Greasy
Pole Looking forward to 2004
September 1904
Almost nine years have passed since Oscar Wilde was sent to prison at
the Old Bailey for the offence of sodomy. He and his friends were not
alone in their disappointment at the sentence because the judge, before
waving the famous dramatist down to the Court cells, gave voice to his
frustration that he was restricted to a sentence of only two years hard
labour which was, he snarled, “totally inadequate” for “the worst case
I have ever tried . . . a circle of extensive corruption of the most
hideous kind among young men”.
The judge did not bother himself that to criminalise
homosexuality as “hideous corruption” is a symptom of capitalism’s
inhumanity. Nor did he muse on the corruption that was partly
responsible for Wilde being in the dock before him. The dismay among
Wilde's supporters at his sentence was aggravated by the well-founded
suspicion that he had been sacrificed – arrested, charged, tried,
sentenced – to divert attention from somebody else. It was
obvious that the beneficiary must have been someone the authorities
were anxious to protect from exposure. Among what was then known
as the uranian community it was an open secret that Lord Rosebery was
as active a homosexual as Wilde. In fact the Marquess of Queensbury,
who had obsessively persecuted Wilde in retaliation for his
relationship with his son, had made it quite clear that if Wilde was
not prosecuted he, Queensbury, would ruin Rosebery by denouncing him as
another sodomite.
Suicidal
The nub of the problem was that Rosebery was not just a peer of the
realm and therefore an aristocrat who was supposed nobly to set an
example to the rest of us, but the Prime Minister in the Liberal
government. Before Wilde’s trial the blackmailing pressure from
Queensbury was so fierce that Rosebery – said to be brilliant, erratic
and unpredictable but obviously also a mite fragile – was fearful and
depressed to the point of being suicidal. Soon after Wilde was safely
behind the cell door at Pentonville and Queensbury’s fire had been
quenched, Rosebery’s health miraculously improved and, benefiting from
the corruption endemic in capitalist politics, he could continue
contentedly being Prime Minister along with his other distractions. It
was his bad luck that he did not enjoy coincidental good health and
high office for long because a month after Wilde’s trial the Liberal
government was out of power.
There would not have been the same concerns about
the man who – a couple of years ago – succeeded to the job of Prime
Minister, once held so tenuously by Rosebery. Arthur Balfour is another
with a reputation for unusual brilliance but he has never shown the
slightest interest in attaching himself to a female or a male. So on
that score, if not on others which should be of more interest to the
working class, he is safe. Balfour is known as an aloof,
self-satisfied man who is more comfortable in discussion of remote
philosophical and religious abstractions – the less relevant the better
– than in confronting the real world of poverty, disease, international
conflicts. At Cambridge he spent what was called a “scandalous” amount
of time watching or playing tennis and industriously built a reputation
for idleness and for intolerance of anything he assessed as ignorance –
but which may have been the very reality which he protected himself
from.
Contemptuous
To behave like that it helps to be an aristocrat with the proper
blue-blooded connections. Balfour went to Eton, his father and his
grandfather were Conservative MPs and, even more to the point, he was
the nephew of the late Lord Salisbury, who succeeded to the Prime
Ministership when Rosebery’s Liberal government was defeated in 1895.
Some years before that Salisbury, while taking an avuncular lunch with
Balfour, broached the subject of politics as a career for him along
with watching tennis and taking part in pointless arguments. At the
time it just so happened that there was a vacancy at Hertford, a
parliamentary constituency where the selection of the MP was controlled
by Salisbury because he owned the place. Balfour regards politics as a
kind of amusing game – clearly overlooking the unamusing, devastating
effect which political decisions can have on the lives of the useful,
non-aristocratic, working people in society. He was sure he could fit
in attending the Commons with his other strenuous activities so yes, he
would give it a try. In due course he was elected as the Honourable
Member for Hertford. Thus Balfour was another who has reason to be
grateful for the power of political corruption.
That when it comes to the ruling class blood is
thicker than water was demonstrated in 1878 when Salisbury, who was
then Foreign Secretary, made Balfour his private secretary. In 1885
Balfour was elected as MP for East Manchester; a week spent among his
supporters there he described as “loathsome but necessary”, which
perhaps meant that he had to spend some time in the slums of Ancoats or
Salford. This contemptuous attitude, which he usually managed to hide
beneath a mask of elaborate courtesy, surfaced again when he sneered at
the rising suburban and provincial Tories “with their vineries and
pineries” and in his comment that an industrialist who had what he
considered “civilised” tastes was “a rare avis”. All of this has
been ammunition for those critics of Balfour who see him as a pretend
politician who makes elegant speeches which do not contribute much to
the question at issue – not that it mattered if they did. It fits in
with the impression that he is an MP simply because it was the thing
for a blue-blooded Old Etonian to do.
Poverty
But in spite of his affected langour and detachment Balfour has handled
some weighty ministries, so that not too many of his Conservative
colleagues were offended when, as his uncle Salisbury ceased to be
Prime Minister in 1902, Balfour moved smoothly into the job. It will
not be the last time a politician has cloaked their rampant ambition
beneath a show of disinterest. Edward VII had just been crowned and the
South African War, with its nasty shocks for the British military, was
at an end. In some senses it was an abrasive conjunction of events as
the crowning of a new king encouraged some of the customarily stupid
jingoism at a time when the Boer farmers had uncovered evidence
suggestive that the global power of the British ruling class is in
decline. On the Continent Germany is overtaking Britain, for example
accounting for about 22 percent of world production of steel compared
to Britain’s 15 percent. In manufacture the respective shares are 17
percent and 19 percent. How long will it be, before British capitalism
regards Germany as a competitor too threatening to be assuaged by mere
diplomacy? We are told that the Entente Cordiale, settled in
April this year, is an instrument for peace as it re-assures France
that there is a buffer against the ambitions of Germany. Another way of
putting this is that the treaty lays out some of the issues over which
the next war will be fought.
At home the work of Rowntree and Booth has
illuminated the fact that the workers who cheered the coronation of the
new king often did so from the depths of poverty. Booth’s study of the
people in the East End of London found about 30 percent of them living
below what he set as a ‘poverty line’. These are people whose means are
barely sufficient for a decent independent life or, even worse, are
actually insufficient for that life. Rowntree’s report on the people of
York came to much the same conclusion; nearly ten percent of the people
were found to be in ‘primary poverty’, with means insufficient to
maintain merely physical efficiency, and another 18 percent are in the
slightly more manageable ‘secondary poverty’. Unemployment, which is an
aggravating factor in poverty, stands at ten percent of the working
population. These problems, with the suffering they cause to the
class who produce everything but own nothing of any consequence, are
the very stuff of capitalism and Balfour, for all his supposed
effortless intellectualism, has been powerless to affect them.
How long will capitalism endure? If it is still here
in a hundred years, what will the socialists of the year 2004 look back
on? They will review a century in which millions will have died in wars
or through hunger or avoidable diseases. A century in which the
contrasts of riches and impoverishment remain as stark as ever.
Whatever progress will be made in the technologies of communication and
production will have gone to further enrich the ruling class while
merely reshaping the poverty of the workers. And all of this will have
been governed by political leaders notable in history for only their
corruption, deceit and impotence.
IVAN
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