MMR, Andrew Wakefield and the Independent

On middle class exceptionalism and why despite his intervention in the Independent, Andrew Wakefield is still wrong.

The Independent has been criticised for ushering Andrew Wakefield - the discredited surgeon who linked MMR to autism and bowel disease - into its coverage of the recent measles outbreak in Wales. Wakefield was struck off the medical record in 2002. His claims have been proved false in countless studies. Yet the former medical researcher says he retains his position, arguing “the Government’s concern appeared to be to protect the MMR programme over and above the protection of children”.

So why, despite Time heralding Wakefield’s Lancet report as among its “Great Science Frauds”, has the Independent given front page coverage to the former doctor?

A spokesperson for the Department of Health was forced to doggedly reiterate the facts: “Dr Andrew Wakefield’s claims are completely incorrect,” he said. “Measles is a highly infectious and harmful disease. If your child has not had two doses of MMR, whatever their age, we urge you to contact your GP surgery and make an appointment.” Ben Goldacre was a little more candid:

Richard Ashcroft, Professor of Bioethics at Queen Mary University of London, pointed to the erroneous use of the denomination "Dr":

Public Health Wales has estimated the number of unvaccinated at over 40,000. Drop-in clinics have been established across south Wales, offering free MMR immunisations - which begs the question: why would the Indie put Wakefield on the front page at such a critical time? A spokesman from Public Health England, speaking on BBC Breakfast this morning, laid the blame on "middle class" parents having believed they knew better than the state, exempting their children from nationally available MMR jabs. Around 95 per cent of the population is generally required to be vaccinated in order for immunisation to be 100 per cent effective.

Katherine Clarke, a researcher at University College London, told me: "It was misinformation in the press that led to the decline in uptake in vaccinations." The Lancet report was only a case series, the second in a number stages - later ones include clinical trials which test the propositions made in case studies and series - which may later lead to health recommendations. "So many people still do not realise there is just no evidence whatsoever to support Wakefield's claims."

A nurse draws an MMR vaccination. Photograph: Getty Images.

Philip Maughan is Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war