The question now is not whether it happened, but how much of it went on. Photo: Getty
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Laurie Penny on the Westminster child abuse inquiry: corruption at the heart of the state?

Will the child victims of powerful abusers ever get justice – or just another cover-up?

What’s the price of political stability? Over the past week, long-standing rumours that senior members of the political establishment abused children in the 1980s have finally been broadcast in the public domain, and the Home Secretary, Theresa May, has announced an inquiry. “Frightened survivors of child abuse deserve the truth,” said Tom Watson, a Labour MP who has spoken up for those survivors, addressing the House of Commons.

So do the rest of us. If it is true that, at the highest levels of Westminster, the abuse of young people has been covered up by those who might have helped the victims see justice, it will go beyond scandal and will demand a response beyond outrage. It will demand that we examine, as a nation, what has become of our political culture and who it exists to protect.

It is already beyond question that powerful politicians such as the late Cyril Smith MP and well-connected celebrities such as Rolf Harris and Jimmy Savile – who was close to the royal family and to Margaret Thatcher, lunching with the then prime minister at Chequers – were allowed to abuse young people with impunity for decades. It is plain fact that Smith raped young boys in establishments to which he had access, including the Knowl View special school in Rochdale. Efforts by staff members to bring the matter to police attention were repeatedly frustrated.

It is known, too, that Savile, Harris and other once-respected public figures preyed on children for many years and that their victims were too frightened to come forward until recently. It is becoming clear that the rape and abuse of boys and girls was a tacit privilege of the elite in the Heath, Wilson, Callaghan and Thatcher years, enabled by the silence of those invested in their success and those intimidated by their power.

The question now is not whether it happened, but how much of it went on. The question is who knew about it, and who helped to ensure that survivors were not
believed, that evidence was suppressed. The question is: if abandoning children to rape, violence and abuse is the price of preserving public faith in the establishment, what sort of establishment have we got, and what is our faith worth?

It is also known that in 1983, a batch of files pertaining to child sex abuse at the highest levels of state, now known as the Dickens dossier, was handed to Leon Brittan, then home secretary. That dossier has gone missing, along with 114 other relevant files, shown to various home secretaries. I have been told that other papers may have been removed from files that are still available.

Where is that dossier? Where are those 114 missing files? And, most importantly, how can a state that prides itself on operating one of the most efficient and invasive surveillance networks in the world manage to lose seemingly every scrap of evidence that might have implicated its own leaders in sex crimes against children?

I spoke to a politician close to the case. It was confirmed to me that allegations of child abuse by Cyril Smith and many others had circulated for decades. With every such story, more of the same pattern emerges: public-sector and care workers bring their concerns to the authorities and they are ignored or turned away. Evidence goes missing. Cases are brought forward but then dropped by prosecutors without explanation. Frightened child victims grow up into traumatised adults. Peter Hatton-Bornshin, abused at the Grafton Close Children’s Home in Richmond, which has been linked to the current inquiry, took his own life in 1994 at the age of 28.

The long list of abuses and obfuscation is part of a mosaic of corruption that has been exposed over the past half-decade, brushstroke by brushstroke, lying under the solid floor of the Palace of Westminster.

The broader pattern takes in the MPs’ expenses scandal of 2009 to 2011 as well as the Leveson inquiry into phone-hacking and other press abuses by the Murdoch media group. As decades of dust and selective amnesia are scraped away, a picture begins to emerge. It is one of a political culture that accepts corruption and abuse as the price of stability. It is a picture of a political culture that would rather harbour criminals than hold itself to account.

What happened at Grafton Close? What happened at the nearby Elm guest house in Barnes, south-west London, that notorious “boy brothel” patronised by diplomats and spies? Most of all, what makes a person feel that his power entitles him to abuse children, to assault young girls and boys, not just
with impunity, but with the luxury of access to the very institutions designed to protect the vulnerable – hospitals, care homes, orphanages? What kind of culture harbours politicians who believe the privilege of office extends to privilege over the bodies of the young, poor and powerless?

The public deserves the answers to all of these questions – not out of lewd fascination, but because if a political class cannot and will not hold itself to account, then its mandate to rule disintegrates. If justice is to be served, there must be a full public inquiry, similar to those overseen by Lord Hutton and Lord Justice Leveson. We deserve to know what was done by members of the establishment of the 1980s that created the society in which we live today, just as the victims of historic abuse deserve justice.

Unfortunately, a full inquiry would bring headlines associating the Conservative Party – on whose watch, in the 1980s, all of these allegations first came to light – with paedophilia and subterfuge in an election year. Is the integrity of the establishment worth that much? The answer will determine what sort of nation we are, and what sort of nation we wish to become.

Laurie Penny's Unspeakable Things: Sex, Lies and Revolution is available now. She will also be in conversation with classicist and author Mary Beard on 30 July at Conway Hall, London. More details and tickets here. 

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

This article first appeared in the 08 July 2014 issue of the New Statesman, The end of the red-top era?

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The joy of only winning once: why England should be proud of 1966

We feel the glory of that triumphant moment, 50 years ago, all the more because of all the other occasions when we have failed to win.

There’s a phrase in football that I really hate. It used to be “Thirty years of hurt”. Each time the England team crashes out of a major tournament it gets regurgitated with extra years added. Rather predictably, when England lost to Iceland in Euro 2016, it became “Fifty years of hurt”. We’ve never won the European Championship and in 17 attempts to win the World Cup we have only won once. I’m going to tell you why that’s a record to cherish.

I was seven in 1966. Our telly was broken so I had to watch the World Cup final with a neighbour. I sat squeezed on my friend Colin’s settee as his dad cheered on England with phrases like “Sock it to them Bobby”, as old fashioned now as a football rattle. When England took the lead for the second time I remember thinking, what will it feel like, when we English are actually Champions of the World. Not long after I knew. It felt good.

Wembley Stadium, 30 July 1966, was our only ever World Cup win. But let’s imagine what it would be like if, as with our rivals, we’d won it many times? Brazil have been World Champions on five occasions, Germany four, and Italy four. Most England fans would be “over the moon” if they could boast a similarly glorious record. They’re wrong. I believe it’s wonderful that we’ve only triumphed once. We all share that one single powerful memory. Sometimes in life less is definitely more.

Something extraordinary has happened. Few of us are even old enough to remember, but somehow, we all know everything that happened that day. Even if you care little about the beautiful game, I’m going to bet that you can recall as many as five iconic moments from 50 years ago. You will have clearly in your mind the BBC commentator Kenneth Wolstenholme’s famous lines, as Geoff Hurst tore down the pitch to score his hat-trick: “Some people are on the pitch. They think it’s all over. It is now”. And it was. 4 - 2 to England against West Germany. Thirty minutes earlier the Germans had equalised in the dying moments of the second half to take the game to extra time.

More drama we all share: Geoff Hurst’s second goal. Or the goal that wasn’t, as technology has since, I think, conclusively proved. The shot that crashed off the cross bar and did or didn’t cross the line. Of course, even if you weren’t alive at the time, you will know that the linesman, one Tofiq Bakhramov, from Azerbaijan (often incorrectly referred to as “Russian”) could speak not a word of English, signalled it as a goal.

Then there’s the England Captain, the oh-so-young and handsome Bobby Moore. The very embodiment of the era. You can picture him now wiping his muddy hands on his white shorts before he shakes hands with a youthful Queen Elizabeth. Later you see him lifted aloft by his team mates holding the small golden Jules Rimet trophy.

How incredible, how simply marvellous that as a nation we share such golden memories. How sad for the Brazilians and Germans. Their more numerous triumphs are dissipated through the generations. In those countries each generation will remember each victory but not with the intensity with which we English still celebrate 1966. It’s as if sex was best the first time. The first cut is the deepest.

On Colin’s dad’s TV the pictures were black and white and so were the flags. Recently I looked at the full colour Pathe newsreel of the game. It’s the red, white and blue of the Union Jack that dominates. The red cross of Saint George didn’t really come into prominence until the Nineties. The left don’t like flags much, unless they’re “deepest red”. Certainly not the Union Flag. It smacks of imperialism perhaps. In 1966 we didn’t seem to know if we were English or British. Maybe there was, and still is, something admirable and casual about not knowing who we are or what is our proper flag. 

Twelve years later I’m in Cuba at the “World Festival of Youth” – the only occasion I’ve represented my country. It was my chance to march into a stadium under my nation’s flag. Sadly, it never happened as my fellow delegates argued for hours over what, if any, flag we British should walk behind. The delegation leaders – you will have heard of them now, but they were young and unknown then – Peter Mandelson, Trevor Phillips and Charles Clarke, had to find a way out of this impasse. In the end, each delegation walked into the stadium behind their flag, except the British. Poor Mandelson stood alone for hours holding Union Jack, sweltering in the tropical sun. No other country seemed to have a problem with their flag. I guess theirs speak of revolution; ours of colonialism.

On Saturday 30 July BBC Radio 2 will commemorate the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final, live from Wembley Arena. Such a celebration is only possible because on 16 occasions we failed to win that trophy. Let’s banish this idea of “Fifty years of hurt” once and for all and embrace the joy of only winning once.

Phil Jones edits the Jeremy Vine Show on BBC Radio 2. On Saturday 30 July the station celebrates the 50th anniversary of the 1966 World Cup Final live from Wembley Arena, telling the story of football’s most famous match, minute by minuteTickets are available from: www.wc66.org