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carolynhack/CreativeCommons

He had to at some point; and he's decided to do it now. Or else his boss has. For some time the government has been saying it would think about postponing again the 2p rise in fuel duty planned for first for April, then for October, and it's pretty obvious it had taken the decision already. The question was the tactical one of when to announce, or rather how long the government could get away with reassuring people with a mere expectation rather than an actual decision. Because now the decision's been taken, those who lead the fuel protests will want more concessions; there was an advantage in dragging out the postponement as long as possible so as to focus pressure on that one issue and delay having to consider yet more giveaways.

So why announce now? The timing is clearly linked to the Glasgow East by-election, where the SNP have been pressing the issue of high petrol and energy costs, whatever denials the government might attempt - making itself look silly in the process. There's also always a weather factor in these decisions, I think: what the government is trying to avoid is anything like the fuel protests of 2000, when lorry drivers (rebranded, for the purposes of this political debate, "road hauliers") got angry in the sun and threatened to bring the country to a stop. Street protests and riots often happen in the summer when the weather's hot (think Brixton and Toxteth) and so this time of year, especially if you think August might yet turn out to be quite warm, is a good time to get your concession in first.

It also looks as though Darling has concluded he needs to do yet more on this: the first BBC story I linked to earlier mentions that the government will bring forward further measures "in due course". If you've come to the conclusion that you need to go further than just the postponement, then you might as well trouser the political credit for that now and fall back on defending the slightly higher ground of what you're going to do next. A carefully planned rearguard action, this.

Everyone has an equal right to be described in a dignified and respectful way. However, equal treatment does not mean the same treatment; that is why equal value is a necessary component. Descriptions of individuals, groups and communities should enhance human dignity and value while respecting self-descriptions, cultural concerns and practices.

Consider the much abused asylum seekers. The word "seeker" suggests those requesting asylum are scroungers on welfare, exactly the clarion call raised in the tabloids. Asylum is a legal process, it does not and should not cast doubt on the moral worth of anyone engaged in the process. Would a more ethically sensible, neutral and accurate term not serve us better - such as "asylum applicant"? Is replacing "the Muslim community" with "Muslim communities" not more sensible, and ethically sound, emphasising the plethora of diversities we should recognise?

I agree with Ziauddin Sardar writing in today's Guardian that politeness is important and that we should all be sensitive and kind to  one another. On that basic point I think we all probably agree. But beyond that I'm afraid this piece  shows how silly political correctness originates not in a too-zealous examination of the way we think about others and how that's reflected in language, but in a too shallow one.

What he says about asylum seekers, for instance, seems to assume we use the word seeker, and that some people on the left feel a vague guilt about doing so, because there is something intrinsically or inherently derogatory about it. But there isn't. The reason why people feel a shudder of inner angst when using the phrase asylum seeker is that they are upset and troubled by their feelings about those who claim asylum and the way they are treated. Phrases and words, over time, become associated with our feelings towards the people and things they refer to, and will always be coloured by those feelings - unless we address them directly. If we did begin to speak of asylum applicants, it would only be a matter of twelve or fifteen years before Ziauddin Sardar began to feel that term was wrong, too, because somehow things had moved on.

Take the concept of mental handicap, another phrase Ziauddin Sardar sees as reinforcing stereotypes and denying dignity. How did we come to speak of mental handicap? I think it's perfectly obvious that by referring to people as handicapped must have been intended to emphasise that the additional problem those people face is random, to explain their doing less well than others, and to imply that the situation is unfair. To talk of someone being handicapped works in just the same way, linguistically and psychologically, as to call them challenged - a way of speaking that's become a sturdy pardody of PC language. It's clear, therefore, that the application of the word handicapped to those previously known as mental defectives or cripples was the political correctness of its time. So why does it now feel rude? Sir Ernest Gowers, in his second edition of Fowler's classic Modern English Usage, has the answer. This is from his article on Euphemism:

euphemism is a will-o'-the-wisp for ever eluding pursuit; each new word becomes in turn as explicit as its predecessors and has to be replaced. The most notorious example of the working of this law is that which has given us such a plethora of names for the same thing as jakes, privy, latrine, water-closet, w.c., lavatory, loo, convenience, ladies, gents, toilet, powder-room, cloaks, and so on, endlessly.

We see this process continuing in the United States, where you now ask for the bathroom or, ridiculously, the restroom. The point is that, for whatever Freudian reason, it is our embarrassment about what happens in this place that rubs off on the word we use to describe it, and once a word begins to fit, our embarrassment inhabits it as an overtone, implicit in its meaning, so that we feel the need of a fresh, untainted term.

According to this same process, by which embarrassment often manifests itself, in England at least, as politeness, our embarrassment about people and social issues can be seen in the way we clutch at one euphemism after another to cover our problematic thoughts about, for instance, the mentally handicapped. The old term initially coined to make use feel better gradually makes us feel bad again. And so we stop speaking of coloured people and the handicapped, and begin talking of blacks and the disabled; then give up talking of blacks and the disabled, and speak only of black and disabled people, naively thinking we restore their previously-denied humanity; before feeling even that is not enough, and that we must speak only of people of colour and people with disabilities.

I'm not rubbishing all neologisms: people's feelings about terms are real and must be respected. What I object to is the uncritical idea that our invention and reinvention of new euphemisms in itself reflects a moral progress. For one thing, the feeling of moral discomfort we act on and the term we use to assuage it may both be absurd - like the way Victorians spoke of unmentionables for underwear, or the way Ziauddin Sardar now wants to stops talking about carers because doing so denies the independence of the person cared for. I would have thought it obvious you're not entirely independent if you have a carer, but this just goes to show the ludicrous lengths your rude-ometer can take you to if you do not make a habit of questioning it. Using new terms is an easy way to purge our feelings about social problems; but instead of simply turning the handle to churn out yet more of them, we should examine more critically our need to do so, and try to address and deal with the feelings that lead to this urge. That seems to me absolutely necessary if we're ever really going to make any moral progress in the way we deal with, say, race or disability.

A good way to start might be for people who think like Ziauddin Sardar does to ask themselves what are the stereotypes that they think a term like mentally handicapped reinforces. That exercise might help reveal that the guilty associations we fear are in our minds, not in our words.

Smith and McKenzie take South Africa halfway to salvation

I was at the cricket yesterday: the fourth day of the South Africa test, with my friends Hugh and Pete, and three large bags of food. I myself prefer to theme my match-day picnic if I can, but South Africa presents a much stiffer challenge than India or the West Indies in that regard. I did at least manage a chilled bottle of Cape Rosé, though, you'll be pleased to know, and some sharon fruit. But enough of this nonsense! I'm not trying to be the Matthew Fort or Silverbrow of these webpages but to have a short go at being Neville Cardus, John Arlott or C.L.R. James.

The first three days of this match were a breeze for England: put in to bat, they piled on a total of 593, Ian Bell falling agonisingly short of a double hundred, caught and bowled on 199, after England's brutally thrilling batsman Kevin Pietersen had himself gone past 150. And on Saturday England's bowlers skittled their opponents out for 247 and enforced the follow-on. So we arrived yesterday morning hoping to see England win; or at least to see them take six or seven wickets and set things up for a straightforward win on the Monday.

Graeme Smith and Neil McKenzie had different ideas, though. The South African openers got off to a slow, but pretty solid, start, Smith at times looking troubled by Monty Panesar, and neither man playing many strokes - but you could hardly blame them. The only chance for South Africa to save this game was a long, patient rearguard action, surviving and batting through the day and most of Monday. That's exactly what Smith and McKenzie set out to do. For many in the crowd, this made for a very boring day. How much more fun to watch the wickets tumble! What bad luck, not to see higher-scoring play! I'm not as knowledgeable about cricket as I'd like to be (I find it hard even to remember what I saw at a test match last year) but I am enough of a nerd not to need superficial entertainment. This was an absorbing day in which character came to the fore as South Africa fought their way back into this series.

By three o'clock it looked as though McKenzie and Smith, whose early uncertainty against Panesar had been forgotten, were unshiftable. Smith's determination in particular is impressive - his two double hundreds in England a few years back when he was new as captain showed that - and here again he showed tremendous mental strength. Yes, he was helped by a good, slow and flat wicket from which England's batsmen had profited heavily, and by the fact that England's relatively mild bowling attack had not enough fire (at least till tea) to strike any sparks on it. But this was also about will. Smith and McKenzie willed themselves to hundreds, and this game towards a (for South Africa, triumphant) draw.

Smith's concentration wavered after he passed his century: he fell to the "relaxed hundreds" phenomenon whereby the mental relief that follows successfully passing that milestone leads to a slight slackening of nerve. First he edged Kevin Pietersen's spin into the gloves of Tim Ambrose - who fluffed the catch. But not long later James Anderson with the new ball tempted him to a rash attempt at something like a pull, a lazy thrash to the onside that Smith badly mishit and skied towards cover where Pietersen took reponsibility for holding the catch. An admirable if unspectacular captain's innings was at an end.

The last hour had more in the way of thrills: Anderson was much more hostile with the new ball, bombarding the new batsman Amla with a series of bouncers. The run rate picked up, too, once McKenzie had achieved his own century. But this was not really a day for thills. It was one of those days when great sport goes beyond such things and shows you that drama comes in many forms. South Africa look, now, quite likely to save this match.

If you want to read others' take on the day, read David Hopps at the Guardian Sport blog, Derek Pringle's report for the Telegraph or Mike Atherton's report for the Times.

MRBECK/CreativeCommons

According to the Telegraph, a Church of England bishop, Andrew Burnham of Ebbsfleet, is planning to leave the church and convert to Catholicism over the decision of the Synod to approve in principle a move to enthroning women bishops. I'm deeply unsympathetic to the "traditionalist" position, I admit, and I'm an outright atheist, so some may feel I'm incapable of understanding what's at stake here. But I find the language the traditionalists use - they talk of the church "excluding" them - frankly offensive. They are the ones who will, if they get their way, continue to exclude women from the episcopacy; in contrast if they're defeated, they'll be welcome in the church, able unlike women today to contribute as both as priests and bishops, after the change as they were before.

But I want to make a much narrower point here. I doubt I can be alone in thinking that this vote is a very silly reason indeed to flounce out, take away your crook and decide to turn to Rome. Has Bishop Burnham never been troubled by the doctrinal differences between his church and Rome, say on communion? Unless he's always secretly believed the Roman Catholic idea of transsubstantiation - in which case he can hardly accuse liberals of any kind of doctrinal perversion - then he clearly sees those differences as unimportant. And has he never been troubled by the C of E's refusal to accept Papal authority? How come he's rejected that for years, but now wants Pope Benedict as his boss? What did Bishop Burnham think he was doing when he got married? Which church does he think is right on priests' right to marry, and doesn't he think that matters?

To an outsider, this determination to elevate the question of women's position in the church to an absolute deal-breaker, more important than anything else about the church, seems silly; and beyond that, it makes me suspect that a desire for doctrinal purity is a less important motivation than traditionalists like Burnham claim it is.

David Davis and Tony Benn at the Queen Elizabeth Hall

David Davis and Tony Benn have spoken together in public before, but before now Tony Benn has been the star, the cuddly old relic everyone decided, at some point in the 1990s, that they loved, and who always has a witty line ready to back his radical views. David Davis has inevitably been the prosaic Tory making up the numbers to some extent. But not last night. With Davis having stood down only weeks ago from his post on the Tory front bench, and the Haltemprice and Howden by-election only days away, most of those who came to this packed meeting were surely here to see Davis on Democracy.

It was disappointingly short (the two men were only on stage for about 80 minutes) but apart from that it gave reasonable value for a tenner. The problem, if it could be called that, was the large measure of agreement between the two men about what Davis calls the "slow strangulation" of traditional liberties under the New Labour government. Davis I'm glad to say went a little beyond the familiar argument that compromising liberty concedes the battle to the terrorist; he argued pretty  impressively that all our recent social progress, from improved health to sex equality and prosperity, have been the result of our democratic institutions and that no one knows at what point cutting back on freedom will kill the goose. He also linked his view of freedom clearly to a conservative vision of a small state, citing Jefferson (although Wikiquote reckons this is wrongly attributed: Gerald Ford said it, apparently):

Government big enough to supply everything you need is big enough to take everything you have.

I don't think the audience pressed him hard enough (to be fair, we didn't have enough questioning time to press him) on the tensions and contradictions in his position. Yes, someone challenged him on his opposition to the Human Rights Act, and although he said he backed a British Bill of Rights it's clear he can't square this with his early suggestion that the lack of fundamental constitutional guarantees is a problem in the UK. And someone challenged him on his support for detention of terror suspects up to 28 days without charge. But there was nothing on CCTV cameras and the fight against crime, nothing on DNA and women's safety. Davis did give an interesting answer to a question about proportional representation, though. While he opposes change for elections to the Commons, on the sensible grounds that our current system delivers clear results and strong governments, he suggested he'd back the single transferable vote or at least some proportional system for an elected House of Lords. I've been arguing for this for years, so I'm glad an influential politician has taken this public stance. I'm glad, too, that his reasoning is the same as mine: there is no point in electing a second chamber as a check on government if its electoral system means it replicates the majority the government has in the Commons, he said. I'd add another, related argument, that PR for the Lords would also avoid a mid-term landslide for the opposition resulting in legislative gridlock. Proportionality makes sense for the Lords because it will help it in its function of making government think again through taking critical stances based on broad consensus.

As for Tony Benn, well, he appeared as himself. He was, as always, very funny: he got big laughs, especially for his remarks about the Church of England, which he called our oldest nationalised industry, and he pointed out that the Prime Minister, in effect, can appoint anyone as Archbishop of Canterbury - even a lesbian. I can understand why he's told, as he said, that he's a national treasure, because even I find myself agreeing with much of what Benn says. And you can't helping warming to him because of his skill as a raconteur.

And yet, and yet. I seem to be one of the few who remember what Tony Benn used to be like, before he became cuddly; when he was trying to become leader of the Labour Party, undermining Michael Foot and opposing Neil Kinnock; before he took on the role of democracy's doyen. How democratic was it for him in the early eighties to successfully commit Labour to withdrawal from Europe without a referendum, only a few years after the British people had overwhelmingly voted to stay in? Last night of course he called for a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty. How democratic was it for him to support Arthur Scargill's refusal, at the beginning of the 1984-5 miners' strike, to hold a ballot of his members? I wanted to put points like this to Benn, but I wasn't called.

One questioner asked both men whether MPs should have to pass some form of regular performance assessment, or else lose their jobs. Davis answered that MPs should be accountable only to the electorate. Benn turned away from the question with an irrelevant witticism; unsurprinsingly since at the high tide of Bennism (or Bennery, a word I'm especially fond of) he and his supporters wanted Labour MPs to have to apply each Parliament for reselection by local Labour activists - not all members, note, Benn never supported one member, one vote - and to be discarded if found ideologically unsatisfactory, regardless of the views of constituents.

A good event; made all the more fun for the occasional whiff of a real political meeting, like the question from the man who wanted to bomb Pakistan and from the old lefty at the back who criticised Benn for sharing a platform with an unreconstructed Thatcherite. The man sitting in front of my friend Amanda was reading a leaflet: "Questions David Icke would ask David Davis if he weren't banned from his meetings".

How I hate the Beautiful Game! I hate its cry-baby players and its gruff, joyless managers, its blokish supporters and its sinister owners, its whistle-peeping referees and its chippy little linesmen, its excitable commentators and - perhaps most of all - its unpluggable "analysts". I hate its imbecilic chanting and its self-righteous saloon-bar expertise. I hate its ersatz working-classness, especially now that the price of tickets compares unfavourably with Royal Ascot or Henley. I have even begun to hate those pampered little kiddies the footballers are now obliged to escort on to the pitch before the start of each game, as though all set to embark on a pervy kind of waltz.

Gosh! Craig Brown loathes football more than I do! Actually my case is a very different one, because I can and do enjoy football, but hate all that goes with it these days: the money, the behaviour, the money, the arrogance, the money, the drinking, the money, the aggression and the money. So it's an effort for me to resist big games like those in Euro 2008 - otherwise I'm managing to boycott football pretty successfully.

SPÖ Presse u. Kommunikation/CreativeCommons

Iain Dale picked up this morning on a surprising move from the Austrian Chancellor Gusenbauer: he's promised a referendum on any new EU Treaty which "affects Austrian interests".

This is a bit more complicated than it sounds. Gusenbauer is in pretty desperate political straits: only the other week he was forced out of his position as SPÖ party chairman following a period of muttering that he couldn't lead THEM to another victory at the next elections, and a bad regional election result in Tyrol. Remind you of anyone?

In Austria, as elsewhere or perhaps more than in most countries, Euroscepticism and the demand for a referendum have been gaining ground because of campaigns by populist newspapers and far-right parties but also because of genuine resentment among many citizens at not being consulted about anything since Austria joined the EU back in 1995. Gusenbauer is clearly trying to gain some ground by this surprising move.

I'm not sure it's quite what it seems, though. I think Gusenbauer is protecting one flank with this populist move, while at the same time digging himself into what is effectively a determined "Lisbon or bust" position. It's only days ago that he was suggesting there be a second Irish referendum, and this new promise applies not to Lisbon, but to any renegotiated treaty that might be put forward as a solution to the "Irish problem". In other words, he is piling the pressure on Ireland by putting a spoke in any renegotiation.