Why that joke isn’t funny any more
One of my favourite jokes from years gone by involved a lion tamer, a nun and half a bag of self-raising flour. Even then, and we’re going back two decades or more, it was near the knuckle – but guaranteed to raise contortions of laughter.
It seemed harmless enough but nowadays it could breach a number of laws in Scotland including breach of the peace and the Offensive Behaviour at Football Act. I’m not sure about food hygiene regulations.
Suffice to say, I’m probably a bit of a dinosaur in this area and the joke is never to be repeated. Just as harsh is the public opprobrium that meets any breach of the norms of good taste in this viral age that can result in instant and widespread condemnation. And of course, that’s entirely right.
Times change, as do the boundaries of acceptability. But the sharpening of sensitivities struck me when Alex Salmond found himself in the firing line after his opening Edinburgh Festival Fringe show. He made a risqué quip during Sunday’s show, reminding his sell-out crowd at the Assembly Rooms he’d promised them First Minister Nicola Sturgeon, Prime Minister Theresa May and US First Lady Melania Trump as guests. “Unfortunately I couldn’t make any of these wonderful women come” – at this point he was interrupted by a mock comedic drum roll. Cue feigned indignation from Salmond, who insisted he was going to say “come to the show”.
The anecdote seemed to prompt laughter and cringes in equal measure from the audience of 350, but little sign of offence. Perhaps that’s understandable given they were pretty much all independencesupporting loyalists.
Mr Salmond’s opponents took a more solemn approach, insisting his comments had to be taken seriously. Not only were they “degrading” to female political leaders, they were sexist and set a “horrendous” example to young men.
Of course much of this is the customary knockabout we’ve come expect in the goldfish bowl of Scottish politics. If similar comments had been made by Jimmy Carr or some other custodian of our late night television screens, it’s doubtful it would have prompted the same kind of response.
Of course Mr Salmond is not a late night TV host and as a former First Minister who changed the face of Scotland will always have to accept an element of scrutiny that never disappears. Talat Yaqoob, chair of the Women 5050 campaign, saw the joke as an illustration of the “vast sexism” women face in Scotland when they’re trying to enter politics. Women still account for barely a third of MSPS while just one in three candidates were women at Scottish council election earlier this summer. So this is clearly a substantial issue.
Perception is everything when it comes to encouraging greater inclusiveness. Newspapers and journalists, of course, should be the last to complain about a good political row as it’s invaluable copy for filling newspapers and web pages.
Ms Sturgeon was quick to defend Mr Salmond, insisting he’s no sexist – although maybe he’s not always as funny as he thinks he is. “Perhaps this was a joke that belongs in the Benny Hill era,” she said.
In the Twitter age, it seems sensitivities over such issues are beginning to harden. It’s partly down to the fact that information can be disseminated around the globe in an instant – but has this also served to sharpen our attitudes? Ms Sturgeon herself was at the centre of a sexism storm last year when the then Labour leadership candidate Owen Smith came under fire after posting a picture of a jar of gobstoppers and suggesting it was the “perfect present” for the First Minister. The implication was that she should be quiet, but the situation was further inflamed when he tried to play down the incident by describing it as “political banter”.
The consequences of such gaffes can be terminal. Earlier this year, Uber’s David Bonderman was forced to stand down from the board of the technology giant after another attempt at “banter” fell flat. Responding to an observation from fellow board member Arianna Huffington that where one woman is on a company’s board it is more likely to lead to a second, Bonderman said: “Actually what it shows is that it’s much more likely to be more talking.” And this was during an all-staff meeting at a firm which was battling to rid itself of a culture of sexual harassment and discrimination. The venture capitalist did later apologise.
As technology and social media exert an ever-tightening grip on our everyday existence, it seems such attitudes and behaviour will increasingly fall under the microscope of the new virtual court of public opinion. News websites chasing “hits” know exactly the kind of buzzwords that will generate interest. Sexism, racism, sectarianism rows – all sure to get the masses posting – are rigorously pursued.
Social media has been welcomed by politicians who see it as an ideal way to enjoy a more direct contact with the public by avoiding the filter, dare I say scrutiny, of more traditional platforms, such as TV and newspapers. Sometimes, in the political realm at least, it can seem like a limited group of converts preaching to each other. And given events of the past year or so, surely that kind of disconnect must be viewed with trepidation. Look at the swathes of Middle England who felt left behind political elites and voted for Brexit. And across the Atlantic, it was blue-collar America who voted Donald Trump into power, amid a sense of disaffection with the Washington establishment.
On such a mercurial new civic stage, where careers and reputations can be forged or ruined with the drop of a tweet, what class of politician is likely to emerge? The danger is a generation of leaders primed to react to every shifting whim of the online masses, responding to what’s trending in the virtual world, perhaps even more than what’s going on out there in the real world.
The former First Minister’s
difficulties over a Fringe quip raise wider questions about changing attitudes,
says Scott Macnab