The greatest
happiness of the greatest number is the foundation of morals and legislation; Jeremy
Bentham
It is better
to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates
dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, is of a
different opinion, it is because they only know their own side of the question;
John Stuart
Mill
Well
over 35 years ago I used to read a considerably greater number of books than I
do now. Partly it was because I had sufficient leisure time to sit a while and
voraciously devour the printed word, but mainly it was an insatiable desire to
intellectually better myself as a prelude to escaping the NE10 culture bunker.
Consequently, in the period 1981 to 1983, I was never away from the literature section
of Gateshead Central Library on Prince Consort Road, while I took the concept
of reading around the subject to world record levels. For my A Level English
Literature, the exam board were insistent on examined texts being chosen from a
set of common themes, rather than allowing a solid overview of the canon, with
a reading list comprising regular multi-era and multi-genre stops from Chaucer
to Hardy, as had been the case in years prior. Perhaps they were responding to
the decisions made by universities, or more likely polytechnics, to offer great
specialism at undergraduate level than had been the case. I’m not saying we
didn’t get a proper literary grounding, as the three options we were presented
with were all of intellectual merit: Revenge Tragedy (Othello, Faustus and The
White Devil), the Victorian Novel (Jane
Eyre, Hard Times and Jude the Obscure)
and 1950s Drama (Look Back in Anger, The
Birthday Party and Waiting for Godot),
the latter chosen instead of the Romantics, rather implausibly, but it does
seem somewhat perverse we didn’t study any poetry doesn’t it? Probably that’s
why I took it upon myself to become as well-read as I could, though in a
somewhat scattergun way.
Predictably,
I didn’t seek to particularly broaden or deepen my knowledge of Jacobean
dramaturgy or 19th century prose; my obsession became 20th
century plays, whether that meant those drenched in home grown Kitchen Sink
reality, continental surrealism in the tradition of the Theatres of Cruelty and
the Absurd, or transatlantic, dynastic tragedy by the likes of O’Neill and
Williams. Ignoring almost all other literary genres, I immersed myself in 6
decades of modern drama, as well as dramatic criticism by the likes of John
Lahr and Bamber Gascoigne. Aged 17, I was as familiar with the works of Stephen
Poliakoff and Barry Keefe as I ought to have been with Shakespeare or Keats,
for instance. Having abandoned my earlier veneration of existentialism, as
learned through the works of Camus, De Beauvoir and Sartre from mid-1979
onwards, I had allowed my head to be turned by the trenchant ideologies of the
likes of Albee, Brecht and Hare. No longer was it my ambition to craft taut,
enigmatic, cerebral prose; my stated aim in those heady, class conflict-soaked
days was to become a revolutionary dramatist and actor. Through the force of my
words, I wanted to write and to perform in plays that created the conditions
necessary to bring down capitalism. There was no doubt about it; the stage was
my calling and from it, I would foment insurrection. The future was written; I
was off to London, to Goldsmiths College or North London Poly, to take a degree
in drama and theatre studies. An actor’s life for me? I can scarcely credit I
believed it possible. And a playwright; goodness, dialogue is the aspect of my
writing I’ve always felt least satisfied with. In the end, I abandoned my
theatrical dreams having become transfixed by Ulysses around the 100th anniversary of Bloomsday and
headed to County Derry and a degree in Anglo Irish Literature. I’ve never
regretted that decision for one second.
But
back to the early 80s; when I wasn’t reading, listening to John Peel or
displaying incompetence with a guitar in my hand or football boots on my feet,
I did watch a bit of television in those bygone halcyon days of gore. Mainly
Open University sociology programmes, but also those stalwart pillars of
left-wing pretension, Arena and the South Bank Show. Regardless of
subject, I kept the diary clear on Sunday evenings, in the years before even
VHS, to immerse myself in the world of the arts, as refracted through the
reassuring, Cumbrian nasal tones of Melvyn Bragg. One particular episode in the
spring of 1981 involved a lengthy interview with John Osborne, who had just
published his first scabrous, vindictive volume of autobiography, A Better Class of Person. This was a
must-see, on account of the fact I was studying Look Back in Anger, though I’d already denounced Jimmy Porter as a
politically vacuous bourgeois dilettante to the utter disinterest of the rest
of my class.
My
contempt for the Angry Young Man of Straw seemed well founded, as Osborne
puffed complacently on fine Cuban cigars and guzzled expensive fizz in the
bucolic garden of his charming rural pile in Worcestershire, while issuing
bile-flecked tirades against all those, mainly women, he felt had wronged him.
Intercut with the interview, scenes from a revival of his ostentatiously
offensive, dramatic disaster A Sense of
Detachment seemed almost mild in comparison. Idee fixes characters, such as a pornography obsessed grandmother
and a drunken lout in a football scarf were Osborne’s ham-fisted attempts to embrace
Peter Handke’s doctrine of Insulting the
Audience.
It’s
not a play that has been remembered warmly, if at all. However I do wish the
supporters of Newcastle United would take a hint about how to respond to the
club’s recent on and off field events from the title of Osborne’s theatrical
turkey, rather than basing their reactions on the immoderate outbursts of the
characters therein. Personally, I’ve had about as much as I can take of the
dull, internecine, pettifogging, grandstanding, self-publicists who comprise a
significant proportion of the active NUFC social media profile and their
equally vapid foes from other clubs. So many of them hail from South Tyneside,
which appears to give them a sense of attachment based on insecurity regarding
their black and white credentials; so much so that they seek to justify
themselves by venturing some of the most illogical, foolish, immoderate
opinions imaginable about Newcastle United. Presumably their hope is that they
become recognised as the You Tube
channel and podcast generation version of shock jocks; a lamentable aim.
Over
the Festive Period, subjects as varied as: hospital visits to sick children by
Newcastle and Sunderland footballers, the murder conviction of Sergeant
Alexander Blackman, claims that the FA were either heroic victims of hectoring
FIFA intransigence in allowing England players to wear poppies on their shirts
in November, or corrupt persecutors with
an anti-NUFC agenda after banning Jonjo Shelvey for a volley of abuse directed
at Romain Saiss, not forgetting the relative demerits of racism versus
paedophilia have been used as kith and kindling for the vast bonfire of
vainglorious babel that is the internet. In short, the season of goodwill to
all men has been characterised by ranting, ill-informed tirades about crime and
punishment, with retributive attitudes, as ever, shouting the loudest.
In
some ways, I welcomed the Shelvey Tribunal’s verdict, as the abhorrent news
vacuum created by the fixture gap after Burton away on December 17th
had allowed the most farcical of non-stories imaginable to gain traction. As has
been the case for as many years as I can remember, players from football clubs
visit the children’s ward of their local hospital in the run up to Christmas,
dispensing gifts and hopefully learning a thing or two about humility and grace
while they’re about it. This year, as ever, cameras followed Newcastle’s
players into the RVI; no big deal, as it’s a story I’ve seen on the box dozens
of times before. The problem, according to some on Wearside, was that Sky cameras accompanied the NUFC party
this year, rather than local news reporters. Now if they were accusing the Mags
of wanting to score cheap publicity by affecting a more compassionate than thou
stance, I could possibly see where they were coming from; however, the
righteous red and white ire was occasioned on the basis that Sky didn’t film the SAFC squad when they
went visiting poorly bairns in the Royal Hospital. The suggestion was made that
Sky Sports and Newcastle United were
working in concert in an attempt at downplaying the deeds of the Black Cats, by
denying them a similar level of televised exposure. It wasn’t and to pretend
otherwise was simply the kind of pitiful, paranoid, point-scoring that does
nobody any good and devalues the conduct of players and involvement of both
clubs. Surely we’re all better than this? Then again, why am I surprised at
senseless, false outrage?
After
two losses in three league games by Newcastle United, all of which Shelvey has
been suspended for, resulting in Brighton taking over at the top of the table
and, more ominously, Reading closing to within 6 points with a game in hand,
the chucklehead tendency on Tyneside are questioning whether Benitez should be
shown the door (no really, there are some saying that). Such buffoonery has
enacted the emergence of a diametrically opposed response that inflexibly
denounces the nay-sayers, then goes even further by denying all supporters the
right to express any criticism or dissatisfaction, with Benitez or many of the
players, on pain of the Doubting Thomases or serial bedwetters being branded as
traitors to the cause. My favourite pataphysical morsel from this astringent
broth of stupidity, launched in the NE33 or NE34 postcode you’ll not be
surprised to learn, was the proposition that stated Benitez must not be
criticised because he has united all fans. Well, presumably apart from the ones
who are criticising him that is.
Sadly,
as the EU referendum and the evils of democratic centralism show, binary
thinking isn’t really thinking at all; it’s kneejerk, posturing populism. Our
glass doesn’t need to runneth over, though nor does it have to be dashed
against the rocks of despair and used to slash our collective NUFC supporting
wrists. Let’s be adults about this and acknowledge this wobble is a trifle
concerning, because Shelvey is apparently so indispensable as we lack any
effective replacement for him. Remember it is acceptable to say we’re
disappointed to have lost 7 league games thus far this season, that we feel
certain players have (temporarily?) lost their power to influence play or are
not really good enough now, never mind in the future, but that we trust Rafa
Benitez to sort things out, providing we get a few more bodies, of the required
standard to get us promoted, through the door and take the chances early on in
games to put teams away. Most of all, we would appreciate it if the Twitterati stop responding to every minor setback like
Macduff learning the fate of his family in Act IV of the Scotch Play.
From
my perspective, it seems that the one person who has been absolved of any blame
for the club’s recent dip in form is the very person whose absence is
presumably the main reason for it; Jonjo Shelvey. Back in November, I wrote a
piece after he’d been charged with abusing Saiss (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.co.uk/2016/11/moroccan-roll.html), in which
I stated I’d been reliably informed he’d described the Moroccan player as a fucking cous cous nonce. Now I was told
this, in confidence, by an impeccable source who has subsequently explained
he’d been “deliberately misinformed” by a member of the Fourth Estate. The
report of Shelvey’s hearing discusses the nature of his abuse of Saiss in
depressing detail and is in the public domain, so if you fancy depressing
yourself a tiny bit more, go and read it yourself.
Unbeknownst
to me, the huge(and I mean huge) number of hits that blog post got was mainly
on account of the immoderate social media reaction of someone I know slightly,
but who I didn’t think had a problem with me. Thankfully, after asking him
directly about it, he apologised most profusely for his conduct and I wish him
well for the future, especially in his search for a job. Statistics wise, I
suppose I should thank him for the publicity.
Of
course, to discuss the minutiae of the fallout from my blog is again to allow
Shelvey’s responsibility to disperse into the ether. This must not happen, as
the facts are clear: he was found guilty of using abusive language that was racially
motivated in content and did not seek to appeal against this decision, despite
claiming not to have used the terms ascribed to him. As far as I’m concerned,
the main problem with Shelvey’s refusal to accept any wrongdoing, much less to
display contrition, is that he has accepted the ban, which the tribunal said
was meted out because of the “clear and compelling” evidence against him,
rather than appeal against the decision. If Shelvey felt he was wrongly
convicted, remembering that in an FA hearing like this, the verdict is reached
on the balance of probabilities, unlike being proved beyond reasonable doubt as
in the criminal law, he should have appealed. As he did not, he must be
regarded as guilty, regardless of his futile protestations otherwise. Otherwise,
the whole basis on which the FA disciplinary code is founded, namely a modified
replication of the English legal system, is utterly invalidated. If we accept
democracy, in the shape of free speech, human rights and the right to a fair
hearing, we must embrace it in its entirety, rather than simply cherry picking
the elements we agree with.
At
this point, I feel it would be a good idea to suggest Rafa’s next 2 signings
should be a pair of top quality utilitarians; Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart
Mill. They may not adequately solve the creativity drought NUFC are suffering
in Shelvey’s absence, but they can explain the logic behind why he is banned,
as well as why Adam Johnson and Marine A are both in jail. As, in the absence
of any appeal, we must accept Shelvey is guilty, then the next question to be
addressed is what punishment is required in this instance, to maintain a sense
of order in society as a whole and the professional game of football in
particular.
Theories
of punishment can be divided into two general philosophies: utilitarian and
retributive. The utilitarian theory seeks to punish offenders, in order to
discourage, or deter, future wrongdoing, while the retributive theory seeks to
punish offenders because they deserve to be punished. Utilitarianism is the
idea that the morally correct act is the one that produces the most benefit to
society as a whole; therefore laws should be used to maximize the happiness of
society. The utilitarian theory is
consequentialist in nature, recognising that punishment has consequences for
both the offender and society and holds that the total good produced by any
punishment should exceed the total evil. In other words, punishment should be
firstly a deterrent to both the person who committed the crime from any
recidivistic urges and any others who may be tempted to follow suit. Shelvey
has been issued with a 5 game ban and fined £100,000; this should act a
financial and personal punishment for him, as well as acting as a deterrent for
others. The idea behind such sanctions is to ensure players think twice about
the possible consequences of their actions, both for themselves and the
potential victim, before issuing any volley of abuse at opponents.
However,
of rather greater importance is the notion of rehabilitation in the utilitarian
rationale for punishment. The noble goal of rehabilitation is to prevent future
crime by giving offenders the ability to succeed within the confines of the
law. Rehabilitative measures for criminal offenders usually include treatment
for afflictions such as mental illness, chemical dependency, and chronic
violent behaviour. Rehabilitation also includes the use of educational
programmes that give offenders the knowledge and skills needed to compete in
the job market and society as a whole. This is why Shelvey has been instructed
to attend an FA education course on cultural sensitivity, which to me is of the
utmost importance, as I hope he may come unilaterally to understand why his
words were unacceptable and deserving of censure. I think what he was found
guilty of saying was racist, but born of ignorance rather than malice; hence I
believe this punishment, rather than sacking, is an appropriate sanction.
If
Shelvey does embrace the fact he has done wrong, then perhaps Newcastle United
fans who have hung onto his claim he didn’t say the things he was accused of,
as their clear and compelling evidence of his innocence, will grasp the
complexities of the case. Similarly, the Sunderland fans who accused Newcastle
of hypocrisy, by seeking to compare the criminal wrongdoing of Adam Johnson
with Shelvey’s conduct and demanding a parity of retribution for these
unrelated cases, may begin to see the crucial illogicality inherent in their
demands, providing they haven’t already worked out which is the more severe
crime on the basis of the differing punishments handed down; 6 years in jail or
a 5 match ban. Not only that, Shelvey’s outburst was done in a fiery anger of
temper, while Johnson’s calculated abuse was characterised by the ice cool
demeanour under which he cloaked his grooming.
The
counterpart to the utilitarian theory of punishment is the retributive theory
which states that offenders are punished because they deserve it, as their
criminal behaviour upsets the peaceful balance of society. Retributive theory
focuses on the crime itself as the reason for imposing punishment, which can be
based on notions of vengeance that insist punishments should fit the crime.
Where the utilitarian theory looks forward by basing punishment on social
benefits for all, the reassurance of victims and the rehabilitation of
offenders, the retributive theory looks backward, seeking to provide the victim
and society with retribution and removing the human rights of the offender that
utilitarianism seeks to defend. Retribution, at its most elemental level, can
be seen as little more than cold-blooded revenge.
The
Shelvey verdict sparked a couple of further crazy claims by internet weirdos,
seeking to draw risible parallels with both FIFA’s fine on the home nations for
wearing poppies on their shirts and making official, choreographed displays in
the stands, in the November international series and the Ministry of Defence’s
treatment of Alexander Blackman. I’ve said this before, but ten years ago these
two were non-stories, before the Help for
Heroes veneration of militarism, as the first wouldn’t have happened and
the second wouldn’t have been regarded as newsworthy. For instance on May 8th
1995, the 50th anniversary of VE Day, we played away to Blackburn
and a minute’s silence was observed before kick-off. The only obvious display
of conspicuous patriotism I saw in Ewood Park that night was a small, plastic
Union flag, presumably from a child’s beach toy, held aloft by a bloke a couple
of rows in front of me. Before the referee’s whistle, he had taken the folded,
plastic A4 flag from his back trouser pocket, smoothed it out, then held it
aloft. Nobody commented; perhaps, like me, we were all a trifle embarrassed and
unsure what to say. Those days are long gone. At the current level of
nationalistic fervour, the 75th anniversary of the end of WW2, as
observed in football grounds, will be more akin to May Day in Red Square circa
1975 than anything so understated as a simple moment of reflection. Surely
we’re getting things out of proportion here?
As
a pacifist I don’t, won’t and never will wear a poppy, but it didn’t offend me
that England, Scotland and Wales did in the recent internationals. As an
Ireland fan, I thought the commemoration of the 100th anniversary of
the Easter Rising on shirts for the friendly with Switzerland was a wonderful
gesture of remembrance. I also knew as soon as I heard about it, that FIFA
would fine the FAI for the use of a political symbol in a sporting context,
which they did to the tune of about £5k. Now, that was back in March 2016,
while the poppy games were in November, long after FIFA had already turned down
a request from the English and Scotch FAs to allow a poppy motif on their
shirts. Furthermore, FIFA had warned the respective FAs not to make any
political gestures before or during games. This instruction was ignored and
inevitable fines, far higher than Ireland’s, were imposed. Let’s be clear about
this; the reason for that was to punish the two associations for ignoring a
clear instruction, not for commemorating the sacrifices of those who had
bravely fell in fray. Now the choice is clear for the panjandrums at both St.
George’s Park and Park Gardens; either pay up, having made your point, then put
forward a resolution to FIFA, ask for them to clarify the regulation regarding
political symbols, or fail to pay the fine and get kicked out of international
football, like a Sunday pub side obtaining a sine die ban until they pay off the money they owe for yellow cards.
Obviously, the account, as well as the dust, has been settled, though I do find
it deeply depressing how, in the minds of the ultra-Brexit new nationalists,
the FA were able to go from being bastions of poppy armband wearing, patriotic
fervour, to contemptible, politically correct witch finder generals when it
came to punishing Shelvey.
The
craziest of all opinions was the one comparing the fines the English, Scotch
and Welsh FAs had imposed on them for wearing poppies with the case of
Alexander Blackman, but not in the way you’d imagine. As has been pointed out, the home football
associations all knowingly broke FIFA rules, by displaying what could be
regarded as political symbols in their stadia, while Blackman himself admitted
immediately after the murder of an the Iraqi civilian that has caused his
incarceration, "I just broke the Geneva Convention." Therefore, it
would logically seem that guilt is the common factor; au contraire in the Twittersphere.
Apparently what binds the home FAs and Alexander Blackman with either Jonjo
Shelvey or Adam Johnson, depending which football team is forced to endure the
ludicrous patronage of the terminally hard of thinking, is that they are all
victims of tragic miscarriages of justice and political correctness gone mad.
Now considering Blackman has had his sentence for cold-blooded retributive
murder reduced from a fairly modest 10 years and has another appeal pending, I
think he has been treated remarkably leniently when compared to a common or
garden killer in Civvy Street. One wonders just what the hell Stuart Mill and
Bentham would make of such illogical, anti-syllogisms. For a start, they’d be rightly nonplussed by
the insistence on finding points of commonality between football and military
invasions. Presumably they’d then suggest the world would be a much better
place if we all shut up and did some thinking, before attempting to comment
from a slightly more informed perspective than is the norm these days.
