The parentage of the BBC was a marriage between the national despair at the pointless waste of human life for which the First World War was responsible, and the hope for a better future, something to which the brand new technology called radio might well make a significant contribution; at a time when mankind was as near as it had ever been to admitting that much of its behaviour since the invention of the steam engine and the Gatling gun had been disgusting.

 

So in the mad, sad twenties many of the very finest people (finest as in talented, finest as in idealistic) queued up to be involved in this new enterprise. They were sustained and supported by a number of managers, who counted beans, kept records, saw that whatever the creative workforce needed was provided, and considered themselves privileged to be playing a part in something so special.

 

Throughout its first fifteen years, the BBC did what it had set out to do. Nation spoke unto nation in a way that had never before been possible, art found its way into the humblest front room, as did entertainment, as did news, as did ideas, which travelled from one side of the globe to another instantly, effortlessly and without being in any way contaminated, except by static.

 

The BBC didn’t manage to prevent World War Two, but  couldn’t be blamed for that catastrophe. The blame belonged to the innumerable political ostriches which buried their heads in the sand for far too long, in spite of endless warnings about the facts of life in the world above the granular surface.

 

After the Second World War, it was a tribute to the importance of the communications industry (the media, as we call it nowadays) that its favours became much sought after by the world’s movers and shakers.

 

Whenever a revolution took hold, its first objective was the radio station, and whenever a government “restored order”, as the saying goes, the radio station was the first thing it “rescued”.

 

When television took off, the enthusiasm for media control increased and multiplied to a remarkable extent among revolutionaries and governments alike. In order to prevail it was necessary to control the means of communication, whether it was to spread great truths or great lies. The essence of the facts of life in this regard was that only a tiny minority of the men in the street actually knew the truth about what was really happening, anywhere in the world. The vast majority only knew what the airways told them. That principle is even truer today.

 

In Britain a succession of comparatively honest governments were uneasy at the existence of a media megalith with a mind of its own; it represented the possibility of a power in the land independent of government and with access to the minds of the electorate. So it moved the goalposts ever so slightly and ever so often, in a prolonged attempt to reduce the threat.

 

Governments achieved what they wanted, more or less, through their control of the licence fee (“Be nice to us, or we will starve you of money”), and by doing whatever they could (which was quite a lot) to ensure that the government-appointed top level of BBC management consisted of their friends.

 

This might not have worked, had it not been for another factor – the enormous increase in the size of the BBC. As radio and television became more and more popular, the corporation grew and grew. To some extent this meant more creative people, but that was peanuts compared with the increase in the number of managers required to keep the show on the road. And as the number of managers increased, so did their power and influence.

 

They were not there to create, or to idealise, or to be principled, they were there to service the juggernaut, and one of their major priorities could not help but be to keep their own jobs alive and kicking, with the promise of extremely handsome pensions at the end of a lifetime’s loyal service.

 

In real terms this meant a shift of power in the BBC towards a body of employees who wanted a work place that lasted forever. If that meant being amenable to the governors and to the government, it made sense to be so.

 

 It also meant that truth and principles and integrity became subservient to the priorities of people for whom those factors were not as important as they should have been. It was a bad thing in the days of honest government. Imagine how much worse a thing it became once government became addicted to tricks and scams and obfuscations and deceptions.

 

In that situation the good guys said “Up with this we will not put”, and were outvoted by the diligent beavers more concerned about their take-home pay and the pension pot at the end of the rainbow than about truth and integrity.

 

Hence, for example that ghastly scene at the beginning of the Iraq War. There on the nation’s television screens was a very senior BBC executive, and he was asked about a situation in which the government had behaved appallingly and the BBC had just about given the public the truth. He stood there, like a rabbit caught in the headlights, and his mouth moved but he could hardly speak.

 

Why was that? Because to tell the truth would be to rock the boat, which could mean trouble, and signal goodbye to his personal happy-ever-after, to which he had devoted a lifetime in the shadows and well below the parapet.

 

That is where the BBC is today.  

 

Could it be turned round? If the artists and idealists dropped everything and put all their resources into the struggle, they could rally the public and challenge the government. The public pays the licence fee, the public probably wants a high class and highly principled product. The government has no right to interfere in the flow of money which finances the organisation, simply in order to blackmail the BBC into spreading the government’s “line” on whatever happens to be going on.

 

So a determined coalition between public and the best elements of the BBC could turn back the clock, but the best elements of the BBC did not go into broadcasting in order to waste their lives fighting a grim and dirty battle against a grim and dirty government. And they cannot be blamed.

 

Is there a BBC Viewers Association? If there is, its  members might well be able to do something.  They represent the source of the money that pays the licence fee. They could put the government on notice:  carry on leaning on the BBC, and we’ll cut off the money stream. They could be more explicit. They could spell out the principle of a BBC which, in addition to producing a high-class service, is also charged by the public to keep the government under constant scrutiny and to blow the whistle whenever necessary.

 

Disrespectful? Certainly. The days when British governments were respected ended when they took up cheating. Nowadays governments deserve our deep contempt and suspicion, and we would be mad to drop our guard even for a moment. If, in time, the facts suggested that morality has returned to the corridors of power, we might be entitled to relax, but it might not be advisable, even then. Any way one looks at it, a BBC that works for the public rather than for the government would be a step in the right direction.

 

In the meantime, the BBC’s output consists of too little high class material,too much trash.  On the average morning BBC  One and Two is like an interminable car-boot sale. In the evening, the public is treated to freak shows, game shows, quizzes, endless cookery, interminable aspects of the property business, and an infinity of repeats.

 

What a waste of money, influence, talent. What a waste of potential.

 

Here Donec ends its first essay on the BBC (which  may, or may not, make sense), and invites its viewer to respond.