Something changed outside, but she could not say what it was exactly. Perhaps the sum of their collected breathing was producing a low hum that she had learnt to perceive. Maybe there were new shadows on the coarse lawn that she could see through the blinds. Whatever it was, she knew they were definitely here now. They had arrived to greet her.
She had allowed them to speak for her. They said that she could not remember what it had been like before. They said she that she would eventually become this machine, defined by a fame she did not ask for. She had played the role they had written for her, played the machine to perfection. And she would continue to play it for as long as they asked her to, because there was no other way.
She knew that soon she would have to focus, and play the part once again. But for the moment she was inside, away from their glass eyes. She allowed her self to slouch on the chair. She let her eyes flit around the room. The walls were a lime green, pasted with posters and notices in a language she could not understand. The air-conditioning made the room too cold.
They were wrong to say that a machine was all she was. They were wrong to say that she would forget. She could remember exactly what it was like to take that hand in hers, and walk the streets shrouded in anonymity. The memories did not all blur into one, like they said it would. She remembered every single day. The simplicity of motherhood, and the searing pain of separation. She recalled the first time she had been ushered into this clinical room. She even remembered meeting the man now sitting next her, who was now beginning to stand up.
“Time to go, Kate,” he said, in English. He put his hand on her shoulder as she went out to face them.
The clicks flowed towards her, like a wave down on the beach. When she first heard them, the buzz seemed far away, but it would quickly grow louder when they spotted her. In a moment, she knew, she would hear the clicks behind her too, as the swarm enveloped her. It was like this every time, but the certainty of the moment gave her no comfort.
As they came closer, she prepared once again to look each of them in the eye, one-by-one, to show that she was determined, to show that she was still strong. To give each of them the same photograph that they had taken for the past one hundred days.
But something was different. Their gait seemed wrong. Were they closer than normal, or just moving faster? The noise of their shutters sounded different, almost – no, this couldn’t be right, couldn’t be real, but still – the sound was almost aggressive. Only when, finally, she made eye contact with one of them, did she understand. There was no trace of benevolence in his gaze. His look of pity had been replaced by something more startling: A hot, zealous hate.
She lowered her gaze, and quickened her step towards the waiting car.
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I have ranted about these new citizen juries before. Last December, I argued that MPs already have a ready-made focus group – their constituents – and there was no need for an intermediate cross-section to represent the views of everyone else.
Listening on the radio to the thoughts of some of those who participated, the verdict from Gordon Brown’s first session seems positive. The caveat, however, was that the citizens would “wait and see if we;ve been listened to” before making a judgement as to their success.
There is an interesting section in the Fabian pamphlet Facing Out that deals with the subject of being ‘listened’ to:
As Paul Webb observes, the failure to understand that politics cannot always give you what you want can give rise to a related perception: that just because you do not get what you want, you have not been listened to. Yet if getting what you want is the benchmark for being listened to, then we have a problem since democratic politics can never deliver this – no matter how much listening is done – unless all citizens happen, magically, to agree.
The idea of Citizens’ Juries raises some interesting questions about the nature of political participation and leadership. A reliance on focus groups is seen as a sign of indecision and lack of conviction. And yet a Prime Minister or party leader who does not take into account the wishes of their constituents, and the public at large, is deemed dictatorial and aloof. Clearly, a fine balance must be struck, but I doubt that Citizen Juries are a part of that balance. However the government responds, it will be percieved to have ‘not listened’ to the the people, and the cynics will score a victory.
Update
Two of my favourite blogger-journalists are in the cynics camp on this one. Both Dave Hill and Chris Dillow think that Gordon has already nobbled the Citizens Jury. Chris also makes a similar point about the Catch-22 of the “listening” rhetoric.
More on ‘We Can’t Turn Them Away’:
Lack of speed is killing. One ex-Royal Engineer told me on the phone last night about a man he recruited in 2003 who hoped to build a new Iraq, then fled the country, and then was murdered at some point in the last few weeks.
Dan Hardie is organising an event in Westminster to further highlight this issue. He is calling it Bring your own MP and it is on 9th October.
Here are two responses to the Apollo moon landings. First, Richard Nixon’s famous address on the optimism that the moon landings inspired:
Because of what you have done, the heavens have become a part of man’s world. As you talk to us from the Sea of Tranquility, it inspires us to redouble our efforts to bring peace and tranquility to Earth. For one priceless moment, in the whole history of man, all the people on this Earth are truly one.
The moon landings are probably the foremost example of what can be achieved when humans endeavour to co-operate. It is a story that has everything: from the insights of Gallileo and Newton; the imagination of Jules Verne; to the Leadership of Kennedy; to the bravery of Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins; to the scholarship at MIT that built the computer guidance systems on the Apollo craft; to quick thinking of Jack Garman and Steve Bales, who made a correct, key decision regarding some obscure computer error codes, as Neil Armstrong’s Eagle hovered over the moon’s surface.
However, the poet Gil Scott-Heron was not impressed. He penned this indignant plea to spend the money on something different:
Was all that money I made las’ year
(for Whitey on the moon?)
How come there ain’t no money here?
(Hmm! Whitey’s on the moon)
Y’know I jus’ ’bout had my fill
(of Whitey on the moon)
I think I’ll sen’ these doctor bills,
Airmail special
(to Whitey on the moon)
While it is surely worth a few billion dollars to bring mankind together as one, it is a lofty and imprecise ideal. Scott-Heron’s words ring in the ears, and anyone who is eager to journey back to the moon in our lifetime, or perhaps even to Mars, will have to justify the expense.
As I have said before, I begin with the idea that if one is going to design and build rockets, it would be more satisfying if we were to put astronauts in them, rather than nuclear warheads. It would also be more exciting, and (I think) more healthy for the collective human psyche. Spending several billions on “an ego trip” (as Bob Marley sang it), is a reprehensible thing when compared to the need for schools, a health system here in the UK, or AIDS medicines and mosquito nets in Africa. But compared to Trident, which is designed for the singular purpose of destruction, it is easier to argue that it would be money well spent.
Cancelling Trident and creating a bona fide British Space Programme would surely be an easy task, since the skills required for one project are easily transferred to the other. There is a place for rocket scientists and computer guidance systems engineers. And surely submariners would make perfect astronauts, accustomed as they are to spending long periods of time sealed in claustrophobic capsules?
Supporters of the nuclear deterrent remind us that for Britain to maintain an influence on the international arena, we need to be members of the nuclear ‘club’. Much of the argument is over what strategic advantage the submarines give us (if any), and whether it is relevant when our arsenal is dwarfed by that of the United States. Clearly if we were to cancel Trident in favour of a space programme, that programme would fare better politically and economically if it had some strategic importance too. Indeed, although the American’s cited the noble causes of ‘discovery’ and ‘wonder’ as the justification for their Apollo Programmes, the scientific and military imperatives were just as strong – As were the propaganda benefits.
One strategic project could be a replacement for the Galileo Project, the European satellite-navigation system that intended to rival the USA’s Global Positioning Satellites. The Galileo Project is in crisis, and it needs to be either replaced or reinvigorated. OK, so it is not quite an Apollo Mission… but the creation of a strategic technology that can be used in peace-time as well as war, seems to be a more imaginative side-step for a country like Britain, and certainly a better use of our rocket fuel. Once we’ve succeeded in that arena, we can set our sights higher, to the stars.
One of the reasons for being at the various Edinburgh festivals is the opportunity to get ahead of the ‘curve’ on films, plays and actors that are destined to become successful in the coming year. I saw Murderball before everyone else, and it was festival audiences who provided a seal of approval for Black Watch before it went on a lengthy tour of Scotland, England, and television.
This year the gem was In the Shadow of the Moon, a documentary about the Apollo Project. It was actually made by a British film-maker, but features interviews with several of the astronauts who journeyed to the moon. It also includes some newly-released and restored NASA footage of the voyages. It is due for release in the US where it is set to be a success, one which encourages a little bit of patriotism in a country that has been hit with a bout of Iraq-induced self-doubt.
Noticeable by his absence from the film is Neil Armstrong, who is a notorious recluse. This is annoying at first, but when one ponders the enormity of what he did, I think it is an unsurprising result. Who could resist grabbing him by the collar and shouting “MAN, YOU WALKED ON THE FUCKING MOON!” He has probably been subjected to that kind of hysteria for many years.
And in retrospect, Armstrong’s non-participation is a blessing, in that it gives the other Apollo astronauts a chance to shine (no pun intended). Michael Collins, in particular, explodes the notion that he was somehow “unlucky” to be left on the Command Module while Armstrong and Aldrin made history. The intelligent musings of Collins and the other astronauts on the nature of their heroism and how they dealt with the enormous pressure to succeed is what makes the film so inspiring – After all, they have experienced the nearest thing to a Total Perspective Vortex that humans can create, and the footage they brought back from the moon is a delight to behold, especially on a large cinema screen.
My favourite quote is from Alan Bean, the fourth man on the moon.
Now, I never complain about the weather. I am just glad that there is weather.
Though the funniest is Charlie Duke’s once-and-for-all put down to conspiracy theorists:
We went to the moon nine times. Why would we fake it nine times?
He has a southern drawl that makes it work. Wise, yet human.
Astronaut Edwin 'Buzz' Aldrin walks on the Moon, 1969.