by
Chris Fordham
Keeping up a king's lifestyle and paying all his servants involved lorry-loads of money that he got from contributions from his subjects in the form of taxes. And the king's favourite pastime was spending time in his counting house counting all his money.
One day his MOM (that's Minister of Misinformation) came to him with a problem.
"Sir," he said, after bowing and touching his forelock and sweeping the floor with his hat, a due sign of deference to one of noble birth, "the peasants aren't revolting."
"I know," said the King. "I met one once. He was actually quite nice. He was in prison for something or other, can't remember what, embezzling millions out of ordinary people, I think. I told him it didn't matter as ordinary people had lots of millions but he seemed racked with guilt for some reason."
"No sir, that's not what I meant," said MOM carefully. It didn't do to upset the King - he could have you sacked in moment. "What I meant was, the peasants aren't protesting, they are all quite happy and contented. They all have big houses with double glazing and central heating with wall to wall carpet and lots of television sets and computers.
They are all well paid and have lots of disposable cash to spend every Sunday. They all have holidays in far off exotic places and every household has at least two cars."
"So what's the problem?" said the King a little testily. Despite a first class education he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. "Why are you bothering me with these trivialities when I should be getting ready for my next 'Round the World' all-expenses-paid trip to foreign lands?"
"Well," said MOM even more carefully, "the problem is that if all your subjects are contented and happy, they start to wonder why they need us."
"What do mean, us? I am the king, there is no 'us' about it. If there is a problem, it's your problem and if you don't fix it then you're sacked or beheaded or something."
"Your majesty," - another sweeping bow from MOM - "I come to you because of your wisdom and farsighted thinking." (If you're going to grovel, then grovel big. Anybody with the king's ear knew how to grovel). "We need the benefit of your advice."
"I still don't see what the problem is," said the king.
"Well, if the peasants start to think that they don't need us," explained MOM patiently, "they might all get together and sack the lot of us."
"They can't sack me. I'm the King."
"Yes, of course, sir, but they could sack all of us and then you wouldn't have anybody to look after and protect you."
"Oh," said the King. Now that was a serious problem. "So what do we do?"
"Well, we all thought, that is, your cabinet all thought ..." (if you were talking to the king about something he might not like, it was always better to involve everybody else) "… that you might have some suggestions."
Another sharp move from MOM. If the King thought of it, with a bit of luck, when the wheels came off - as they surely would, because they nearly always did - then maybe it would be easier to shift the blame. A scapegoat could always be found when it was the King's idea that went wrong.
"Well," said the King, "the problem as I see it, is that the peasants are too happy."
"Yes," sighed MOM, "your brilliant analytical mind has gone right to the heart of the problem."
"So," said the King, warming to his task, "what we have to do is make them unhappy. Now how do we do that? I know, we'll have war with somebody!" The King liked wars; they made him look good. "That'll get everybody depressed when all their relatives start dying."
"May not be a good idea, sir, we had one of those not so long ago and it may be difficult to start another one on our own. It would be better for somebody else to start one and then we can join in."
"Yes, good point. So what else makes the populace unhappy?"
"Being scared usually works, your majesty." MOM was gradually steering the conversation in the right direction.
"Well, tell everybody they are all going to die - that'll scare 'em to death!" The King's jokes were never that brilliant, but MOM knew well enough when to laugh.
"Yes, your majesty, very good, very droll! But we did try that some time ago, when we told them they'd get lung cancer if they smoked. That worked for a while, but then half of them stopped smoking and that reduced the death rate and everyone cheered up again."
"Well, tell the other half that they will all die from the smoke breathed out by the smokers and being around smokers and breathing in all that foul smoke." The king didn't smoke.
"What a brilliant idea, your kingship. That'll scare people. Er … I hate to dampen your idea, but how on earth would we get people to believe a story like that? We have no evidence. In fact a survey several years ago proved the opposite. Non-smoking wives who lived with smokers actually suffered less lung cancer and when some did get cancer it turned out to be a totally different type that didn't come from inhaling smoke."
"Never mind all that," said the King, warming to the idea. "Just get some bod with letters after his name onto the telly. Promise him money for his research, give him a new laboratory and lots of staff, and tell him to tell everyone it'll harm them and they'll believe it."
"Yes, it might work. Then you, as the King, could announce that you were going to ban all smoking in public places and the populace will love you for it and think you have rescued them."
"Brilliant!" said the King. "Now can I get on with choosing what to take on holiday?"
"But your majesty, that will only work short-term. We really need something more lasting."
"Well, tell them they are all going to die of something else." The King was starting to get bored with this game.
"Do you have any suggestions your majesty? Telling everybody they might all die is a bit over the top."
The King thought of something - you could usually tell when he had a thought because he bounced up and down on one leg and stuck his arm in the air. MOM waited patiently.
"How big is a small town?"
"How big, your majesty?"
"Yes, how many people?"
"Oh, about fifty thousand I suppose," said MOM wondering where all this was leading.
"Well, tell them they are all going to die."
"What? You mean tell a whole town they are all going to die?"
"Yes. That'll scare them, and then other towns will get scared in case it happens to them."
"But if we tell everybody in a town they are going to die then they will just move out and live somewhere else!"
"Oh. Ah yes, well, I thought of that, didn't I?"
"And what was your answer, your majesty?"
There was a long pause. Eventually the King spoke. "We'll just say fifty thousand somewhere over the whole country will die. Then they won't be able to move because they won't know where to go!"
"And exactly what are we to say they are going to die of?"
"Oh, I don't know. Make something up. It doesn't have to be true. If it's scary enough, they will get frightened and be unhappy, which is what we want, isn't it?"
"Yes, your majesty, but it always sounds so much more plausible if there is some truth in it."
"Didn't I read that some people died in the Far East because they were playing with chickens?"
"Yes, your majesty, but only about a hundred or so."
"But surely we can make that sound scary?"
"People aren't scared of chickens, your majesty. Lots of people have them in this country, and everylone eats eggs."
"Well, we had a big scare about eggs some time ago, didn't we? That worked a treat. Everybody got really worried about that."
"Yes, your majesty, but people eventually found out the truth and it is unlikely to work again."
"But suppose we tell them that it is a new, unknown strain of a virus nobody has ever heard of? We could give it a strange set of numbers and letters but call it something common that people will recognise."
"What, you mean like 'flu', sir?"
"Yes exactly. Only not ordinary flu, nobody will get scared of that, everybody gets that. It has to be something different. Now, what is a chicken?"
"A bird, sir."
"Then that's what we'll call it - 'Bird Flu'. Short snappy title, everybody will take that on board and get worried."
"So you're proposing that we announce that fifty thousand people are going to die in this country from 'Bird Flu'? Won't somebody soon work out that it's less than one tenth of one percent of the population, and therefore over 99.9% will survive?"
"That's as maybe," said the King, who hated anybody who was good at maths, "but it still sounds a lot of people."
"That's true, yes. It might work, sir. The problem is, it all happened on the other side of the world and it is a bit remote to frighten people in this country."
"What did you just say a chicken was?" The King was on a roll here.
"It's a bird, sir."
"And what do birds do?"
"They peck things, sir, and go tweet."
"No, you prat, how do they get from one place to another?"
"They fly, sir?"
"Well, there you are then! They'll probably fly over here, drop their 'Bird Flu', and bugger off somewhere else!"
"But chickens don't fly, sir. The longest recorded flight of a chicken is thirteen seconds and it would take them a very long time to get here by walking!"
The King bit his lip in frustration. "But they're birds!"
"Yes, sir."
"Then," said the King triumphantly, "they fraternise with other birds, don't they?" He was on a winner here. "And those birds can fly, so they might fly over here. Because they're bound to have the flu as well. You know how it spreads when people start kissing."
"I don't think chickens kiss, sir. And anyway, chickens only mate with cockerels."
"Well, a migratory bird might just land in a chicken-run, pick up the flu and fly over here. Then we could say the flu flew!" The King collapsed in giggles. MOM sighed.
"We'll give it a try, sir. I will alert the media and see if we can get it in all the papers. We'd better use a spokesman connected with some sort of professional-sounding organisation to do with health, or chickens, or something - but I am sure we can work it out."
The next day the King was in his counting house, counting, when MOM arrived.
"Sir!" The bow was as sweeping as usual but the forelock-touching was a bit perfunctory.
The King frowned. He didn't like being interrupted when he was counting. It was his favourite pastime. "Yes, what is it?"
"I have put in motion all your suggestions about the 'Bird Flu', your majesty, and we await the results. But the cabinet thinks we could really do with something else as well."
After the King's success at this game the day before, he wasn't averse to another go. "OK, announce that we're running out of water. Show them pictures of half-empty reservoirs and empty stream beds. That'll scare them if they think they aren't going to get their weekly bath." The King bathed once a week, whether he needed it or not, and as nobody complained he assumed everybody did the same.
"Ah, sorry sir, we tried that in the summer."
"What happened?"
"It rained."
"What, a lot?" The King didn't watch the weather forecast. It never seemed to be right, anyway, and he never got wet wherever he went so he didn't care.
"Absolutely hissed it down ever since."
"Well, tell people they are all going to get flooded!"
"That might not work, sir. The only people who really think about flooding are the people who live near rivers. We need everybody to be afraid."
"So tell them we are going to build lots and lots of houses all over flood plains, and divert natural drainage. That will cause flooding everywhere."
"I don't think anybody would believe us, sir. Who would need all these houses?"
"Well, it's obvious isn't it? Open up our borders and let just anybody in, and then we will have plenty of people to give the houses to."
"But sir, if we did that there would be an uproar!"
"Well, I don't mean do it deliberately. Just reduce the wages in the immigration department so we can't get enough staff, and then people will be able to come in as they like. We don't have to do anything officially."
MOM was dubious. "But sir, it is still difficult to get somebody a long way from a river to get nervous about flooding."
"Well, get onto the insurance companies and tell them the whole country is going to flood. Give them maps where it might flood, then they can increase the premiums of all those people who live in those areas. That'll make 'em unhappy!"
"Suppose it stops raining?"
The King sighed. He really didn't need all this. What about a bit of positive thinking?
"Well, tell them all about Global Warming."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Tell them the ice is melting."
"But nobody would believe that, sir. We are just entering the next ice age, and people have started to realise that GW is a myth. Now everybody calls it 'climate change'. That's just a natural cyclic event."
The King didn't, but he didn't let on. "But people don't know that. The papers are full of bad weather, hurricanes and floods. You just tell 'em it's going to flood and they'll believe you."
"Yes, but that isn't anything to do with climate change."
"What does that matter? Just frighten them - they will believe anything you tell them. You don't have to let them know the facts."
"Yes sir. Do you have any more suggestions?"
"Well, if the population was poor, wouldn't that make them unhappy? Then they would really need us to protect them and give them food and clothing."
"Yes, but they are already extremely well off. How would we make them poor?"
"We'll tax them of course, that is how you make anybody poor!"
"But we already tax them 50% sir. They work till June each year before they start earning their own money."
"We don't have to do it with direct taxation."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"Hidden taxes, you numbskull!" The king liked that word.
"Like what?"
"Well, you said the populace all had cars, and lots had more than one?"
"Yes sir, but we already tax them up to the hilt for that. We tax them to use a car, we tax them if they don't, we tax them for the road it travels on, we tax them on the fuel it uses … what else can we do?"
"That's easy. Tax them on how fast they drive!"
"But sir, we already do that, because the faster they drive the more fuel they use, and therefore the more tax they pay."
"Yes, but they all drive far too fast. I never drive that fast."
"Sir, you never drive at all. You are driven the fifty yards from your Palace to the Government, when you do actually go, in a state-provided, chauffeured limousine."
"Yes, but I won't let my chauffeur go too fast. Not like some people I know." The King was getting edgy - he didn't like losing arguments. MOM trod carefully.
"So how do we tax them for driving faster than they should, sir?"
"We have speed limits, don't we? Just tax them every time they exceed those limits. What could be easier?"
"We don't have enough police to catch them, sir."
"Well, use some sort of camera that catches them in the act without them knowing."
"But who would pay for the cameras?"
"Take the money out of the taxes collected and give the rest to me."
"Do you think that would work?"
"Of course it will. Every single motorist on the road exceeds the speed limit at some time or other. All we have to do is catch them doing it."
"But eventually they will learn where all the cameras are, and slow down."
"We'll just keep adding new cameras wherever they won't expect them, like on wide dual carriageways and at the bottom of hills."
MOM was starting to see the potential of this one. "That could bring in lots of money, but won't we eventually run out of places to catch people because they only tend to speed where it is safe to do so?"
The King slowed down. He had been enjoying this exchange, because it wasn't often >U>he was the one with the bright ideas. "I suppose we could move on, then, to other forms of tax." A bright idea flashed into his mind. "Why don't we charge people a toll for using roads? That would bring in lots of money."
"But it would be difficult to bring in on existing roads, and we haven't built any new roads for years. If you remember, that was a deliberate policy to force people out of their cars and onto public transport. We thought it would reduce pollution and congestion at the same time."
"Yes, but it was a dismal failure wasn't it?" the King replied. "You can't separate the population from their cars, so why not make them pay for it? They will pay anything not to have to walk or run for a bus in the rain. There is huge potential in taxing car travel. We'll build new roads, then ask for more money for building them. We can charge people to drive on them. Then we'll charge people to park on the roads. If they all have these big houses with drives and garages, why should they park on the road?"
"Well, some people don't have garages." MOM was still treading carefully. He didn't want to sound too negative.
"Well, that might be a little unfair," mused the King. "But hold on a minute, if the house doesn't have a garage, it is probably because it is in a town and people work in towns and have public transport, so why do they need a car? No - if they haven't got a garage they should still pay to park on the road!"
MOM warmed to the idea. "We could set up a cordon around the town with cameras to record who went in and out, then send them a bill in the post every time they entered. Residents would pay as well - that would create huge sums of money, and nobody would object because the alternative would be to give up working and do without all the luxuries of life that money can buy."
"Exactly," said the King. He hadn't quite thought it through that far, but he was with it all the way. A thought struck him. "Who is going to pay for all the people we'll need to administer all these taxes?"
"Oh, that's easy sir. We'll just make sure we collect enough money to pay for an army of bureaucrats, and we keep the extra."
The King thought that was brilliant idea. He didn't quite know what a bureaucrat was but he was sure MOM did.
"Now, are we getting enough money out of householders? You mentioned yesterday that they all live in big houses, and I have been thinking - what right do they have to live in a big expensive house? Shouldn't peasants be in hovels?" The King had heard about hovels - they were little houses with hardly any bedrooms.
"What do you mean, sir?" asked MOM who lived in a very big house. This conversation was making him nervous.
"Well, shouldn't we be taxing these houses?"
"We do sir. We charge them for living in them, and when they sell them, and when they leave them to their offspring."
"Yes, but are we charging enough?"
"It's difficult to see how much more we could charge them, and what we would base it on."
"What's it based on now?"
MOM wasn't an expert but he had heard the 'keeper of the Kings coffers' talking about it. "I think it is based on the value of the house in some way."
"And when was this decided?"
"Oh, some years ago."
"So is it still relevant?"
"Well, it's true that houses have gone up in value considerably."
"Well, there you are then! Tax them on it. Why should they be sitting on a gold mine when the state needs the money?" The King didn't know what they were going to use the money for, but he was sure there was a government department whose sole job was simply to spend money without having to show anything for it.
"But how do we justify it?"
"Who says we have to justify anything to anybody?" The king was getting belligerent.
"Well, we want the peasants to revolt and be unhappy with their, lot but we don't actually want a general strike or anything serious like that."
"OK," said the King, "let's creep up on them! Increase the taxes on their houses gradually over a few years. No-one will notice that way."
"We've actually been doing that for some time, sir, and some people have started to protest - but I suppose it is only a few old age pensioners. and we just lock them up in goal for a while until somebody pays their bill."
"I have a brilliant idea! Let's pretend that we are going to tax people on the size of their houses by charging them according to the number of windows they have." The king didn't know how many windows he had.It was probably millions, but as he didn't pay taxes himself, what did it matter?
MOM wasn't so keen. He had lots of windows. "We did try that several hundred years ago, and people started building houses without windows, or with very small ones, and they disguised them so we couldn't find them."
"Oh, I don't mean we really will do it, but we could add in conservatories and extensions - in fact, anything they might've done to improve their houses. Re-value each house, and charge accordingly."
"But if we aren't really going to do it, why tell people about it?"
"That's the whole beauty of my plan." The king puffed out his chest. "When they are all horrified at how much extra they are going to have to pay, I will come along on my white charger …" (the king didn't even own a horse so the MOM thought that might be difficult) "… and say that w'll reduce all those extra charges to a modest increase in the rates. So we'll save them thousands of pounds that we weren't going to charge them anyway. They'll be so grateful, they'll pay the extra without question." That was one of the King's longer speeches and quite tired him out.
MOM was thoughtful. "That could just work. It's worked with lots of other things we have done before. A bit of judicious leakage to the press and we'll have the common people up in arms." - figuratively, of course, he thought to himself. We disarmed them all years ago.
"Now, aren't you pleased you have me as King? I have kept you all in jobs even when you have made the most horrendous, unsightly, embarrassing blunders. I sort out all your problems for you and pay your wages. You should be very grateful!"
"Oh, we are, master, we truly are," said the Minister of Misinformation as he backed out the door, sweeping the floor with his hat and maintaining his bowing until he left the room.
The King sighed and went back to his counting. What on earth was he going to do with all this money? That was a much more interesting question.
The moral of this story is … just be grateful you don't live in a country like the one in the story.
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