Radio phone-ins wind me up: not the sports-commentary programmes – since there is no way I would ever be exposed to one, except by unfortunate accident – but the ones on which people express their opinions on current affairs. Is it because I’m intolerant of other people’s views? Is it because I disapprove of the way they express them? Am I critical of how ill-informed they are? Do I judge them on the way they speak? Though I like to think otherwise, I’m sure I’m guilty on all counts listed above. Of course, I could try to raise the tone by phoning up and joining in myself, but I reckon that by the time I’ve been connected, I will have lost my thread, or my rag, or both. So, I just switch off and leave them to it. Perhaps, If I were to listen for more than thirty seconds, I might learn something or hear some succinctly expressed, well-informed, duly considered opinion. But my prejudice prevails. I just can’t stand phone-ins. I prefer arguments face-to-face, preferably around a comfortable, well-provendered dinner table.
When my friend John suggested that I might like to join him at a newly established, informal discussion group under the auspices of U3A (the University of the Third Age), my instinct was to find reasons not to, my stock ones being that I’m averse to the commitment of membership (of anything at all) and I like to keep the diary free for spontaneous, weather-dependent outings. I also expressed concern that, unless a format based on formal debating was adopted, the proceedings would inevitably settle into squabbling. This latter point, John assured me, was something he also supported so, with a little more arm-twisting, such as outing me on the fact that my next Tuesday was free, he got me to sign-up. I am now committed to fortnightly sessions designed to give older people the opportunity to make new acquaintances and keep their wits honed on the cut and thrust of civilised debate.
Although the first meeting was merely procedural, I was disappointed by the low turnout. We had chosen a central venue next to all the bus stops yet, out of a population of a quarter of a million, only six people turned up – and one of them had come all the way from Cornwall, on the ferry. Even allowing for the fact that most of the population is young enough to think U3A is an eighties rock band, shifting demographics mean there are more older, retired folk than ever before and that they are in better health and more mobile than they have ever been. So, where were they all? At home, engaging with phone-ins? Still, I supposed, six is more than enough for a manageable discussion group and, since assemblies of two or more citizens who might at some point express criticism of government policies is not yet illegal, I shouldn’t carp.
I was unable to attend the next two meetings, so I don’t know how they went, but I did make it this week, when the subject was the benefits of private health insurance compared with those of the NHS. It was a subject that invited – and duly received – a deluge of personal stories of medical intervention, such that I spent the first thirty minutes regretting that I had come along. This was worse than a radio phone-in, as there was no way to turn it off. I briefly considered a rude, abrupt intervention before John came to the rescue with some deft steering and we managed to establish the principle that anecdotes alone do not serve as evidence for or against an argument. The next session will discuss the carefully worded question, “Is immigration beneficial to host nations?” I shall be brushing up on stats and academic studies so I can brush off the rumours, misinformation and anecdotal ‘proofs’ that I’m sure will be forthcoming.
Go Joe, go!
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