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From James Naughtie
A week or so which ended with a natural focus on the Rugby World Cup and the strange appearance of wallabies somewhere south of Paris (leading to the inevitable tales of sightings the length and breadth of Britain, and even the gory emailed picture of a dead wallaby in Oxfordshire) also seemed to pit the programme against the government again, or at least one minister.
But it’s worth pausing for a moment on the rugby. John and I have a studied indifference to England’s performance (for different reasons, you understand) at least in public. But it has gripped the office, and it would be a piece of absurd Scottish churlishness not to admit that I’ve been as caught up in it as anyone else and indeed – here’s the confession – that of course I supported England against France. I have no doubt that there were bars in Glasgow where a dreadful hush fell each time a Wilkinson kick went over, and the usual loutish assumption that it’s important always to cheer against England is widespread among Scots I regret to say , but I’m happy to admit that I share the office’s obsession with the coming final. This is not creepiness towards Kevin, though his dedication to rugby (and his consequent disparagement of what he might call the soccer code is well-known to us all). No, I find myself excited by the prospect of a proper final and a proper win. As a Scot, this is not something that comes along very often. So I’m waiting for Saturday, having managed to secure the day off to take a nice early position at my local pub (confusingly, a London Welsh stronghold), with excitement. I will be able to listen, of course, to a fellow Scot Ian Robertson, describing it all on the radio – Robertson who played a few splendid games for Scotland wearing very baggy shorts and who – this is a little known part of his history – was a sports master at Fettes School in Edinburgh where he coached a rather raggedy, gangly, long-haired person, known at that august institution as A.C.L.Blair. He won’t be able to get to Sydney because of President Bush. In politics, you make your bed and you lie in it…
The political excitement in the office whirled around Margaret Hodge’s head of course. I notice that in The Guardian, Polly Toynbee, a former BBC colleague, accuses us of having hounded the Children’s Minister over the story of what happened to a child abuse victim who asked for an investigation into what happened in Islington when she was leader of the council. Polly’s article was headed “Burn Her!” and was an assault on the programme’s pursuit of the story and the decision to publish the letter Mrs Hodge wrote to the BBC Chairman, Gavyn Davies.
Now, the decision to make that letter public wasn’t taken lightly and without discussing it with the chairman and the several other people in the BBC to whom it had been copied. There was no request that it should be kept confidential; it wasn’t marked “private”; it was written on ministerial notepaper. When a minister asks the chairman, the director general, the head of news, his deputies, and the editor of Today not to pursue a story, it is a matter of legitimate public interest – especially when it is accompanied by a personal attack on our reporter (accused of a witch-hunt), quite apart from the attack on the complainant which Mrs Hodge later felt did indeed deserve an apology.
The argument that we should not have broadcast the story seems to us here to be undermined by that apology. The statement from the minister’s office which effectively acknowledged that the attack was not justified makes precisely the point put by Angus Stickler’s report: that a man whom no-one doubts was a victim of terrible abuse was subjected to unfair criticism when he tried to press for a proper inquiry into the state of the regime in Islington which let him down. Should the government have tried to stop us broadcasting that story? Opinions will vary, as the piece by a distinguished journalist like Polly Toynbee makes plain, but I have to report that consciences here are clear.
However, we know that you can’t deal with such topics without being accused of some kind of bias. Take my interview with Michael Howard, his first one as the new conservative leader. It was a friendly encounter, and revealing. I put it to him that he knew he had been “hated” by many people when he was Home Secretary – a fact which he was happy to take on board and discuss. Rather interestingly, he said he had reflected on his image and spoke rather tellingly about how he was approaching his new role. We all thought it was revealing and Mr Howard seemed to believe (then and subsequently when I ran into him somewhere else) that it had been an enjoyable encounter.
This didn’t stop me being portrayed in one predictable quarter of Fleet Street as having portrayed him as a hateful figure, nor of receiving a letter from a listener who clearly thought he was quite grand and well-informed which stated as a fact that I had said that “everyone” hated Mr Howard when he was Home Secretary. It’s the old rule. If you want a polite reply, make sure that if you are accusing us of getting our facts wrong, get your own right. It’s usually a good start.
Our motto here has to be “you can’t win”, a fateful label we share with those unfortunate wallabies up and down the country who’ll be throwing themselves with even greater abandon in front of cars at around eleven o clock on Saturday morning. We hope.
Jim
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