"Gut feelings" are just as valid as political rhetoric in the new Rational Parliament. And why not?

In ancient Athens, each citizen had to take a turn offering his governance. The Rational Parliament attempts to bring that spirit back, because certain issues are too important to leave to the professionals.

Last month, thousands of farmers descended on the centre of New Delhi to show their support for the use of biotechnology in agriculture. A few days earlier, thousands of other citizens had gathered in the same place. Their goal was to persuade the Indian government to do the opposite: not to allow field trials of genetically modified crops.
 
Had these two gatherings taken place on the same day, violence would almost certainly have ensued. The issue of genetic modification is a flashpoint for extremism, with ideology and egos elbowing facts out of the debate.
 
India has a fast-growing population, and the Indian parliament is considering if biotechnology should play a part in the food production industry. Thanks to public interest litigation on the matter, so is India’s Supreme Court. Here’s a question: why aren’t you?
 
Most of us feel unqualified to approach these issues. But our use of biotechnology matters wherever we are, and there is no reason to think you are less qualified than the politicians who get to make the call. In ancient Athens, each ordinary citizen had to take his turn offering governance, making thought-out decisions on the questions of the day, based on his best understanding. What makes you so special?
 
It’s hard to find a good way to engage with complex problems. Marches and rallies inevitably polarise opinion. Debates between panels of experts often leave an audience feeling powerless and paralysed by partisan rhetoric. Wouldn’t it be good if you, like the Athenians, could discuss both sides for yourself, quietly and without fear of provoking violence? And then listen, politely, to other people’s views before casting a vote on whether we should proceed with something?
 
That’s the idea behind the Rational Parliament, which will debate genetic modification at its inaugural meeting in Conway Hall, central London, on 10 September. It is open to anyone and everyone who wants to take part (though numbers are limited). There will be short presentations from scientists who have published on the subject, but anyone who turns up will be considered a Member of the Rational Parliament (MRP) and can ask questions or table motions. Towards the end of the evening, MRPs will use a ballot box to cast a vote for or against the motion.
 
It’s just possible the outcome will have some influence in the UK’s other parliament. As the Speaker of that house, John Bercow, recently pointed out in a controversial speech on reform, history shows societies can lead as well as follow parliaments. The Rational Parliament’s aim is dignified democratic engagement with the scientific topics of the day – difficult to achieve in the older house.
 
At the Rational Parliament, submission of robust evidence will be encouraged but “gut feelings” are valid submissions, too, and if they are widely shared they will be influential. Not everything that matters can be put into peer-reviewed journals (though they’re a good place to start).
 
In fact, when it comes to GM and many other current issues, we have a lot of facts at our disposal. Should we choose to sit down and look at them without prejudice, it may well be that there is an obvious answer. But it is also possible there is no right answer yet, just a right way forward. Either way, it’s far too important to leave to the professionals.
 
Michael Brooks will be speaker of the house at the inaugural debate of the Rational Parliament. Details: rationalparliamentgm.eventbrite.co.uk 
Indian farmers demonstrate during a protest against the Biotechnology Regulatory Authority of India (BRAI) Bill in New Delhi. Image: Getty

Michael Brooks holds a PhD in quantum physics. He writes a weekly science column for the New Statesman, and his most recent book is At the Edge of Uncertainty: 11 Discoveries Taking Science by Surprise.

This article first appeared in the 09 September 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Britain alone

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What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

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 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times