DIARY MAX HASTINGS
Nothing more annoys journalists than the spectacle of ministers of the Crown flagrantly defying the dictates of justice, as defined in the leader columns, because of an accurate Westminster perception that the public does not give a hoot. Almost all matters to do with security come under this heading. Governments act crassly or hypocritically or deceitfully. Fleet. Street froths at the mouth, and declares that it is not to be borne. But borne it jolly well is, because the democratic will as expressed in the opinion polls shows that not a single vote is won or lost by blunders over intelligence, which is regarded in East Cheam as a harmless game for overgrown schoolboys. The pay of members of Parlia- ment, on the other hand, is one of those issues on which the reverse principle oper- ates. Some journalists, including myself, incline to the view that if you paid MPs somewhat more than peanuts, you might end up with somewhat fewer monkeys in the House of Commons. But the British Public, whose contempt for politicians rivals that for the meejer, passionately begrudge every extra sixpence given to MPs. I know whereof I speak, because in recent weeks I have been reading the postbag at the Daily Telegraph on this issue. The usual line taken by our corres- pondents is that MPs are sufficiently for- tunate not to be taken out and hanged, and it is an impertinence for them to demand to be paid as well, for making such a mess of the country. Some of our leader writers, I fear, are of like mind. I was rash enough, at our leader conference one morning, to suggest that we might promote the case for Paying MPs more. After 15 minutes of withering scorn from all the others present (two of whom favour paying MPs nothing at all), I ran up the white flag. We Published a stern leader (written, of Course, by a former distinguished member of the House of Commons) telling MPs how disgracefully they were behaving. On grounds of decorum in a family newspaper, we left out some of the spicier insider details about how MPs fiddle their allo- wances and expenses. I still harbour a sneaking suspicion that the quality of Tory MPs might be improved by paying them a decent salary. Able members of the hard Left will go into politics without any cash incentive. But I am dismayed by the number of able Tory friends and contem- poraries who should be in Parliament, but are not, because they want to maintain a decent lifestyle, and have no other income. But the will of the people prevails down at the Telegraph. I know when I am beaten by the leader writers. And my instinctive mistrust of all politicians has been redou- bled by the disgraceful behaviour of the House of Commons in voting a pension for the widow of Lord Maybray-King, whom he married after he had stepped down from the Speakership. As long as MPs are seen to breach natural justice in their own favour, nobody outside the House is likely to waste much sympathy upon them.
have never been a particular fan of the London taxi, seldom less so than one morning a few weeks ago, after standing for an hour at the junction of Notting Hill Gate with various small children, attemp- ting to persuade a cab to stop. I wanted to go east, and it quickly became apparent that all the cabs, although proclaiming themselves FOR HIRE, were resolutely determined to go west. I started noting the numbers of cabs that ignored my hail. After a bit, I crossed the road and flagged one down. But as soon as I declared my destination in Knightsbridge, he pleaded insufficient diesel, and drove on. Then, at last, I saw a cab pointing the right way, and dragged my children into it. At the mo- ment we clambered aboard, he switched off his yellow light. 'I'm off,' he declared defiantly. I threw myself on his mercy, mentioning children, the rain, the likely imminence of world war. 'Out,' he said succinctly. 'I'm not moving.' I then made my most pompous and pathetic threat of the day: 'I am the editor of the Daily Telegraph and I shall report you for refus- ing to take passengers while showing your "For Hire" sign.' I couldn't give a stuff who you are, I'm not taking you any- where.' Back into the rain. But I was comforted throughout this saga of parental folk by the knowledge that I had the numbers of all five taxis. Revenge would surely be mine. I wrote a letter to the Metropolitan Police Public Carriage Office, describing the circumstances, and demanding justice. Back came an official letter bearing extraordinary tidings:
I
I am directed by the Assistant Commissioner to inform you that the driver of an unhired cab passing along a street is not legally bound to stop when hailed, as he is not deemed to be plying for hire whilst he is in motion. A cab compulsorily stopped by traffic signals or prevailing traffic conditions is, for this pur- pose, regarded in the same way as if it were in motion. The 'For Hire' sign has no legal significance.
Am I the last man in England to be unaware of this splendid piece of non- sense? The London taxi-driver is sup- ported by the law in deciding at his own personal whim whether or not he wishes to accept a passenger. When I am seated in the lifeboat after my cruise liner has foundered, and an arm reaches out of the briny pleading for aid to save itself from extinction, before lifting a finger I shall take pains to inquire whether it is the property of a hackney carriage driver.
We are all supposed to be tremendously careful about avoiding racial stereotypes, and making unkind remarks about other nations. But a recent trip to the Far East reinforced my conviction that, in the next generation, The Ugly Japanese will take over where The Ugly American left off in the 1950s as a focus for world- wide envy and hostility. One may laugh off the spectacle of hordes of Japanese businessmen cavorting around Seoul on their `Asian sex tours' at the same moment that in Japan there are serious proposals for testing foreign visitors for Aids, lest the wicked outsiders sully Japanese purity. But it's hard not be irked by the sort of tale I heard recently from a British executive working for a Japanese company. He described the ruthless conceit of his mas- ters these days, exemplified by a vice- president visiting recently from Osaka, who remarked smugly at dinner: 'The world economy is like a jumbo jet in flight, on which we Japanese are fortunate enough to be travelling first class these days.' It was depressing to hear a friend, just back from Burma, talk of an evening at a beautiful restaurant outside Rangoon, where a Japanese businessman was celeb- rating his birthday with a conspicuous display of drunkenness among a noisy, loutish crowd of colleagues. And I suspect that the difference between Fifties Amer- icans and Nineties Japanese will prove to be that 30 years ago, many Americans were deeply sensitive about their image abroad, and worked hard to improve it. But as Japanese economic might rolls inexorably onwards, nobody in Tokyo will give a damn what we all think.
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