He is a man of the people – but they don’t like it when he behaves like one
It is tempting to describe social media – the likes of Twitter and the rest – as a trap into which some unsuspecting BBC presenter or other would be bound to stumble, sooner or later. That certainly seems to have been how the BBC management saw the drama following Gary Lineker’s tweet on immigration.
But it won’t do. Bear traps rely upon disguise and stealth, whereas no-one but a fool falls by accident into Twitter. Personally, I don’t have an account, to stop me broadcasting something stupid, for Twitter makes its living by offering a platform or microphone to those who have nothing to say.
It is an opportunity for those not to be trusted with opportunities. You cannot claim to have meant the opposite of what you were quoted as saying because sarcasm is unknown on Twitter and you cannot be quoted out of context, because the tweet is the context. It is a medium intended for the unguarded comment, the spontaneous reaction, the off-the-cuff quip. It has its place, perhaps, but it is hardly an archbishop’s sermon, or even a newspaper leader column.
So, the social media hole lay in the ground waiting for someone to jump head first into it. That it was Gary Lineker, a former England footballer, who did so, was entirely appropriate. He is not David Dimbleby. He is not even Huw Edwards or Jeremy Vine.
The BBC, born before television even existed, has shown the agility of a carthorse in adjusting to the age of social media, which requires nimbleness and dexterity. Having got its hands dirty by sending reporters to events, it expects them to report what they see, and, like virtually all news organisations, it tells its reporters to apply the same standards as if they were broadcasting.
In describing Suella Braverman’s immigration policy as “immeasurably cruel” and directed against the “most vulnerable people”, he clearly fell outside the guidelines, but he is not a news reporter. He surely said no more than any man in the street might have said, even in his comparison to the language used in 1930s Germany.
That is why being home secretary is such a difficult job (it even includes responsibility for all the satellites falling unexpectedly to Earth).
The gaffer: Tim Davie, the BBC director-general
And the British are slippery customers when it comes to topics like immigration, willing to say one thing and do another, as even the dullards who run the BBC know. I can imagine the conversation in which one apparatchik muttered to another about what
Gary had said in his tweet, and before you knew where you were, he had been taken off the air. It says a great deal for the loyalty of the sports fraternity that they chose to face down their own bosses. This sorry episode will be but a footnote when someone gets around to writing the history of the corporation, revealing, as it does, nothing so much as the way in which the organisation is still unable to reconcile its position in British society with the modern world.
In climbing down, the managerial class in the organisation has undoubtedly had a reverse, and made itself utterly ridiculous. But I doubt they will much notice.
I much enjoyed working at the BBC. Most of the time. The bosses left one to get on with things, and I enjoyed the company of clever, irreverent people, most of whom one would have been happy to have as personal friends. We paid the management not much heed, knowing instinctively what was required.
What the whole fatuous spectacle demonstrates is the need for leadership: that capacity to inspire and to generate respect, which is lacking in so many areas of public life. Absent that presence, all we have is rules, of varying degrees of comprehensibility.
I suggest the corporation hires a leader unafraid to articulate a clear policy. It will, on occasion, involve imitating Nelson, and turning a blind eye. I propose he or she adopts a policy of what used to be called “masterly inactivity”.
The BBC, born before television, has shown the agility of a carthorse in adjusting to the age of social media