A business buddy hotline? More like another excuse for the rich to moan
So business chiefs' easy access to ministers is to be formalised. Cue the BP boss complaining his bin has not been emptied
Marina Hyde
guardian.co.uk, Friday 23 September 2011 22.30 BST
Is it a bad time to ask after the Tory initiative announced with much fanfare by Jeremy Hunt back in 2010, which promised a £1m prize in a competition to "develop an online platform that enables us to tap into the wisdom of crowds to resolve difficult policy challenges"? It seems to have sunk without trace. Nevertheless, these are encouraging days for those who wonder whether this government has the big ideas necessary to cope with the monumental policy challenges. Do consider a new initiative trailed in yesterday's Times splash – "Yes, minister: business chiefs get buddy hotline".
It is one of those stories that force you to check the date on the top of the newspaper, but it seems 1 April is still months away, and that Britain's top 50 companies really are to be given direct telephone access to ministers who will act as their "buddies". I suppose for those of us who assumed that this was how Britain worked anyway, it's nice to see the arrangement formalised. One assumes that acres of ministerial time are taken up with making rich people's lives slightly more easeful, be it David Blunkett lavishing hours speeding up the visa for his lover's nanny, or a coalition minister giving a buddy the heads-up on a future privatisation.
It's all the brainspawn of Lord Green, the trade and investment minister who used to run HSBC, and this line stands out: "Vince Cable, the business secretary, will act as what officials are calling 'an account director' to Britain's oil and gas giants Shell, BP, and BG." Most edifying. Had this system been in place in days of yore – that is, a few months ago – I assume David Cameron would have referred to himself as News International's "account director". Perhaps it could have been printed on his business cards: "David Cameron: Rupert Murdoch's account director (moonlights as prime minister)".
The big idea seems to be that big business bosses will tell government bigwigs what they need. Business investment will thus be boosted, and there won't be any conflicts of interest.
It's a sweet thought. Yet at the rare gatherings for movers and shakers against whose glass I have been allowed to press my nose, I have marvelled at important people's obsession with unimportant things. Faced with the chance to bend the ear of a bigshot, people – mostly other bigshots – instead buttonhole them about the most minor irritations. When he was HSBC chair, Green attended lots of parties where fellow guests whinged about late chequebooks and automated phone systems. I can picture Cable holding the receiver away from his ear as the BP boss takes issue with the rubbish collection policy in his area.
Even infinitesimally small people such as myself exhibit this tendency. A few years ago, the son of the then Israeli ambassador lived in the flat above mine. He was – how can I put this? – faintly unworldly. Thus far, he had managed to breeze through life without remembering very often that he had left a bath running, nor familiarising himself with the subsequent business of engaging tradesfolk to put right the petty malfunctions of household living. On one of several occasions when the drips started, I was fortunate enough to find him still at home when I banged on the door. Yet when he took my mobile number and promised to act at once on the problem, I was not wildly optimistic.
Still, a mere full day and several full buckets later, I received a call. On the other end of the line was a senior attache from the Israeli embassy. He understood there had been "an unfortunate incident" and he had the ambassador ready to speak to me. By way of background, it was during the 2006 Lebanon war, when Israel was bombing southern Lebanon in retaliation for Hezbollah rocket attacks. "May I put you through to His Excellency?" he inquired. I'm afraid by this stage I had quite forgotten the sort of party manners that see one invited to partake of the Ferrero Rocher. "The ambassador?" I queried stagily. "How very kind. Do you know, there are currently all manner of unfortunate incidents about which I would like to have a word with the ambassador, but oddly enough my sodden bathroom ceiling is not one of them. May I put this in words that even a senior envoy could parse for intended meaning? I don't need a diplomat. I need a plumber." Thus I squandered my chance for a hotline to the Israeli ambassador.
Ultimately, though, one can't help feeling Green's plan will founder on the irrelevance of most politicians, who appear increasingly incapable of affecting anything that matters. Indeed, since we are in the realm of personal experience, let me conclude by recollecting the time I bumped into Geoff Hoon at some event. Yes, I briefly entertained the idea of bringing up Iraq. But I realised I'd be better off ringing a call centre in Chennai and berating whoever answered the phone about New Labour's foreign policy decisions than doing anything so naive as imagining the secretary of state for defence had the first thing to do with any of them.
A business buddy hotline? More like another excuse for the rich to moan | Marina Hyde | Comment is free | The Guardian
A business buddy hotline? More like another excuse for the rich to moan
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