Richard Falk, professor of international relations at Cornell, once wrote that western foreign policy was formulated "through a self-righteous, one-way moral/legal screen [with] positive images of western values and innocence portrayed as threatened, validating a campaign of unrestricted politic
It dawned on me this week - as I clapped and cheered well-known bands, shoulder to shoulder with Chrissie Hynde and Annie Lennox - that I now share the Millbank tendency's fear that tape recorders lurk everywhere except the Groucho Club.
Look, you will just have to be understanding about this, because sport is a no-have-been-there area for me. But it goes something like this. The government is setting up a body to look after the interests of football fans.
History repeats itself, the ancient Greek historian Thucydides wrote. And a recent biography of an 18th-century Russian general bears this out.
I was at a New Statesman-sponsored meeting at the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London, yet another attempt to make good the hugely flawed Runnymede Trust report on the future of multi-ethnic Britain.
She is everywhere, this self-proclaimed champion of the ethnic minorities. But can she really speak
It is not in any way my intention to write an amusing column about the latest escalation in violence between the Israelis and Palestinians, though, come to think of it, you could imagine this as a Statesman comp in a malevolent alternative universe: sum up the Israeli-Palestinian confli
About ten years ago, when I was living in Washington DC, I flew up to Manhattan to meet a friend who was in the Big Apple on business. She was staying at a pal's apartment. We had a perfect day, which turned into a perfect evening, and suddenly I had missed the last train home.
Who'd have thought that Francis Maude and Brian Sewell would be the new Noel and Liam Gallagher? What a contrast their candour about drugs makes when compared to the hypocrisy and paranoia on display at the National Television Awards party.
Just hours after leaving the sunny isles of the Caribbean, I had to fulfil a contract with the BBC, which had devoted the week to considering the idea of Englishness. My task was to introduce the theme in ten outlying stations around the country.
Profile - Adam Thirwell on Milan Kundera's escape from moral chic
I hastily agreed to appear on Radio 4's Any Questions during a phone call that came when my dog was hanging "playfully" off the arm of my jumper and my lunch was burning in the oven.
The phone rings, you answer it, and a voice at the other end says: "Hello? Who is that?" So you say something like: "But you're the one making the call. Who are you calling?" "I don't know. That's what I'm trying to find out." "But if you don't know who I am, how could you call me?"
It is not what you have, but what you don't have, that makes you stumble as a politician. Gordon Brown doesn't have a car, so he doesn't understand why a rise in fuel taxes will have people baying for his blood.
To hang or not to hang, that seems to be the question dominating the Caribbean political landscape.
According to the folksy writer Matthew Engel, the glories of the Olympic Games have a cathartic effect on nations. The 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles "helped the US regain the confidence it lost in Vietnam".
Years and years ago, when The Godfather Part II came out, it got a rave review from Margaret Hinxman, the then film critic on the Daily Mail.
This Christmas, William Hague, Ffion at his side, will be sitting in his Range Rover, enjoying a bottle of wine and some turkey sandwiches as he feasts his eyes upon the Yorkshire Dales. Weather permitting, the two may take up their sticks and go for a walk.
The woes of the past few weeks required a period a long, long way from home, in a faraway place with a strange-sounding name. I chose Grenada, in the eastern Caribbean, off-season in tourist terms, which means instant departure, cheap flights and cheap accommodation.
Its porn is fun, its cities clean, and in social justice it is leagues ahead of us. As for that No
William Hague may laugh a lot, but he has scant sense of the absurd. He's banned the chicken-run, that hallowed Tory tradition permitting Tory MPs or ex-MPs to regard a safe seat as an inalienable human right. Previous beneficiaries include Michael Ancram, Sir Brian Mawhinney and Peter Lilley.
A new edition of Donald Macintyre's biography of Peter Mandelson suggests that the undisgraced Northern Ireland Secretary will support Gordon Brown in any future election for the Labour leadership. Ir'n Broon is unmoved. "Can't he support somebody else?" he asked colleagues.
I have had some excellent rows in my life, and have come up with one or two devastating last lines, but I've not yet mastered the art of slamming the door behind me.
When we moved to the countryside, I had an image of making civilised trips to London. You think of English gentlemen in the Twenties and Thirties: mid-morning train; Trumpers, or whatever it's called, for a haircut; Lobb's to be measured for new boots; then lunch with your wine merchant.
Amnesty International has just published UK Foreign and Asylum Policy: human rights audit 2000. When Kate Allen, Amnesty's UK director, was interviewed on the Today programme, she agreed that new Labour could claim "seven out of ten" for its human rights record.
This has been an awful week. Friends slid into death's dateless night. Nasher, one of a small group of mates who moved around together over 30 years, had suddenly contracted cancer. He seemed to be on the mend. He had convinced us he was.
The <em>Daily Mail</em> institution whose pen drips venom and strikes terror into the hearts of the
Although the members of our little group are rather good on the populist political implications of the fuel crisis and the pseudo-relationships engendered by Big Brother, we're not so hot when it comes to dealing with the death and terminal illness that overtakes our parents from time t
Sarah and Gordon Brown's party was the social event of the parliamentary recess. The ploterati assembled in what looked like a disused aircraft hangar in Southwark.
Every so often, one of the children will come up to me and say: "OK, now: shut your eyes and open your mouth." Or sometimes they say: "OK, now: shut your eyes and hold your hand out." Yes, a surprise is imminent.