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  Rab McNeil
Rab McNeil
rabmcneil@holyrood.com
Rab McNeil

Deckchair shuffle

9 November 2009

Deckchair shuffleIAIN Gray’s reshuffling of his Labour front bench reminds us of the way in which life for politicians differs markedly from life for normal people. “Reshuffling” is such an odd word, at least when applied to human beings.

It makes them sound so malleable: “Yes, I’m going to shove you, mister, over there. And I’m going to squeeze you, madam, in here. And I’m going to put you, sonny, under that.” There are also, of course, echoes of cardplaying and the possibility that the shuffler is taking a wee gamble. Still, it’s only power in Scotland we’re talking about, so the stakes ain’t all that high.

Iain’s reshuffling wasn’t all that radical, but it did remind us that, at the highest level of politics, even Scottish politics (ie the highest level of the foothills), you have to be pretty adaptable. You never know what you’re going to be in charge of next: the economy, health, all the nation’s houses. There isn’t even an interview. It isn’t like normal people applying for a job. You don’t have to swot up on the subject or anything. You don’t get called in to answer questions.

“So, what do you know about the environment?” “Is that the big green thing?” Top politicians don’t even have to go through the humiliating agony of asking former colleagues to write them a reference.

I must mention a splendid one, written for me by my good friend, Stewart Kirkpatrick, former editor of scotsman.com. It began: “Rab’s kleptomania and drug-taking have declined markedly since his conversion to radical Islam.” No wonder I’m still scrabbling around at the margins of the economy.

Nor do politicians have to endure the exquisite lunacy of filling out application forms. Here, you’re expected to waffle on at great length, even for press-related jobs, where the newspaperman’s instinct for brevity counts for little. In one job application, I was even told that my answer to question three – “F*** knows” – needed fleshing out a little.

But I had answered the question honestly.

That was my first mistake.

In speaking thus, I do not wish to cast aspersions on the noble, if sinister, profession known as “Human resources”. And when I deploy the arguably controversial word “sinister”, doubtless I have taken a pudding and added considerably more eggs than necessary to it. Some of my best acquaintances work in human resources, but even they remember with fondness the less personal word “personnel”. It was consigned to the wordular dustbin as part of wherein New Labour’s New Britain saw everything repackaged. If you had to pick one identifying characteristic of the recent period it would be the need to rename everything, preferably like this: BolLocks.

But I ask you: “human resources”. Everybody thought it sounded horrible, and so obviously it became the norm. It conjures up the idea that we’re all being harvested by some alien power. By all means, have agricultural resources or financial resources. But human resources? Who are these otherworldly beings who designate the rest of us merely “human”? What do they mean by describing us as “resources”?

Even “asset” sounds better, despite the statistical, profit-and-loss pong of which it reeks. Talking of pongs brings us back to politicians. Surely, they are an asset to the nation, with their big suits and loquacious obfuscation?

But how can a politician – a mere mortal – shift from being in charge of the country’s transport one day to the entire economy the next? In raising such a peculiar scenario, I admit to a degree of hypocrisy. In the reporters’ pool, where I used to work, we had a poster on the wall which read: “Today, I am an expert in [fill in the blank].” However, as part of our training, we’d taken a course in “Bluffing your way through”, and usually managed to imitate some form of expertise – at least by the time of writing any article. The actual gathering together of information and informed quotes involved a willingness to forget your pride and ask really stupid questions. A politician, hounded every step of the way every single day, does not have that option. A politician can never say: “I don’t know.” I remember attending a press conference held by some scientists to announce something that, even to this day, my brain fails to recognise. One other reporter attended. The boffins had laid on a magnificent buffet and had already opened several bottles of wine, in the inaccurate expectation that journos were all big boozers. It was 11am, for God’s sake.

Obviously, I was already well plastered and couldn’t touch another drop.

When it came to the actual press conference, myself and colleague found ourselves facing a panel of seven brainy-looking bods. They outlined their project and then said: “Now, we’ll take your questions.” Between the pair of us, we couldn’t think of one pertinent thing to ask. In the end, we just said: “Do you think you could go over it all again?” A politician would have thought of something to say. They are consummate bluffers. You can reshuffle them over there, or stick them in front of that, and they’ll still give a decent impression of knowing what they’re talking about. Remarkable. They really are a wonderful human resource.

Related articles:

Politics and principles 3 September 2010
Hello voters 25 June 2010
Off the menu 11 June 2010
Life but not as we know it 28 May 2010
Magnetic result 17 May 2010


See all articles in this category


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