Author: Mark Hannam

Thirty years ago, I helped to run local election campaigns for the Labour Party in Hackney, the London borough where I still live.  There were no large sums of money involved and the technology deployed was very basic, principally pencils and sheets of paper on which were printed names and addresses.  Mostly the campaign was legwork, going door-to-door in the early evenings and at the weekends, speaking to potential voters, identifying those whom you judged most likely to support your party, and then persuading these good citizens to come out on polling day and mark their ballot papers for your candidates.   Turnout in London local elections is generally below half of the eligible electorate.  Boroughs are divided up into around twenty wards, and in mine, which had three Councillors, to get elected you needed around 1,000 to 1,200 votes.  Local politics can be just as hotly contested as national politics, and during election campaigns many of the candidates and activists would work long hours, fuelled by coffee and adrenaline, having convinced themselves that if our candidates were to win, a giant step would be taken towards achieving a happy socialist future; conversely, if the opposing party were to win, it would constitute a major triumph for the malevolent forces of reaction.  My role, as I understood it, was to remain calm and focus attention on the mundane task of ensuring that just over one thousand residents, who had been identified as sympathetic to Labour, knew the date the election was taking place, the location of the polling station, and the names of our candidates.

In 1993, one of our three Labour Ward Councillors was arrested and charged with fraud.  His crime was relatively trivial, claiming a couple of hundred pounds of expenses for travel to meetings that he had not attended, but British judges take the view that elected officials who defraud the public of its own money should be made an example and deserve full punishment for the crime.  He pleaded guilty at his trial and was sentenced to six months in prison.  He was forced to resign his seat.  I was then tasked with managing a tricky by-election campaign to try to retain the seat at a time when the local party’s reputation had been badly damaged.  Nonetheless, turnout at by-elections is often even lower than at the routine scheduled elections, and I was able to secure 757 votes for Labour’s new candidate, which was sufficient to win the seat once again, thereby launching the political career of the MP who is now the Chair of the Parliamentary Standards Committee.  After one more election cycle, my paid work commitments made it difficult for me to continue in my voluntary campaign manager role, and I passed on my responsibilities to others. 

Continue reading “On the level”

One of life’s great uncertainties is whether we will be remembered after our death, and if so by whom and in what way.  For most of us, the best we can hope is that friends and family will think kindly about us once we are gone.  To have made a positive impression upon and be well regarded by those who knew us best is no small thing.  For a few, records of whose words and deeds will be passed down to posterity, the expectation of lasting fame comes mixed with concern.  Will future generations remember them for the great things they achieved, or for some modest act with which they become associated?  Will future generations judge them more or less harshly than their contemporaries did?    Alfred (d. 899) the Saxon king of England, is now mostly remembered for allowing some cakes to burn, rather than his military victories, his legal and educational reforms, and his scholarship.  Richard (d. 1199), the Norman king of England, is celebrated today for his military prowess and piety, whereas the anti-Jewish riots which accompanied his coronation are largely forgotten.  Posthumous reputations are beyond the control of those to whom they attach.

Today, David Hume (d. 1776) is considered one of the pre-eminent British philosophers, whose work has greatly influenced not only the course of modern philosophy but also other important areas of social scientific study, notably psychology and economics.  During his lifetime, however, he was known primarily as an historian and essayist.  His History of England, published in six volumes, was widely discussed during his lifetime but not much today.  In a book published in 2008, the Hume scholar Annette Baier (d. 2012) wrote, I have been reading Hume now for sixty years, though it took retirement for me to really read his History of England.  Hume’s essays were also popular in his own day, ranging widely in length and subject matter, but mostly concerned with moral, political, and literary matters.  Last year, two hundred and eighty years after the first edition of the Essays was published, Oxford University Press issued the first, full critical edition – 1,200 pages in all – including a comprehensive account of the various published versions, with all revisions and deletions included.  Despite this new scholarly edition, they remain less familiar to most contemporary philosophers than Hume’s more overtly philosophical writings, which provoked widespread uninterest during his lifetime.

Continue reading “Death and taxes”

She sits, surrounded by an array of discarded objects, her head resting against her fist, her arm resting on her knee, her gaze resting on something, or someone, or maybe nothing in the far distance.  If she lived in the modern world, we might think that she was a bored student impatient for her studies to conclude so that her real life might begin; or a young traveller waiting for a much-delayed flight to a holiday destination; or, possibly, a refugee held in a temporary camp until the outcome of her appeal for permission to remain has been determined.  The young woman in question is, however, clearly not from our world.  Unlike most of us she has wings, and she shares her space with an undernourished dog and a dozing putto.  She sits – immobile – in a picture that was made in 1514. 

Albrecht Dürer’s engraving, Melencolia I, is on show at the National Gallery in London, as part of an exhibition that examines several major journeys the artist made during his working life.  I spent some time at the exhibition last weekend, my first visit to an art gallery this calendar year, and I enjoyed the chance to study the wide range of paintings, engravings, woodcuts, and drawings that have been assembled.  Central to the exhibition are a group of Dürer’s works that was either made or shown during his lengthy visit to what is now Belgium and the Netherlands, during 1520-21.  Antwerp competed with Venice (another city that Dürer visited) to be the preeminent port in Europe, and for a man with ambitions to sell his work to collectors all over the continent, it was an ideal place for him to showcase his skills as a draughtsman.  As well as painting works on commission, he was one of the first artists to seek commercial success through the distribution of multiple copies of woodblock prints and engravings, which were cheaper and easier to transport.  Melencolia I is one such work, and perhaps his best. The image is overly crowded for modern taste, but despite all the objects on view nothing much seems to be going on.  The picture is highly symbolic, but its meanings remain obscure.

Continue reading “Unpetrified”

From the beginning of the Western philosophical tradition, discovering how to distinguish what is true from what is false, what is good from what is bad and, therefore, learning how best to live, has regularly been described in terms of improved vision.  Ignorance, wickedness, and wrongdoing are associated with darkness, whereas truth, goodness and justice are associated with light.  If I combine this long-standing metaphor – knowing as seeing – with the metaphor I referred to in my previous text – life as a journey – then we might say that the passage from a state of blindness to a state of clear-sightedness, that is, life as a voyage towards ever greater enlightenment, is something that is desirable in-itself.

Perhaps the most famous example of these entwined metaphors is found in Book VII of Plato’s Republic, where Socrates describes the myth of the cave.   This myth expresses an underlying assumption found in almost all Western philosophical thought, that the pursuit of knowledge and wisdom is an uphill struggle, but one that is worth undertaking despite the effort involved.  It should be remembered that the context for this myth is Socrates’s argument that the ideal state would be justified in requiring those who had become enlightened to give up their time and energy to serve others in the community, by devoting themselves to good governance and education.  Enlightenment, Socrates suggests, brings to its beneficiaries duties as well as pleasures.  Access to truth is not just for the few, but for all.

Continue reading “Ignorance, part III”

Last year, I gave a friend a jigsaw puzzle as a present.  The image printed on the puzzle was taken from an Andy Warhol print made in 1970, from his Flowers series, and comprised four hibiscus blooms – coloured yellow, orange, and red – each with a pink shadow and set against a blue background.  Warhol took the image from a photograph, which he edited to create a flat, two-dimensional visual field, and then he printed it using a silkscreen to create a smooth inked surface on the paper.  Consequently, the five-hundred-pieces of the jigsaw are mostly pure colour, with no visible structure or depth, and the only clues to assist in piecing them together are the colour borders.   Completing the puzzle took some time.

My friend took appropriate revenge, insisting that I undertake the challenge of a four-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, in this case the image was a map of the world.  Although the information on the map is contemporary – it includes Bosnia & Herzegovina and East Timor as independent nations, for example – the design and lettering are old-fashioned, as if the map had been drawn by hand.  Much of the image, naturally, is taken up by large expanses of ocean in varying shades of sea green.   It took me some time to complete the edges, the outlines of the continents, and the map legend; filling in the interior of the continents was quicker, because of the multitude of city names; but the final stage, piecing together the southern oceans and especially the spaces between the Micronesian islands and Pacific atolls, required considerable patience and concentration.

Continue reading “Ignorance, part II”