A nation of spivs

SOCIETY
Walter Humes on how wide boys (and girls)
are now in charge

An early wide boy – now they're everywhere

The actor James Beck, now sadly dead, used to play the part of Private Walker in the much-loved TV comedy, 'Dad’s Army'. He was a wide boy, a spiv, whose dodgy contacts enabled him to get his hands on goods that were not available in the shops. His capacity to find black-market supplies of nylon stockings ensured that he always had a girlfriend on his arm. Forever on the lookout for the main chance, his approach to life contrasted sharply with the dull respectability of Captain Mainwaring (played by Arthur Lowe). Private Walker did, however, have a good line in cheek, which made him an engaging character, and he also had moments of generosity when he looked after those who lacked his skills in circumventing the privations of war.
     Some 70 years on, it all seems remarkably innocent. Nowadays, if all we had to worry about were a few Private Walkers, our society might be judged to be functioning fairly well. But wide boys (and quite a few wide girls) are to be found everywhere, having been encouraged by the prevailing culture of selfish individualism and a political ideology that places wealth creation as the highest social good. The spivvish tendency now extends far beyond the usual suspects – car dealers, double-glazing salesmen, estate agents – to include people who might in the past have been seen as beacons of integrity. Swamped by stories of insider dealing in the city, cash for questions in the House of Lords, cronyism in appointments to boards of directors, and doubtful practices in the award of contracts by local government, members of the public have largely lost faith in the integrity of those who hold high office. Perhaps we have not yet reached the levels of corruption to be found in Silvio Berlusconi's Italy, but we seem to be heading in that direction.
     However, the corrosive effects of the spivvish tendency are to be seen not just in relation to money. They can be detected in the public sector in the way policies are developed, promoted and 'sold'. In education, health and social services there are now armies of people whose job it is to persuade other professionals that new management structures and new systems of accountability represent improved quality of provision. While these image creators all share certain qualities (an endlessly optimistic, upbeat manner and an utter confidence in their promotional skills), there are interesting variations in style.
     First, there are the chummy 'Del boy' types – all charm and smarm with (they imagine) a delightful hint of mischievousness. The implicit message (never stated of course) is: 'You know it's all a racket. I know it's all a racket. But if we play our cards right there will be something in it for both of us.'
     Then there is the 'macho' variety, full of hype and aggressive talk, reminiscent of the style of football managers. They are weak on argument and strong on cliché. The latest policy innovation is 'what it's all about'; publicity is 'the name of the game'; the important thing is 'to get a result'; when that happens, everyone will be 'over the moon'. In these days of equality, 'macho' types do not have to be men. The popularity of cropped hair, pinstripe suits and open-necked shirts across the sexes means that careers as 'in your face' propagandists are open to all. Seen from a distance – by far the best vantage point – the gender identification of these spivs can sometimes present a challenge.
     Even less attractive are the 'sincere' evangelists. They present themselves as having gone through a life-changing experience, which has released them from old, unregenerate ways and ushered in a new period of enlightenment. They invite us to share in the transformation and sign up to a brave new world which will ensure greater efficiency, improved services, and enhanced professional fulfilment. By the time we realise it's all a sham, they will have moved on to a new project and new victims.
     The mindset of the spiv has now entered the national consciousness, affecting areas of life that were previously relatively free of its contaminating influence. Whenever something went badly wrong in 'Dad's Army', another character, Corporal Jones (played by Clive Dunn) used to shout 'Don't panic, don't panic'. Invariably he failed to follow his own advice and the situation got worse. Panic is not to be recommended, but a first step in addressing any problem is recognising the dangers it presents. The social, moral and cultural damage that the spivvish tendency has wrought in society should set alarm bells ringing for all of us.