A good panic

In a speech given by William Gladstone MP, Leader of the Liberal Party, to the House of Commons on the 27th June 1888, concerning the proposed construction of the Channel Tunnel (which had first been proposed by Mr Ward Hunt in 1865) he made, inter alia, the following comments:

The right hon. gentleman says - and I have no doubt very truly - that there are serious objections raised by the military authorities against the scheme. Well, Sir, at the time I am speaking of, the opinion of the military authorities was in favour of the Tunnel. The two Governments did not act in respect of the Tunnel without consulting the military authorities, and those military authorities whom the Government had to consult were distinctly favourable to the Tunnel. But I think I may go a little further than that, and may venture to read, at least for the purpose of challenging contradiction if it can be challenged, a short extract from a very well-informed memorandum with which I have been supplied on the part of the promoters - and which is one which can easily be brought to issue. The extract to which I refer says - "It was not until the autumn of 1881 that any military opinion adverse to the Tunnel was expressed." Now, Sir, that is a remarkable fact. The Tunnel was then a scheme twenty years old. It had been discussed in every possible form. It had been the subject of much official correspondence, and it had received the assent of a number of Governments. Those Governments would not have assented, and did not assent, without the authority of the Military Department and the advice of their military advisers; and until the year 1881 these portentous discoveries which have taken possession of the mind and imagination of the right hon. gentleman, and, I suppose, of those who sit near him, were never heard of. Surely that is rather a staggering circumstance. And now I will relate the facts upon which the Government of 1881 and the following years had to base itself in dealing with this subject. At that time we find that the military authorities had commenced their opposition, and a great ferment began to prevail. A combination of powers was brought into operation. The literary authorities were brought to back up the military authorities. Great poets invoked the Muses, and strove, not as great poets in other times used to do, to embolden their countrymen by conjuring up phantoms of danger that were not fit to be presented to anybody except to that valuable class of the community that the right hon. gentleman has described in his speech as suffering occasionally the pains of sea-sickness. Then, Sir, the army - the military host and the literary host - were backed by the opinion of what is called "Society," and society is always ready for the enjoyment of the luxury of a good panic. There is nothing more enjoyable than a good panic, when that panic is based on a latent conviction that the thing which it contemplates is not in the least degree likely to happen. These speculative panics - these panics in the air - have an attraction for certain classes of minds that is in describable; and these classes of minds, I am bound to say, are very largely to be found among the educated portion of society. The subject of this panic never touched the mind of the nation. These things are not accessible to the mind of the nation. They are accessible to what is called the public opinion of the day - that is to say public opinion manufactured in London by great editors, and clubs, who are at all times formidable, and a great power for the purposes of the moment, but who are a greater power and become an overwhelming power when they are backed by the threefold forces of the military and literary authorities and the social circles of London.

The speech is worth a read in its entirety; however, what is of concern is the main cause of panic - that a potential threat of invasion would be occasioned by the creation of a land frontier, and further, that threat emanated from the French Republic which was not seen as being as stable and secure a government as the United Kingdom.

I cannot help observing that this speech of 1888 has a certain resonance today, in particular the part that I have highlighted in bold. It might even have formed part of any current liberal MP's speech (prior to joining the coalition) in reference to the current fear of terrorist attack. I do not seek to belittle of minimise the possibility of exaggerated and outrageous violent behaviour on the part of certain sections of the community, but there is a blindness caused by panic. That blindness turns people away from safeguarding the real freedoms and democracy that have been so long and bitterly fought for by all the peoples that have inhabited the United Kingdom. The seeds of the current convention on human rights were sown from Magna Carta. Those rights which the Americans so proudly proclaim in their constitution as the Bill of Rights were formulated in this country and abroad by British citizens. Those who seek to dispense with the convention on human rights by claiming it has no real place in British Law or that it gives succour to the wrong people, and seek to impose anti terrorist and security measures for our own protection, even though we may have to give up a bit of our freedom, are the panic stricken.

William Pitt remarked quite some time ago "Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom. It is the argument of tyrants, it is the creed of slaves" That necessity he speaks of is born of panic. Any infringements of human freedom, no matter how well intentioned, should be resisted.

Out There

Were you out there? In December of 1953 I was eleven years old and living in the banlieu south east of Paris. My family would go into the city centre so my parents could meet up with their friends - expatriates and émigrés from middle Europe either side of the so called Iron Curtain – and my brothers and I would go to the movies. That year a new form of film projection swept round the world. Cinemascope had arrived. The first film to be shown was “The Robe” a Technicolor extravaganza advertised as “The First Picture on the New Miracle Curved Screen. The opening in Paris was at the Rex Cinema at 1 Boulevard Poissonière. It had been closed for some time for renovations to install the new technology. The film attracted much attention and the newly refurbished Rex was as extravagant as the publicity. The ceiling was a replica of the night sky complete with twinkling stars, held up by walls mimicking the gardens of Babylon and Egyptian Temples. At least that’s how I remember it. The film starred a 28 year old Richard Burton and 24 year old Jean Simmons as the young lovers. Burton plays Marcellus Gallio a Roman Tribune sent to Palestine who ends up commanding the troops who crucify Christ. After the crucifixion, his slave Demetrius (played by Victor Mature) has hold of Christ’s robe, described as a good homespun cloth. In the course of the ensuing thunder storm following Jesus’s death, Demetrius cover’s Marcellus with the robe to protect him from the rain, promptly causing Marcellus to scream in agony at the touch of the cloth against his skin. He is of course sent mad, cannot sleep and suffers from nightmares when he does. Whenever he wakes from these flashbacks or hears the words ‘out there’ he cries out “Were you out there? Were you out there?” To the other characters in the film this is naturally evidence of his madness and instability; however, so far as the audience is concerned he was clearly feeling the guilt and awe inspiring power of the revelations made apparent by the touch of the sacred cloth. It is only a matter of time before Marcellus recognises the ‘the truth’. The story follows the classic Aristotelian unities of Peripeteia and Anagnorisis or reversal and recognition. Indeed, all the unities (imitation, purification, miscalculation, consistency of plot, character, thought, speech, melody and spectacle) are present.

 

Not that I was fully aware of this at the time, but what I was aware of (through the conversations of my parents with the expatriates and émigrés) was that one of the screenwriters, unaccredited in 1953, was the writer Albert Maltz. He was one of the Hollywood Ten who were fined and goaled for contempt of the House Un-American Activities Committee, and subsequently blacklisted from work.

Albert Maltz wrote an Oscar winning documentary entitled The House I Live In (1945), staring Frank Sinatra. A young Frank Sinatra is in the studio with a full orchestra. He records a take of "If You Are But a Dream," then breaks for a smoke. From the studio, he steps into an alley where he sees nearly a dozen kids chasing one smaller boy. Frank stops them, asks why, and they tell him it's because of the boy's religion. So Frank asks them if they're Nazis and explains a few things about America, blood banks, World War II, and teamwork. Then he sings "The House I Live In" for them. Off the lads scamper, and the kid Frank's saved gives him a look of gratitude (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0037792/plotsummary) There is a certain irony between the writer’s work and his own life which sort of jumps out at one. Writing is like that. There is so much stuff out there that touches us and makes us mad. “Were you out there?”