24/07/2007 00:00:00
UK: =?windows-1252?Q?It=92s_not_what_you_know_or_who?=
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I’ve never smoked dope. There... the shameful truth is out. Confession
being the better part of valour (or something like that) it’s time to
make a clean breast of things, boot skeletons out of closets and own up.
I didn’t do drugs. I haven’t used cannabis. I’m not the Home Secretary
and now I know why.
I’m sorry. Truly, I am. Had I known the route to success, influence and
a chauffeur driven Jaguar was to be found in pot, ganja, hash, skunk,
weed – or whatever it was that went into those roll-ups enjoyed by so
many of this country’s decision makers and legislators – I might have
thought differently about best use of teenage leisure time and paper
round money.
But I didn’t. I was a girl who thought rules had reasons. When told not
to walk on the grass, I didn’t. I didn’t light it up and inhale either.
It was a silly, juvenile mistake. I realise that now. Jacqui Smith got
it right – she didn’t get to where she is today without breaking rules.
She experimented with marijuana as a teenager. I toyed with Pony, “The
little drink with the big kick”, and Consulate menthol cigarettes –
because obviously if they tasted of mints they couldn’t smell of smoke.
But Ms Smith’s illegal activities have led her to the top law and order
job in the land. My legal ones have put me out on the pavement like an
ostracised stray. Serves me right. I should have smoked dope.
David Cameron also alludes to dalliances with unlawful substances in his
youth. A tad mysterious about the whole thing, he avoids nailing the
subject on the head, preferring the enigmatic stance when asked if he
used something harder than cannabis.
But nobody could really expect a guy with a Hugh Grant hairdo to stoop
to demeaning straight talking, could they? Avoiding the issue goes with
his territory – or will when he finds one. Nevertheless, that
dilly-dally position of admitting to having done things of which he
couldn’t be proud (like adding lime to his lager, perhaps?) hasn’t done
him any harm either.
Clearly it’s not what you know – nor even who you know – but which rule
you choose to break that catapults you into the lofty, exclusive club of
high achievers. Pretending you’re old enough to get into the cinema to
see The Exorcist evidently doesn’t count. Wearing a Wonderbra to order a
vodka and lime at the bar while still underage cuts no ice either. If it
had, I might have managed a shot at Culture Secretary, at least.
The chancellor of the exchequer, Alistair Darling has admitted to drugs
dabbling in his past – though I suspect he says so only to make himself
seem more interesting. The transport secretary, Ruth Kelly; the business
secretary, John Hutton; and the chief secretary to the treasury, Andy
Burnham have all done it too.
Skills secretary, John Denham, and the deputy Labour leader, Harriet
Harman, also admit they have broken the law by smoking cannabis.
Ms Harman said she did, when at university, smoke cannabis once or twice
(yeah, right) but added she had not smoked the drug since then: “I have
indulged in the odd glass of fine wine but not cannabis.”
She probably thinks that makes her seem a bit cool – though usefully
middle class enough to hold onto her Labour seat in the Commons. Wine is
the new pot, sort of thing – unless it’s a supermarket chardonnay, of
course. Don’t think so Harriet.
Housing minister, Yvette Cooper, and communities secretary, Hazel
Blears, have both previously admitted taking the drug in the past. And
now I’m thoroughly cheesed off because I think I’m the only person in
the world who never did and I can’t get past the idea that that’s why
they are where they are today and – well, I’m not.
Mumsy Hazel Blears doing drugs! Good grief! Even her! They’ll tell us
John Prescott took ballet lessons next.
It’s terribly disappointing to learn that growing up trying hard to
behave yourself, to make elders and betters proud of your attempts to
resist stepping wide of the straight and narrow, was all one huge waste
of time and effort. It’s a let down to discover too late that the
Brownie points you expected all went to the naughty kids who had a
better time... even though they don’t remember it as well as they’d like to.
Elders and betters sold us cider at the off-licence on youth club nights
and cigarettes singly (two matches included) at the sweet shop beside
our school gates – and made us promise not to do drugs. Now the
politically correct health police are chasing and punishing us for doing
as we were told and laughing out loud about their own fun, doping up to
the gills on the sly.
It makes honest, logical sense only as a first rate con trick, pulled by
the “getting away with it” gang. Confessions in long distance retrospect
mend little now. They simply add weight to the 11th commandment... don’t
get caught.
Are we bothered that everybody who is anybody with the power to tell us
all what to do is now proudly wearing the badge of the transgressor and
rubbing law-abiders’ noses in tough luck? Not especially. Some of us had
started wondering ages ago what it might have been that boiled their
brains in youth.
Skeletons fall from cupboards all the time. The rattle of old brittle
bones as they tumble into the open entertain for very limited periods.
Then we realise our laughter can be but a fleeting thing. Soon the
depressing truth hits home – that there’s rarely any truth in politics.
Do we think less of them for keeping their secrets while climbing
slippery slopes to that moral high ground from which they issue their
edicts of virtue, good health, best practice, respect – and punishment
for getting caught? Not me – but if truth be known, I couldn’t have
thought less of them if I tried.
Now in service to a prime minister insisting that no spin is the new
spin, they’re competing to find sins more murky than the next man’s to
curry favour with the boss and win close connection with the man and
woman at the ballot box.
Fine, you go for it, boys and girls. Let’s hear what you did behind the
bike sheds, what you traded at your teen discos, which illegal
substances you shared in your halls of residence or passed round at your
uni parties. Just don’t expect too much political capital to be made
from your youthful misdemeanours because your almost boastful
confessions leave but one lasting impression.
You’re a let-down. Your proud and loudly declared membership of the
getting-away-with-it gang negates so much of your own generation’s
belief in what seemed to be right at the time – that the straight and
narrow led to its own reward, that saying no to drugs was commendable,
that respect for the wisdom of elders and betters was a given.
What you have taught us confirms what we suspected you’d been working
towards all the time you were clawing your way up that slippery slope of
self-seeking ambition.
Finally you achieved it. Finally we understand. Your rules have no
reasons. They never did have. They were made to be broken by those with
success and privilege in their sights.
Now try convincing urban estate kids your rules are good for them but
your drugs are not... you can’t can you?
http://www.newsandstar.co.uk/opinion/viewarticle.aspx?id=523835
Source:
http://www.ukcia.org/news/shownewsarticle.php?articleid=12730
Author:
News and Star: UK via UKCIA
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