the sentiment, but there is a worrying trend in universities that is filtering through into the media and the rest of society. Wanting a “safe space” in which you do not have to hear views that might upset you and demanding trigger warnings about works of art that might display attitudes which you find offensive are both part of an attempt to redefine as complex and negotiable what Orwell thought was simple and non-negotiable. And this creates problems.

Cartoon: "Voltaire goes to uni", by Russell and originally published in Private Eye.

We ran a guide in Private Eye as to what a formal debate in future universities might look like.

 

The proposer puts forward a motion to the House.

The opposer agrees with the proposer’s motion.

The proposer wholeheartedly agrees that the opposer was right to support the motion.

The opposer agrees that the proposer couldn’t be more right about agreeing that they were both right to support the motion.

When the debate is opened up to the floor, the audience puts it to the proposer and the opposer that it isn’t really a debate if everyone is just agreeing with each other.

The proposer and the opposer immediately agree to call security and have the audience ejected from the debating hall.

And so it goes on, until the motion is carried unanimously.

 

This was dismissed as “sneering” and, inevitably, “fascist” by a number of student commentators. Yet it was only a restatement of something that Orwell wrote in the unpublished preface:

 

. . . everyone shall have the right to say and to print what he believes to be the truth, provided only that it does not harm the rest of the community in some quite unmistakable way. Both capitalist democracy and the western versions of socialism have till recently taken that principle for granted. Our Government, as I have already pointed out, still makes some show of respecting it.

 

This is not always the case nowadays. It is always worth a comparison with the attitudes of other countries that we do not wish to emulate. The EU’s failure to confront President Erdogan’s closure of newspapers and arrests of journalists in Turkey because it wants his help to solve the refugee crisis is one such obvious example. An old German law to prosecute those making fun of foreign leaders was invoked by Erdogan and backed by Mrs Merkel. This led Private Eye to run a competition for Turkish jokes. My favourites were:

 

“Knock knock!”

“Who’s there.”

“The secret police.”

 

What do you call a satirist in Turkey?

An ambulance.

 

As Orwell wrote in even more dangerous times, again in the proposed preface:

 

. . . the chief danger to freedom of thought and speech at this moment is not the direct interference of the [Ministry of Information] or any official body. If publishers and editors exert themselves to keep certain topics out of print, it is not because they are frightened of prosecution but because they are frightened of public opinion.

 

I return to stating the obvious, because it seems to be less and less obvious to some of the current generation. This is particularly true for those who have recently become politically engaged for the first time. Voters energised by Ukip and the EU referendum debate, or by the emergence of Jeremy Corbyn as leader of the Labour Party, or by the resurgence of Scottish nationalism or by the triumph of Trump, have the zeal of the newly converted. This is all very admirable, and a wake-up call to their opponents – the Tartan Tories and the Remoaners and the NeoBlairites and the Washington Liberal Elite – but it is not admirable when it is accompanied by an overpowering desire to silence any criticism of their ideas, policies and leading personalities. Perhaps the supporters of the mainstream parties have simply become accustomed to the idea over the decades, but I have found in Private Eye that there is not much fury from the Tory, New Labour or Liberal camps when their leaders or policies are criticised, often in much harsher ways than the newer, populist movements.

 

 

So, when Private Eye suggested that some of the claims that the Scottish National Party was making for the future of an independent Scotland might be exaggerated, there were one or two readers who quoted Orwell’s distinction between patriotism being the love of one’s country and nationalism being the hatred of others – but on the whole it was mostly: “When if ever will you ignorant pricks on the Eye be sharp enough to burst your smug London bubble?”

Those who disagreed with the SNP were beneath contempt if English and traitors if Scottish. This was matched by the sheer fury of the Corbyn loyalists at coverage of his problems with opposition in his own party. When we suggested that there might be something a bit fishy about his video on the lack of seats on the train to Newcastle, responses included: “I had hoped Private Eye was outside the media matrix. Have you handed over control to Rupert Murdoch?”

Their anger was a match for that of the Ukippers when we briefly ran a strip called At Home With the Ukippers and then made a few jokes about their leader Mr Farage: “Leave it out, will you? Just how much of grant/top up/dole payment do you lot get from the EU anyway? Are you even a British publication?”

In 1948, in an essay in the Socialist Leader, Orwell wrote:

 

Threats to freedom of speech, writing and action, though often trivial in isolation, are cumulative in their effect and, unless checked, lead to a general disrespect for the rights of the citizen.

 

In other words, the defence of freedom of speech and expression is not just special pleading by journalists, writers, commentators and satirists, but a more widespread conviction that it protects “the intellectual liberty which without a doubt has been one of the distinguishing marks of Western civilisation”.

In gloomy times, there was one letter to Private Eye that I found offered some cheer – a willingness to accept opposing viewpoints and some confirmation of a belief in the common sense of Orwell’s common man or woman. In response to the cartoon below, our correspondent wrote:

 

Dear sir,

I suffer from a bipolar condition and when I saw your cartoon I was absolutely disgusted. I looked at it a few days later and thought it was hilarious.

 

Ian Hislop is the editor of Private Eye. This is an edited version of his 2016 Orwell Lecture. For more details, visit: theorwellprize.co.uk

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage