I blame the scapegoats (36 page)

6
June 2003

'Cinque
. . . vier . . . tres . . . two . . . un! Nous avons eine lift-off!' Agreeing
the language for the countdown of the European Mars Express was always going to
require a degree of compromise. During the research period they realized that
the rocket would actually be too heavy to get off the ground unless they got
rid of that manual printed in all thirty-seven European dialects. But in the
end this week's launch was a magnificent example of European co-operation and
every country agreed on one thing: that it was their own scientists who had
made the greatest contribution to this success. What's more, this milestone
shows that Europe now rivals the United States when it comes to space
exploration. 'The idea that European rocket technology is not as advanced as
the Americans' is a patronizing slur,' said the chief scientist as he stood the
rocket up in the giant milk bottle before lighting the blue touchpaper with
his little glowing joss stick. Then as Beagle 2 roared away into the night sky,
TV science correspondents ended their reports by wondering if we would finally
discover the answer to that age-old question, 'Is there life on Mars?' And back
in the studio the editor shouted, 'Okay - and cue track 3, side one of
Hunky
Dory
by David Bowie!'

For centuries mankind has been fascinated by
the possibility that life might exist on our neighbouring planet. 'Earth and
Mars exchanged material in the early days when life was forming on Earth,' said
Mark Adler of the US space agency this week. 'Was Mars part of our past? Maybe
we are the Martians!' he added, at which point people edged away from him
nervously, trying not to make eye-contact. There was a surge of speculation
about life on the red planet in the 1950s, mostly involving low-budget
black-and-white films with wobbly sets, papier mache masks and thinly veiled
allegories of the threat of communism. Then the first unmanned craft landed on
Mars in the 1970s, an era which set the standard for the technology and the
scientists' fashion sense. But when Beagle 2 touches down in six months' time
the search for evidence of life will begin in earnest. A special robot has been
programmed to roam around the planet turning over rocks and then going all
squeamish when lots of little creepy-crawlies scurry away. If the European
space probe does in fact discover some form of life on the planet, then Mars is
expected to join the European Union in 2006. 'Take me to your leader!' the
Martians will say and we'll have to explain that there is no overall leader as
such, nor any formal constitution as yet, but greater economic and legal
harmonization has been achieved outside a federal framework. Of course, any
life forms that may be discovered are not expected to be very intelligent, but
to have the IQ.of an amoeba or someone who sends off money for a genuine piece
of Martian space rock as advertised on the internet.

This
ought to be a mission to inspire our imaginations, but there are plenty of us
on the left who are instinctively cynical about any sort of technological
breakthrough. And this because, underneath it all, there's a vague suspicion
that all science is somehow a bit right wing. That everything from double
Physics on Thursday afternoons to man landing on the moon is the sort of nerdy
boys' stuff that ought to be automatically sneered at by any self-respecting
old leftie. Never mind that science has brought us the cure to countless
diseases and clean water and warm homes and laser-jet printers that work almost
50 per cent of the time; the bottom line is that the kids who wanted chemistry
sets for Christmas were not the ones wearing 'Rock Against Racism' badges or going
on the CND marches; indeed they could probably only see nuclear explosions as a
fascinating cosmic phenomenon. So for generations on the British left there has
been a lazy hostility to any major scientific achievement, whether it was
cloning a sheep or keeping Margaret Thatcher's hair fixed in place.

'What are they going to Mars for? They should
give that money to the health service!' we say.

'But this project is
being paid for by business sponsorship . . .'

'Oh, typical! They're
even privatizing space now!'

But we should fight our cynicism about the
motives for this mission; we should not use space exploration as another stick
with which to beat our governments. I for one look forward to the day the probe
begins to burrow beneath the surface of our neighbouring planet, seeing what
lies beneath those far-off Martian rocks and craters. In any case, they've
looked everywhere else for Iraq's weapons of mass destruction and this is the
last place left.

13
June 2003

Hans
Blix had never planned to be a United Nations weapons inspector. But when he
filled out one of those multiple-choice questionnaires at school, ticking off
all his interests and qualifications, that's just what came out of the
computer. His sister got 'nurse', his brother got 'engine driver' and Hans got
'United Nations weapons inspector'. That'll teach him just to tick all the
boxes at random as a joke.

Hans
Blix is stepping down from his controversial post at the UN, but just before he
packs away his souvenir Baghdad shaky snow scene he has broken with the usual
niceties of diplomatic language to attack the current US administration.
Claiming that he was smeared by 'bastards' within the Pentagon, he added that
there are hawks within the Bush regime who would like to see the United Nations
'sink into the East River'. 'I believe that there were consistent efforts to
undermine me,' he told reporters, as Donald Rumsfeld stood behind him tapping
his forehead and miming that Hans had gone completely gaga.

Hans's
leaving card is already being passed around the Pentagon and one or two of the
comments certainly reveal a slight hostility towards the retiring diplomat.
'Sorry you are leaving the United Nations, Hans. THAT'S IF YOU CAN FIND THE
GODDAM DOOR TO YOUR OFFICE!!' or 'Hope you like your present, Hans, though I
expect you'll get a bigger one from your buddy Saddam.'

Since he first went out to Iraq with his
Observer's
Book of Weapons of Mass Destruction
Hans Blix found
himself to be a target for both sides in the dispute. Republican hawks felt
that Blix was not doing his job properly because he failed to exaggerate the
threat posed by Saddam Hussein. If they'd had their way he would have gone into
the Baghdad marketplace urging reporters to wear helmets and protective
clothing before they approached the fruit and vegetable stall. 'Look at this -
a weapon of mass destruction cunningly disguised as a grapefruit. Plus anthrax
cluster bombs in the shape of bananas. And look at these blackcurrants; if
thrown at someone with sufficient force these could ruin a perfectly good white
shirt.'

Meanwhile the Iraqi government said that Blix
was 'a homosexual who went to Washington every two weeks to receive his
instructions'. This is of course completely untrue. His office was in New York.
Blix says that he used to laugh off all these various smears when he told his
wife about them, but constant attacks can get to you eventually.

'Darling, did you
find the TV remote control?'

'LISTEN, I HAVEN'T FOUND IT YET, ALL RIGHT!!'
he snapped. 'It's not under the sofa cushions or behind the telly. I think it
may have been destroyed or buried in the desert somewhere.'

With
only a few weeks before he steps down, the United Nations has just set up a
committee to organize Hans's leaving party and they are expected to publish a
preliminary 500,000-word feasibility study in 2009. Bush is looking forward to
Blix's retirement because he is planning to combine the event with a surprise
leaving party for the rest of the UN staff as well.

'Leaving party? I
didn't know we were leaving?'

'That's the
surprise!' says George.

For
2003 is the year that the United Nations died. The most revealing thing about
Blix's interview is his assertion that the Bush administration saw the UN as an
alien power. There is no place for the UN in Dubya's new world order and
henceforth the United Nations will be bypassed or disregarded. To get a sense
of the crisis you only have to look at the last debate in that famous chamber:
Motion 762/a - 'Is the United Nations being ignored?' Well, what does the
American representative have to say about this?

'Er, he's not here,
Mr Chair - he said he had some shopping to do.'

'Oh. All right, what
about the British delegate?'

'Er, well, he's not
here either. I think he's carrying the shopping . . .'

The
last few remaining delegates never heard any of this anyway; they were trying
to surpass their high scores on 'Snake' on their mobile phones.

With
the UN being ignored to death, Dubya's secret plan will have worked and the
organization will be formally wound up. Hundreds of unemployed translators will
be cast onto the streets of New York, saying, 'Excuse me, can you spare some
change please? Excusez-moi, avez vous de la monnaie? Scusi, posso avere dei
soldi per favore?' And brash posters will be slapped all over the historic
building that offered the world so much hope in 1945. 'United Nations - Closing
Down Sale! Everything must go! International law, global security and US
accountability! We've gone crazy! Third World aid - slashed! Development
programmes, going fast! Hurry, hurry, hurry! It's the biggest sell-out in
history!'

20
June 2003

A
few months back a subcommittee of MPs was given the important job of researching
the effects of twenty-four-hour drinking. Pretty soon it became apparent that
they'd slightly misunderstood their brief, as they staggered back into the
Culture Secretary's office singing 'Dancing Queen' by Abba and trying not to
giggle when Tessa got all cross.

'I tell you what, Tess, you're a fit bird.
No, seriously, if I wasn't already married, you and me . . . Hang on, I think
I'm going to be sick.'

'You were supposed to be taking evidence.
Didn't you talk to anyone?'

'Actually yeah, we talked to this bloke Brian
in the Rose and Crown, and he reckoned that Hitler, right, well Hitler was
working for MI5 all along. Have you got any beers in the fridge?'

Yesterday
the Licensing Bill progressed to the House of Lords and very soon public houses
will be able to stay open all hours of the day and night. Pubs will introduce
the 'Breakfast Special': a can of Tuborg Extra Strong Lager in a brown paper
bag for anyone with missing teeth and a gash on their forehead. No longer when
the film ends at 10.55pm will you feel the urge to climb over that film buff
who sits there watching all six minutes of credits.

The concern had been that the old hours
brought problems of drunkenness and violence on the street at a particular time
in the evening, but now this will be able to continue all night long. The bill
also tightens up a loophole which had made it legal for under-eighteens to
still buy alcohol on planes, which had often meant that there was none left for
the pilot. The Licensing Bill is a pre-emptive step to stop all-out war
breaking out between drinkers and bar staff at twenty past eleven. For years
tension has been building as publicans adopted a new policy of 'shock and awe
chucking-out time'. At one second past the legal drinking-up period, relaxed
drinkers witnessed all the candles suddenly being extinguished and 4000-watt
blinding arc lights being activated as all doors were wedged wide open and an
arctic wind machine was turned on. Any hope of a last sip of your beer slipped
away as weapons of mass disinfectant were sprayed over all the tables.

But this new bill should not just limit
itself to the hours that bars are open; it should include a w
^r
hole
raft of reforms to Britain's public houses. Apart from the obviously annoying
things like unfunny new pub names and tellies left permanently on in the corner
of the bar, we should also demand the banning of novelty signs on the toilet
doors saying 'Sires' and 'Wenches'. No more Motown's Greatest Hits endlessly
played on a tape loop and the abolition of the abbreviation 'n' instead of
'and' on pub menus. I always get a strange look from bar staff when I make a
point of asking for the chicken pie AND chips, please. And names of British
beers also need reforming; for some reason they always evoke Tolkein, the war
and pre-decimal currency: 'Olde Baggins Bulldog Stout', 'Dragon's 80 Shilling
Spitfire Ale', 'Olde Imperial Beardy Bitter', 'Big Fat Boring Bastard Ale'.