The Drawing Board [Long]

The drawing board is the place where things begin, or return to. My project has admittedly come off the drawing board, at least temporarily, and I've taken steps to launch it. But every now and again, you should go back to it and see what progress you've made.

For me, the drawing board comes in the form of a notebook I've carried around. In it, I can track the progress of this idea from almost its very beginnings. In it, I touch on a whole range of diverse areas to do with politics, each one that arguably could produce a book. Of course, I have no intention of writing a book about any of those things. So every now and again you need to do a bit of creative destruction.

The way I do this is to make sure I'm asking the right questions. I know one question I want to answer, and each of them in turn needs to have more supplementary questions asked of it so that you can really drill down to what it is you want to do and can accomplish given your resources.

So, this blog is one the layers of filters that gets applied to the colossus of random scribbles that strike me urgently at unsociable hours to demand that they're written down.

And one of the first things I have to filter is what it is I'm trying to do.

So, the aim of this project is to empower young people in politics. So I have to drill down and find out what that means and how it's best accomplished given the constraints I'm operating in. I want to do that here, so that you have the clearest statement possible about what it is I'm trying to do and the rationale behind how I'm going to do it. I also want this blog to be an insight into the raw process of one person trying to do something, whether successful or not. So, yes, like the actual context of building something, it'll be very non-linear and sometimes it'll roll forward at great pace and other times I'll be pushing up against a wall of some sort. Sometimes I'll roll back and re-imagine the thing so that I take into account what I've learned.

But hopefully I won't do too much of that in any single post, I want them to be fairly linear. Indeed, I want this blog to be a kind of draft of the final products in many cases.

I want to empower young people in politics. The first question you might ask is what that means. So let me define the three key terms in that sentence: empowerment, youth and politics. Once I've done that, I think you'll have the best description of what it is I'm attempting to do. The first two are fairly straight forward as I'm afforded great licence with their definitions. The third one I want to linger on and that's where this post might begin to look a bit like a wall of text. I'll avoid this as much as I possibly can, but I really want to muse on this a bit because it's key to how well this goes.

The Youth

One thing I've had to change is the definition of the youth. Initially, I thought between 14 and 18 or something like that but given the general reception to that idea I've narrowed the demographic to 16-19 – I'm happy to make this change, though I'm less than happy about the presumption that younger people don't want to know.

Empowerment

So let's get the simple stuff out of the way. What do I mean when I say empowerment. Well, the way I see it, someone has power in a relationship when they can influence their decisions. How does one influence a decision? Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat. You could be holding the purse strings, you could be offering a quid pro quo. I also may be naive in thinking that you can influence a decision if you have a good point to make. So, I hope, wistfully, that if you are knowledgeable and open to discussion then people will be receptive to you.

The cynic in us all scoffs at the very notion that politics proceeds according to the results of orderly deliberation. And I would say that between politicians, there is a great deal of justification for this point of view, given the carry on at PMQs and the belligerence and mutual contempt we are routinely treated to on programmes like Question Time. But I think between politicians and the public, the tone is set by the public and we have a reasonable chance of actually having a conversation rather than trying to get them on the defence. So, what we're drilling down to here is: how do we get people to be able to have a conversation with politicians where all the power is in their hands?

See, the public has very little to say about politics in general. It's much like going to the doctor's surgery. We can raise problems but not necessarily discuss the treatment. You really have no idea what medication works for your problem, what your problem actually is as a diagnosis, or anything. Well, I think it's absolutely imperative we redress this balance. If we did so, it would be better for the public, who suddenly would be able to pick the leader they think is most  capable, and in fact for politicians too. Because we set them up to fail. We say to these people, go and reshape the world we live in. Solve our problems. But then we say: you're on your own. We expect to take no further part in the fashioning, or restoration of our Utopia.

Politicians are just people. The problems we face - terrorism, climate change, the economy - utterly dwarf the capabilities of just a set of people smaller than we choose to decipher the problems of producing mobile phones. To be honest, they dwarf the abilities of entire countries. The problems cross borders, but we act like the solutions don't. What's more, we fail to prevent groupthink because our politicians come from such homogeneous backgrounds. So politicians need to be able to have a conversation with us because it takes the pressure off. It relieves the burden.

It also makes the ecosystem a lot more diverse.

But to have a conversation, we need to be more literate in politics. We can't and shouldn't devote all our energies to being political obsessives like me. At the end of the day, the professionals will always have better knowledge of the specifics than you on most issues. It is their day to day reality. But we needn't let that be a huge impediment. If you are literate, you know enough to get on and be able to get a handle on the issue such that you at least know what is being discussed and what is at stake. Beyond that, you may already be familiar enough with some special area to get into the specifics of something you care about, be it geology, physics, education, voluntary sector stuff, which with your political literacy you'll be able to make huge contributions to that area because you'll know the mutual implications of political decisions on your subject and vice versa.

Politics

So we know what it means to be empowered in politics: you should be able to have a conversation with a politician expecting to be an equal, or near equal, participant. To get to that point, we need to educate. So, simple? Well, no. What is it we're trying to educate ourselves in? What is the subject? What is politics?

We all know the famous sayings about politics. Ronald Reagan famously quipped that "It's been said that politics is the second oldest profession. I have learned that it bears a striking resemblance to the first." Clausewitz also said that politics was "a continuation of war through other means". We're told that it's the art of the possible, Aristotle said it was to be "more prized than medicine". (Given the time period, he perhaps made a good shout.) He also said we're fundamentally political animals.

But what is it? I offer this Aristotle-inspired definition: politics is the art of asserting your version of justice. I appreciate that isn't a clear-cut definition and it isn't supposed to be. Any interaction where you're trying to reconcile two views on the right thing to do on the situation in any kind of structure is political. So, yes, I'm including "office politics", "family politics" and "playground politics" as valid politics. The structure doesn't have to be a parliament or a senate, it could be an office, or even a party.

 Again, I offer this definition because it makes us ask all those questions that we invariably classify under politics. And that is what I spent the wee hours of yesterday morning asking myself. I took that definition to the drawing board, and I came up with a series of colourful mind maps. as I asked the questions, I was able to get to the ones that were most relevant to the project. The ones that need to be asked to make politics accessible to those who aren't already interested.

Allow me to take you through that process.

So how do we explore this?

If we take my definition as a starting point then we're led fairly quickly to ask the following (among other things):

•         What is justice?

•         What is your version of justice?

•         How does one 'assert' social justice?

Each of these questions in turn lead us to ask more explicitly political questions. If we ask how one might assert justice, we can trace out the path to such questions as: What framework should we put in place to regulate these assertions? The options are plentiful. You could say that the correct assertions are those sanctioned by the will of God, which gives you a theocracy; you could say, as we do, that assertions must persuade us, which gives us democracy. Those are just two examples.

Then we can drill even further down. What system best represents the will of the people? Again, there are options. Consistent 50%+1? Or does the distribution of your majority mean that you have the risk of one group of people dominating the other? If so, does this mean that you need to change your system to recognise these distinct communities and give  them a degree of autonomy so that their interests are entertained? (For examples, see Belgium, the US, Spain, the UK, who all have  autonomous sub-entities.)

In fact, in asking this question, we've also begun to approach asking how to assert your ideals in the system.

Returning to the 'top-level' question of what it is that you think is the right thing to do, we can use that to argue about specific issues in politics.  Let's take the Leveson Inquiry, released today. It  comes down to the distribution of power and the optimal distribution of power between the government, the media and the people depends on your ideological perspective as to the ideal functions for each of these things. In a way I'd not like to use as a primary analysis of this situation, I think it's fair to say that a conversation about ideology can be adduced from Leveson. The Labour Party, historically left-wing, wants to stand up to vested interests while the Conservatives are torn between that and the liberal instinct to keep the state out of things if possible. The Liberal Democrats are also obviously torn between these two ideals, as the Deputy Prime Minister began his speech by saying.

But that's for another post, perhaps one of my many sidebars. I just want to use this long, long post to give you a sense of where I'm coming from. Maybe I won't get your attention all the way to the bottom. But stick around!

Sidebar: Leveson Inquiry

This sidebar comes from a post I'm drafting that finally isn't a sidebar. The next post will set out things specific to this project (at last) and I hope that everything in this post will suddenly make sense when I make a shorter reference to it by way of example. I got a bit carried away with the example and I thought it might make a better post by itself.

Just today, we have the Lord Justice Leveson's report into the culture, ethics and practices of the press.
 This comes down to an intensely political question: who has the legitimate right to exercise certain powers?   There is a balance to be struck between preventing two awful realities: a corrupt government covering up wrongdoing, and a corrupt media subverting rightdoing. As David Cameron points out rightly we shouldn't rush into setting that balance too soon. Leveson's system is proportional in my very early view, but the Prime Minister is right to ask whether it will be stable or whether once the dam has been breached , the floodgates crumble. The Prime Minister is absolutely right to say that introducing new legislation is harder to do because we are introducing a principle, where amending it will merely mean extending it.
 
That, as Nick Clegg has said, avoiding the opportunity to dive onto a popular bandwagon, is a legitimate concern. Whether this is the side we err on is a matter of debate. We could err on the side of an Ofcom, where we that the press has a huge potential to harm the public, so we should intervene to make sure it abides by rules. Admittedly, defining what constitutes "the press" in the internet age is difficult but we could still say it's better to have more regulation than less. So that's the choice we have and both sides are not unreasonable.

That said, the Leveson proposals certainly avoid the state licensing of the press, which was a huge concern for publications like The Spectator, while making it painfully obvious that the press should see where their self interest lies. So a statute that sets up these incentives and gives legal underpinning to the body set up sounds proportionate to me. Also, the provision of a clause that obliges the Government to protect the freedom of the press should mean any change to the law would be legally contestable. (Or maybe that should be a thing, I'm not a lawyer.) Either way I don't think it likely that we have politicians who are that suicidal to cross the line.

Sidebar: prisoner voting

There's a huge furore over prisoner voting at the moment, what with the European Court of Human Rights ruling that a blanket ban on their voting violates their rights (the story, from The Guardian). David Cameron said it makes him physically sick to consider the issue and politicians from both sides of the House are lining up to compete in a game of one-upmanship about the intensity of their physical reactions to what are, really, quite trivial issues.

I don't mean to be one of those who doesn't think that governments should ever do more than one thing at a time. For example, I think Lords reform was a perfectly reasonable thing to do as long as nobody's downing tools on the economy. But, really, this is a disproportionate waste of time. So let me use this sidebar to do two things:

• Votes are taken away, not given away. This is key. Because the burden should be on government to justify why someone can't vote, rather than it being at their luxury as to whether someone can.
• The ECHR has not suggested giving the likes of Ian Huntley and other notorious prisoners the right to vote. This is also important, because when you take those people out of the equation, you understand the ruling to not be on par with US Supreme Court-style judicial activism but is instead a modest suggestion.

So, quickly:

Votes must be taken away, not given away

It's taken as a given in our society that once you're born into it, you're given certain rights by virtue of being a human being and by being a member of our society. And, once you're an adult member of that society, there should be a presumption that you are allowed to express yourself to influence that society so that it can change to, or stay as, the society you want your family and friends to live in and prosper in.

Why is this important? Because you should operate on a blacklist when it comes to voting, so that people who don't like the government can vote against it. If you instead talk about giving people the vote, pound to a penny, the vote magically ends up with people who like the ones currently deciding who gets it. This is an understandable, if regrettable, part of human nature and can happen without malevolent plans on the part of an evil dictator. So don't cry Godwin's Law, I'm not saying that not giving prisoners the vote is the beginning of a slippery slope to tyranny.

What I am saying is that this argument is being framed in the wrong way, if only subtly. Really, Parliament is not voting on whether to give some prisoners the right to vote but instead voting on whether to return it to some of them.

This is really a modest, reasonable suggestion

For reasons that probably are fairly radical, I wouldn't object to giving all prisoners the right to vote -- or rather, I would support returning their right to vote. But I understand that people are strongly and justifiably opposed to that notion and I understand that I'm in a very small minority of people who share that view.

But nobody is suggesting that. And that's perfectly reasonable. I understand that if you murder someone, you demonstrate that you're not capable of living in a society. (Because at the base of it all, society is really just a mutual agreement to not harm anyone else in that society.) So, if you can't take part in the society, you're not fit to have a say in how it's governed. That's a wholly reasonable point of view. I accept it as reasonable in the case of all crimes where a victim can be properly said to exist. So, theft, fraud, actual and grievous bodily harm and so on all to a greater or lesser extent show that you can't accept the fundamental principle of society so it is effectively pointless for you to take part -- if not outright wrong.

Of course, we also say that in the case of most crimes that there are fixed penalties and, once they are duly served, we say that you can have another go of demonstrating that you can 'do' society. So people get the right to vote  back in these instances after a fixed period.

But what about  the case of victimless crimes? I'll take just one counter-example because if there's a prisoner that exists where we think the criminal in question hasn't demonstrated an inability to take part in society, then the blanket ban on prisoner voting is in fact arbitrary and should be modified -- even if just in this one instance.

Let's take cannabis, which 29.6% of all adults in the UK admit to having used at some point in their lives. (source) The use of cannabis is subject to an escalator, where the first use is subject to a warning, through to fines, then imprisonment of up to five years. (source -- also this article doesn't constitute legal advice) For those five years, is it reasonable for a person serving time for cannabis use alone to lose the vote? Do we think that the use of cannabis constitutes a reckless abandon of the principle of civilisation? The reason I bring up the statistic is that the sheer number of people who have used it mean that it seems obvious that we don't think cannabis use constitutes such a violation. Unless you're caught (a few times). Now, unlike a murder, where if you found out someone had committed that crime where they hadn't been caught you'd certainly consider ringing the police, I doubt that you would do the same in the case of cannabis use.

Why don't we? Well, cannabis use poses no greater risk to other people than, say, drinking alcohol or smoking a cigarette. Both of these things carry some risk but we tolerate it. So if it poses no huge risk, then you are demonstrating the ability to live your life without diminishing anyone else's enjoyment of it to the point that the law need get involved. The same thing doesn't apply to selling the drug (arguably), or committing crimes as a result of your taking them or to fuel your use of it. (Although I've never seen Harold and Kumar in The Wire, have you?)

So, if the only difference between you and the 30% of UK citizens who have also tried cannabis is that you got caught, it does strike me as rather arbitrary that you lose your right to vote -- even if we can accept you should be incarcerated for this offence (which is a whole other debate which I won't get into).

Conclusion (or, the TL;DR)

So, the idea that you should lose your right to vote because you've committed any single criminal offence is arbitrary. There are different types of offences, varying in the degree to which it can be said you're not fit to take part in society or  influence it (which seems to be the line of argument for disenfranchising someone). It doesn't seem fair that all these people lose the right to vote, which is the point the court is making.

Now, watch the debate in Parliament and see if anyone manages to not bleed from the eyes as they consider the issue -- we managed, why can't they?

Writers' Block?

So, it turns out that crafting the perfect pitch for this project is not easy. I try to say that the proof of the pudding is in the eating but you do need to give people some sense of what you're trying to do. Whenever I've had the chance to try this out, it's been fairly successful. But at the moment I'm basically doing bespoke sessions for the audience I'm about to see.

This is obviously not sustainable. But as with all things involving the synthesis of information -- i.e., the creative process -- it is difficult. It runs like water then clogs like treacle. It seems that this process is independent of any particular deadline.

I realise this post isn't very interesting but you must log the downs with the ups.

Sidebar: PCC Elections

With the PCC votes still being counted, I think it's clear that turnout was humiliatingly low.

So, what now?

Well, the system being employed for these elections means that these new PCCs will have at least 50%+1 of their vote -- so, this means they're really only being endorsed by roughly 10% of their electorate. That, I think, is a clear democratic deficit.

So what  should be the response? Well, the current reaction among ministers is to point to the bad weather, or voter ignorance and say "Well, what else can you expect?"

Well, I think this is the wrong approach. These posts are something that nobody asked for. I think they understood that the commissioner was there to set budgetary priorities and hire/fire the Chief Constable. I think people also understood the virtue of having an elected figure to make sure the police's priorities were the public's. That's not a lot to understand. I think the failure comes from one simple fact: the candidates were all appalling.

The reasons for this are multiple and perhaps overlapping. This election was hijacked by Labour and Conservatives alike,* completely  undermining any claim to be about localism. A truly local election should have banned political parties, making this not about Westminster politics -- which alienates many capable people -- but making it about local issues.

This should have been a time for brave, bold campaigns -- getting the public to ask serious questions about what they want their police to do, given that they cannot do it all in the context of declining budgets. Instead, what we got was vacuous slogans about cutting crime and supporting the police.

Finally, ex-police chiefs should have been barred from standing. The point of this is to open up the police club to the public and stop the organisational inertia and the formation of old boys' clubs. These things certainly contribute to institutional failings -- such as cover-ups, racism and other serious failings.

Anyway, the post-mortem hastily done, what should these new officials do now? Well, I personally favour a grand gesture on all of their behalfs to resign, citing their failure to win the confidence of the public and advocating the post's radical overhaul, or abolition. That won't happen, because that would be a movie ending.

Instead, I only hope that they can do in office what they failed to do in the campaign. I hope that they spend this term of office showing the power of the office and engaging with the public when crises happen and leading the discussion as to how things are resolved. Beyond that, they should largely provide continuity -- because the public haven't voted for them to change things.

* Other political parties stood, but they're not generally Westminster parties. The Lib Dems did the honourable thing and chose not to provide blanket funding for the campaigns, reducing their number.

First wider deployment of "Who et mon droit?" ("Focus group")

Today marks the day I was put to the test: can I keep a group of people, some of whom close to the demographic I want to target, interested for long enough to talk about obscure political issues, such as electoral reform?

I tried to do that with a talk called Who et mon droit?

The talk kind of flows like this:

• I explain what the pun means. It's essentially "Who and by whose right?" I try to make some heraldry-based jokes.
• I try to ask that question and get a discussion going. Why is it that certain people get to take decisions?
• Once someone inevitably says something along the lines of "They are elected." I ask: "Well, who do we elect?"
• I try to give topical examples as to why this matters, referencing the European Union.

So, how'd it go? Feedback was encouraging. I'd sum it up as "On the right lines but could do better." 

Successes: people talked about constitutional issues, electoral system and considered the importance of knowing who it is you elect and what they use your vote to justify.

Taking questions and comments was fine. Audience participation was fine.

Failures: The talk was a tad too long, perhaps pushing a limit. Good point were there, they just needed to be honed up and made a little bit more clearly. Transport issues perhaps made the delivery less relaxed and confident as it could have been.

A very early version of this talk was perhaps a little more persuasive if a little less focussed. Perhaps some content from there will be useful for the future.

Overall: I'm optimistic. People stayed, people seemed a little bit more interested than they were. Perhaps substantially. Certainly those toward the target demographic seemed to think it was helpful and useful. Being in the right direction and my own personal hunch I'm not a million miles off the mark is very, very useful.