Mad as hell

A new wave of militant consumer is rising, hitting large corporations where it hurts - in the wallet

Rail strikes are usually attacked for the pain they inflict on poor, hard-working commuters. This year's rail strikes will present railway-industry spin-doctors with a knotty problem: they're actually organised by the poor, hard-working commuters themselves. Last month's announ cement of plans by More Trains Less Strain to co-ordinate a national fare strike caused alarm in boardrooms across the country. It heralds the rise of Militant Consumer, an unaffiliated network of activists that has started attacking companies where it hurts - in the pocket.

Somerset-based More Trains Less Strain declared its intention to withhold its money after a limited but surprisingly successful local fare strike in January. The group persuaded 2,000 passengers to travel from Bath to Bristol submitting fake tickets and passes for their entire journey. Each ticket had Fare Strike written across the bottom in glaring capitals, the company's logo presented as Worst Great Western and the route given as Hell and Back. Passengers showing the fake tickets were waved through, with staff at Bristol Temple Meads even showing strikers out through a side gate.

Although the First Great Western spokeswoman Elaine Wilde insisted only one person had travelled with a fake ticket, the company caved in to the group's demands instantly, borrowing carriages from other train-operating companies across Britain to ease overcrowding. "We're now considering leading a national fare strike and we're collecting as many consumer groups as we can," said Peter Andrews, a founding member of the group. "It's just a ridi culous idea to run a railway like this."

The birth of More Trains Less Strain in December 2006 marked the end of a curious year of discontent. In the preceding 12 months, at least ten separate consumer groups began withholding or reclaiming money from utilities, banks, credit cards, incompetent councils and software providers across the UK.

"The problem is that the governments of the past 20 years have legally sanctioned poor service and aggressive disregard of customers by allowing large monopolies to grow up and then refusing to regulate their behaviour," says Gareth Coombs at the Cambridge Strategy Centre. "You get the sense that we're almost in a pre-poll-tax protest era - lots of people are really annoyed, looking at each other, all ready to go as soon as someone else does, but worried about acting alone. They're working on the principle that they can't jail everyone, but they want some-one to go first. This, of course, is how trade unions originally developed. Maybe the new generation of trade unions will be militant organisations designed to hurt the profits of firms who abuse consumers."

Marc Gander is at the forefront of this new wave of direct taxation. To date, he has cost the British banking industry roughly £50m, although it's hard to be sure of the exact total. He knows for a fact (he can produce the paperwork) that he's been responsible for £11m, although newspaper reports suggest it's significantly more - maybe £60m and rising.

At the end of 2005, Gander, an academic lawyer, was out of work. He was struggling to make ends meet and his bank threatened to close his account in a dispute over £150, an amount that meant a lot to him. The bank's indifference brought his resentment at the appalling service he had been receiving for years bubbling to the surface. With a computer programmer friend, he founded the Consumer Action Group in January 2006, based on his view that the bank's charges were unlawful. "UK law has it that you can only issue penalty charges to cover cost, not to make a profit," he says.

Groundswell of outrage

Gander posted sample letters and legal advice for those seeking to reclaim penalty charges on his website, These were picked up by other websites until the Consumer Association, Which? and various newspapers took up the cause. The CAG now has 140,000 members, 8,000 of whom have successfully won money from their banks. According to the Independent, more than two million non-members have also used CAG tactics to reclaim money. The groundswell of outrage forced the Office of Fair Trading to broaden its investigation into credit-card charges to include banks. "I expect the OFT ruling will drastically cut the charges, but I think the action group will go on," Gander says. "It would be a shame to let all this energy and commitment dissolve."

In July 2006, the Guildford IT consultant Andrew Morrell took a similar approach to Thames Water. He was so incensed that the company had missed its leakage targets for the sixth year in a row that he decided to withhold roughly 32 per cent of his bill - the proportion of water that leaks out of Thames's pipes every year. "There's a contract that I agree to pay Thames for the water, but it agrees to repair its leaks," he explains. "It's not fulfilling its promises, the regulator does absolutely nothing, and the company has just been sold for a vast profit." Morrell's website - www.thameswas - offers a calculating system to work out what to remove from your bill, links to sites selling consumer-friendly meters, and tips on making it as expensive as possible for Thames Water to get heavy.

Meanwhile, over at, Matt D offers extensive advice on avoiding prosecution for non-payment of the licence fee. In April, the website carried the following message: "This site has reached a small but significant milestone in that it has helped 739 people resist BBC harassment. This means that in the six and a half months this site has been running, a tidy £100,000 has been denied to the BBC. Admittedly, that is not much compared to the £18m salary paid to Jonathan Ross, but it is a start. If has helped you get rid of your fear of BBC intimidation, please repay by telling other people about this site."

This year the action has spread to individual hit-and-run consumer terrorists. On chat forums such as, campaigners swap tips for future skirmishes. Even mainstream financial websites have felt the mood of their audience change and started adding guerrilla advice., for instance, now offers a "credit-card revenge" page, with step-by-step guides for borrowing money from zero per cent credit cards and investing it in high-interest accounts.

Elsewhere, militant consumers have used more surreal protest tactics. The Complaints Choir of Birmingham ( encourages local people to set their complaints to music and then gather outside the offending organisations to sing their criticism - to the chorus "I want my money back". Similar complaints groups have sprung up in Helsinki, St Petersburg and Pittsburgh. What's curious is that all these campaigns began around the same time, and all avoid mainstream consumer organisations in favour of the kind of action that was previously the preserve of the militant left: becoming the Animal Liberation Front to the mainstream's RSPCA, if you like. Few of these group's organisers have any previous experience of protest. Indeed, most of them are previously respectable pillars of Middle England. These new-generation Militant Consumers find themselves sitting on broken trains, being palmed off by financial service companies and ignored by monopolistic utilities companies. In the words of Howard Beale in the 1976 movie Network, they're mad as hell and they're not going to take it any more.

According to Mark Ratcliffe, who runs the consumer research company Murmur, this tide has been rising for a long time. Until the 1990s, he argues, Brits were happy to rely on the Consumers Association, TV watchdog shows and ombudsmen to police the high street. As companies made more money and we received worse service, however, our faith in the usual watchmen declined.

"People have spent the past ten years seeing, for instance, banks profits soaring but their behaviour seeming ever more petty and vindictive," says Ratcliffe. "Then these companies put out huggy-lovey advertising that people think is disgusting, and everyone recoils.

"I'd say the next target will be the mobile-phone companies. Everybody hates them, but they're a necessity. We all know that if they gave us free calls and free internet for £40 a month they'd still be making £30 from us. Consumers are itching to find a way to put a rocket up their arse and as soon as someone's found it, you watch it kick off."

Ratcliffe and Coombs both predict a rise in Militant Consumer action. "The chance of mainstream political parties and even established pressure groups responding to people's day-to-day experience is becoming ever more remote," Ratcliffe argues. "If no one is listening and you have nowhere to turn, you either despair or do something about it.

"At the moment, it feels as though the British are getting ready to do the latter."

Militant Consumers Worldwide

Bus fares in Athens rose so sharply in 2002 that transport staff refused to collect the fares.

Vincent Ferrari heard it was notoriously hard to cancel an AOL account, and recorded himself pleading to cancel for his blog. It got 700,000 hits. AOL complied and apologised.

The food giant GlaxoSmithKline was fined £80,000 when two Auckland schoolgirls proved that Ribena is not "rich in Vitamin C".

Furious customers in Mexico City used a website called ( to wage a campaign against a furniture company.

Research by Shabeeh Abbas and Jonathan Pearson

This article first appeared in the 14 May 2007 issue of the New Statesman, What now?

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The age of loneliness

Profound changes in technology, work and community are transforming our ultrasocial species into a population of loners.

Our dominant ideology is based on a lie. A series of lies, in fact, but I’ll focus on just one. This is the claim that we are, above all else, self-interested – that we seek to enhance our own wealth and power with little regard for the impact on others.

Some economists use a term to describe this presumed state of being – Homo economicus, or self-maximising man. The concept was formulated, by J S Mill and others, as a thought experiment. Soon it became a modelling tool. Then it became an ideal. Then it evolved into a description of who we really are.

It could not be further from the truth. To study human behaviour is to become aware of how weird we are. Many species will go to great lengths to help and protect their close kin. One or two will show occasional altruism towards unrelated members of their kind. But no species possesses a capacity for general altruism that is anywhere close to our own.

With the possible exception of naked mole-rats, we have the most social minds of all mammals. These minds evolved as an essential means of survival. Slow, weak, armed with rounded teeth and flimsy nails in a world of fangs and claws and horns and tusks, we survived through co-operation, reciprocity and mutual defence, all of which developed to a remarkable degree.

A review paper in the journal Frontiers in Psychology observes that Homo economicus  might be a reasonable description of chimpanzees. “Outsiders . . . would not expect to receive offers of food or solicitude; rather, they would be fiercely attacked . . . food is shared only under harassment; even mothers will not voluntarily offer novel foods to their own infants unless the infants beg for them.” But it is an unreasonable description of human beings.

How many of your friends, colleagues and neighbours behave like chimpanzees? A few, perhaps. If so, are they respected or reviled? Some people do appear to act as if they have no interests but their own – Philip Green and Mike Ashley strike me as possible examples – but their behaviour ­attracts general revulsion. The news is filled with spectacular instances of human viciousness: although psychopaths are rare, their deeds fill the papers. Daily acts of kindness are seldom reported, because they are everywhere.

Every day, I see people helping others with luggage, offering to cede their place in a queue, giving money to the homeless, setting aside time for others, volunteering for causes that offer no material reward. Alongside these quotidian instances are extreme and stunning cases. I think of my Dutch mother-in-law, whose family took in a six-year-old Jewish boy – a stranger – and hid him in their house for two years during the German occupation of the Netherlands. Had he been discovered, they would all have been sent to a concentration camp.

Studies suggest that altruistic tendencies are innate: from the age of 14 months, children try to help each other, attempting to hand over objects another child can’t reach. At the age of two, they start to share valued possessions. By the time they are three, they begin to protest against other people’s violation of moral norms.

Perhaps because we are told by the media, think tanks and politicians that competition and self-interest are the defining norms of human life, we disastrously mischaracterise the way in which other people behave. A survey commissioned by the Common Cause Foundation reported that 78 per cent of respondents believe others to be more selfish than they really are.

I do not wish to suggest that this mythology of selfishness is the sole or even principal cause of the epidemic of loneliness now sweeping the world. But it is likely to contribute to the plague by breeding suspicion and a sense of threat. It also appears to provide a doctrine of justification for those afflicted by isolation, a doctrine that sees individualism as a higher state of existence than community. Perhaps it is hardly surprising that Britain, the European nation in which neoliberalism is most advanced, is, according to government figures, the loneliness capital of Europe.

There are several possible reasons for the atomisation now suffered by the supremely social mammal. Work, which used to bring us together, now disperses us: many people have neither fixed workplaces nor regular colleagues and regular hours. Our leisure time has undergone a similar transformation: cinema replaced by television, sport by computer games, time with friends by time on Facebook.

Social media seems to cut both ways: it brings us together and sets us apart. It helps us to stay in touch, but also cultivates a tendency that surely enhances other people’s sense of isolation: a determination to persuade your followers that you’re having a great time. FOMO – fear of missing out – seems, at least in my mind, to be closely ­associated with loneliness.

Children’s lives in particular have been transformed: since the 1970s, their unaccompanied home range (in other words, the area they roam without adult supervision) has declined in Britain by almost 90 per cent. Not only does this remove them from contact with the natural world, but it limits their contact with other children. When kids played out on the street or in the woods, they quickly formed their own tribes, learning the social skills that would see them through life.

An ageing population, family and community breakdown, the decline of institutions such as churches and trade unions, the switch from public transport to private, inequality, an alienating ethic of consumerism, the loss of common purpose: all these are likely to contribute to one of the most dangerous epidemics of our time.

Yes, I do mean dangerous. The stress response triggered by loneliness raises blood pressure and impairs the immune system. Loneliness enhances the risk of depression, paranoia, addiction, cognitive decline, dem­entia, heart disease, stroke, viral infection, accidents and suicide. It is as potent a cause of early death as smoking 15 cigarettes a day, and can be twice as deadly as obesity.

Perhaps because we are in thrall to the ideology that helps to cause the problem, we turn to the market to try to solve it. Over the past few weeks, the discovery of a new American profession, the people-walker (taking human beings for walks), has caused a small sensation in the media. In Japan there is a fully fledged market for friendship: you can hire friends by the hour with whom to chat and eat and watch TV; or, more disturbingly, to pose for pictures that you can post on social media. They are rented as mourners at funerals and guests at weddings. A recent article describes how a fake friend was used to replace a sister with whom the bride had fallen out. What would the bride’s mother make of it? No problem: she had been rented, too. In September we learned that similar customs have been followed in Britain for some time: an early foray into business for the Home Secretary, Amber Rudd, involved offering to lease her posh friends to underpopulated weddings.



My own experience fits the current pattern: the high incidence of loneliness suffered by people between the ages of 18 and 34. I have sometimes been lonely before and after that period, but it was during those years that I was most afflicted. The worst episode struck when I returned to Britain after six years working in West Papua, Brazil and East Africa. In those parts I sometimes felt like a ghost, drifting through societies to which I did not belong. I was often socially isolated, but I seldom felt lonely, perhaps because the issues I was investigating were so absorbing and the work so frightening that I was swept along by adrenalin and a sense of purpose.

When I came home, however, I fell into a mineshaft. My university friends, with their proper jobs, expensive mortgages and settled, prematurely aged lives, had become incomprehensible to me, and the life I had been leading seemed incomprehensible to everyone. Though feeling like a ghost abroad was in some ways liberating – a psychic decluttering that permitted an intense process of discovery – feeling like a ghost at home was terrifying. I existed, people acknowledged me, greeted me cordially, but I just could not connect. Wherever I went, I heard my own voice bouncing back at me.

Eventually I made new friends. But I still feel scarred by that time, and fearful that such desolation may recur, particularly in old age. These days, my loneliest moments come immediately after I’ve given a talk, when I’m surrounded by people congratulating me or asking questions. I often experience a falling sensation: their voices seem to recede above my head. I think it arises from the nature of the contact: because I can’t speak to anyone for more than a few seconds, it feels like social media brought to life.

The word “sullen” evolved from the Old French solain, which means “lonely”. Loneliness is associated with an enhanced perception of social threat, so one of its paradoxical consequences is a tendency to shut yourself off from strangers. When I was lonely, I felt like lashing out at the society from which I perceived myself excluded, as if the problem lay with other people. To read any comment thread is, I feel, to witness this tendency: you find people who are plainly making efforts to connect, but who do so by insulting and abusing, alienating the rest of the thread with their evident misanthropy. Perhaps some people really are rugged individualists. But others – especially online – appear to use that persona as a rationale for involuntary isolation.

Whatever the reasons might be, it is as if a spell had been cast on us, transforming this ultrasocial species into a population of loners. Like a parasite enhancing the conditions for its own survival, loneliness impedes its own cure by breeding shame and shyness. The work of groups such as Age UK, Mind, Positive Ageing and the Campaign to End Loneliness is life-saving.

When I first wrote about this subject, and the article went viral, several publishers urged me to write a book on the theme. Three years sitting at my desk, studying isolation: what’s the second prize? But I found another way of working on the issue, a way that engages me with others, rather than removing me. With the brilliant musician Ewan McLennan, I have written a concept album (I wrote the first draft of the lyrics; he refined them and wrote the music). Our aim is to use it to help break the spell, with performances of both music and the spoken word designed to bring people together –which, we hope, will end with a party at the nearest pub.

By itself, our work can make only a tiny contribution to addressing the epidemic. But I hope that, both by helping people to acknowledge it and by using the power of music to create common sentiment, we can at least begin to identify the barriers that separate us from others, and to remember that we are not the selfish, ruthless beings we are told we are.

“Breaking the Spell of Loneliness” by Ewan McLennan and George Monbiot is out now. For a full list of forthcoming gigs visit:

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood