A Very British Kneecapping
Photo by Lorne Thomson/Redferns
“We know of no spectacle so ridiculous as the British public in one of its periodical fits of morality.” – Thomas Babington Macaulay, English historian
Back in October 2008, while the global economy was disintegrating and the conditions for this fash-inflected shitshow we find ourselves in today were beginning to form, the British tabloid press had its collective hive mind on other matters. The tasteless broadcasters Russell Brand and Jonathon Ross had just played a mean prank on the Fawlty Towers actor Andrew Sachs, calling him up during Brand’s BBC radio show and saying nasty things about his granddaughter. It was a cruel and misogynistic segment, revealing the immature pettiness of the men who’d done it, but, really, it should quickly have been forgotten. It was not.
The next few days were quiet. The world kept spinning on its axis, albeit with the financial crisis sending things a bit haywire for the people on the ground, and, all in all, not much notice was taken of Brand or Ross. But then an article about their prank appeared in The Mail on Sunday. Britain, all of a sudden, spasmed. The article gained traction quickly, and one of the country’s “periodical fits of morality,” as the grandly named historian Thomas Babington Macaulay termed them in the 19th century, was induced. Outrage swept the nation, and a record-breaking number of complaints about Brand and Ross were sent to the BBC. Hefty fines were issued. Resignations were tendered. Many, many hands were wrung. It became the country’s biggest scandal and it stayed that way for some weeks. It is difficult to overstate how pervasive the story was.
Fast forward 15 years, and Russell Brand was again at the center of another, much more serious scandal. Multiple women have accused Brand of sexual assault, which he has denied, and court proceedings about the matter are ongoing. There has, of course, been a great deal of interest in the case, owing to Brand’s level of fame and the appalling nature of the allegations, but it is difficult to escape the feeling that the press have been less concerned about this story than they had been about the prank phone call he made a decade and a half earlier. This is, perhaps, entirely appropriate. These recent allegations are very serious and a conclusion to the court case is yet to arrive, so gossip and speculation are not what’s needed. But comparing the media reactions to the two scandals does illustrate something. There was a frenzied sense of righteous revulsion about the prank calls that, really, isn’t there in this more serious case. This is because a true moral convulsion in Britain must be provoked by something relatively trivial. It is no good to fret over genuine issues, but to inflate minor scandals and to ceaselessly fixate on them—that’s a grand national tradition.
A British fit of morality, though often self-consciously created by the press and politicians, can be a dangerous thing when wielded with purpose. It effectively destroyed Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership of the Labour Party, after he was relentlessly smeared as an antisemite, and it has recently pushed one of the BBC’s most popular broadcasters out of the institution. Gary Lineker, an English footballing legend, has for the last quarter-century or so been the leading figure in the BBC’s football coverage, and he is, by any reasonable standard, a political moderate by nature. But the man has a conscience, and he has proven that by his refusal to be silent about Israel’s crimes in Gaza. For that he has been hectored and smeared.