Mr Ron Bramwell has asked me this question in connection with my article "The sensational and the trivialising press":
"What was driving the public housing planners of the 1960s? Was it money from builders, or voters?"
It is a long, long story.
Part of what drove the planners of that time was sincere do-goodism. They knew best. An old friend of mine wrote a book at the time about the Newcastle planners. The title of Jon Gower Davies's book exactly caught the point: The Evangelistic Bureaucrat. A German book was entitled The Drawing-Board Preachers. My books at that time were about the Sunderland planners.
The planners were not out on a limb. Most people of woolly good will lived outside the slum clearance areas. Among the leading lights of the New Left in London (many of them ex-public school boys), very rapidly joined by the middle-class Marxist and Trotskyist students of the new universities, there was the ridiculous idea that working class life in northern England in the 1960s was accurately described by Engels in his Condition of the Working Classes in England in 1844. (In the early 1890s Engels himself had said that those conditions no longer existed.) In those days, town planning used to head the list of worth-while professionals among students (there were beginning to be a lot of them in the 1960s), so the planners were bouyed up by that.
In People and Planning I go through the history of Sunderland's housing and neighbourhoods from the growth of the town as a great shipbuilding and coal-mining centre in the middle nineteenth century to the 1970s.
Until the 1960s people who desperately wanted to be rehoused were being cleared from their crowded, multi-family houses, with few amenities in squalid neighbourhoods. They couldn't get into council houses fast enough. In the 1920s, 1930s and 1950s families on the new estates would proudly display their new homes, modern schools and new other community buildings and shops to their admiring working-class relatives from the older parts of the town.
It was only in the 1960s that the planners began to bite into respectable working-class neighbourhoods--great communities--and use against people perfectly capable of looking after their own homes, and increasingly owner-occupiers of them, the compulsory purchase laws that had been intended for use against slum landlords.
The estates were further and further away from the big shops and leisure focuses of the town centre. Suddenly, prefabricated tower blocks made their appearance. The local authority allocated dwellings on the basis of "need". "We can't have her rattling about the place like a pea in a pod." People who had a couple of spare rooms where their grandchildren could come and stay found that they had no chance of spare space if their house was demolished.
Then "need" began to mean preference for unmarried girls who were pregnant or had a small child or children. Within three of four years the uncontrolled children were the bane of the housing estates. People who expected neighbours to respect one another's privacy and property moved out, or would not move in. A vicious circle was created. You stood a better chance of a council house if you didn't get married. (That's not a red-top myth. I looked at all this at the time, as a full-time researcher, in the housing offices of the old Sunderland Corporation.)
The inculcated idea that a man's duty primary adult role was to live under the same roof with the mother of his children, and provide by his own work for each child for at least the first sixteen years of its life, was increasingly redundant. Young men were free to drink and fornicate as they liked. It took many years before drugs and the crime that was needed to support drugs took a firm hold. Nobody in those days dreamed that it would spiral as deeply as it did. Perfectly sincere, gruff old Labour politicians, many of them the salt of the earth, were on automatic pilot that more and more council housing was a good thing, and that the very few "bits of lasses" who "got themselves into trouble" should be treated kindly. The very few.
Labour men and women active in an industrial provincial town like Sunderland, with hardly any contact with or sympathy for the advanced ideas of the emerging libertarian Left of the student movements, didn't think there could ever be more than very few. Their world was a world of the universality and permanence in civilised societies (yes, they were as yet untouched by shame about English social institutions) of what everybody knew was the best way to handle sex, companionship and mutual aid, and the upbringing of children: namely, conception within marriage and life-long monogamy.
Men worked hard and long in the forges, foundries, shipyards, glassworks, shipyards and the pit. Women worked hard and long with the children; they worked hard and long in their homes' tiny sculleries, and over the poss-tubs, mangles and coal-fired boilers in the little brick outhouses in their back yards. But there was not much trace of the idea that women had the worse half of the family's grinding existence, and that the institution of marriage had failed.
That they would be the instruments of the family's destruction rarely occurred to any of these old Labour councillors. The prediction would have horrified them.
But--and this is why you commented as you did, I suppose--the planners and councillors who pursued policies of slum-clearing and rehousing were backed up by the people who made money in all the private professions and businesses surrounding demolition and construction. The planners were backed up by the myriad traditional local government professionals whose jobs came to depend on the endless momentum of demolition and rehousing schemes: the quantity surveyors, the architects, the public health officials, the lawyers in the Town Clerk's department, and all their support staffs.
Eventually they were backed up by the extraordinary variety of new professionals and pseudo-professionals in national and local government, and the academics and pseudo-academics who taught them, who emerged to service the burgeoning failures of the new prize winning estates and Corbusieran "machines for living in".
Again, they were, by and large, decent ordinary people who'd done pretty well in the job market. Their intentions were, by and large, benign.
But the damage they were doing didn't affect them adversely, and they knew (at least intuitively) that if the damage stopped being inflicted they'd be on the dole. In their cocoon of self-righteousness and often their superciliousness, they were quite happy to continue "doing good".
In the late 1960s the planners and the public health people produced "scientific surveys" of the housing districts that showed that the houses were technically unfit for human habitation, and physically incapable of lasting another five or ten years.
The surveys were self-contradictory bodged-up balderdash. (You'll have to read People and Planning and Public Participation and Planners' Blight to see the evidence for that, and to see whether or not you agree that the evidence produced there justifies these harsh remarks.) But in the planners' and health officials' eyes it did not matter. They were in the right in their policies of clearing these slums. The system required them to justify their policy by facts. But what did a few facts about the attitudes and homes of working-class people here or there have to do with their grand designs? "Everybody knew" that slum-clearance was a good thing. That's what they'd been taught; that's what their colleagues took for granted; and that's what their advancement in their profession depended on.
There was plenty of petty corruption. Housing and planning councillors were often in the pockets of the better educated and better paid senior officials. But the corruption was, say, bottles of whisky at Christmas from contractors to officers, and drinks bought at conferences by the officers for the councillors, for which the sozzled councillors were sufficiently grateful. The officers weren't doing anything they didn't want them to do.
In the later 1960s the planners nationwide were backed to the hilt by a Newcastle politician, T. Dan Smith, a principled Trotskyist in his younger days. I have no doubt that he was sincere enough in thinking he was doing good. But he was so arrogant in his self-conception, that he was enlightened and right and ordinary people were backward and wrong, that to oil the wheels of progress he spread corruption far and wide through local government.
Wisely, he kept his home base in Newcastle relatively free from corruption.
Corruption was not more than a petty problem in Sunderland (as far as I know, but I've led a sheltered life, as I have admitted in other articles) under an incorruptible and highly competent politician who took over as Council leader in the later 1960s. Charles Slater.
In County Durham corruption in connection with town-planning projects was rife. It was originally exposed by Private Eye in an article entitled 'Handy Andy'.
Smith operated by appointing "consultants" to his various "public relations" firms. Depending on the size of the local authority and the influence of the councillor, he'd appoint him or her (nearly always him in those days) as a consultant at £500 or more, running into the thousands of pounds a year or as a single fee.
Smith was always in the clear. The Chairman of the Housing or Planning or Management Committee would do what Smith was paying him for. Legally he had to declare an interest as being on Smith's payroll. If the errant councillor was exposed, Smith could say, and did say, "How shocking that he did not declare his interest! I naturally assumed he would do so. His misconduct has nothing do with me".
When a prominent Labour leader of a London borough, influential throughout the whole of the south-east of the country, was prosecuted for taking a bribe in this form from Smith, he was found guilty. When Smith was prosecuted for bribing him at a subsequent trial (he managed to have them separated) he was found innocent of bribing him. That's how well it worked.
He was the darling of the Department of the Environment. He once stayed at a London hotel, waiting for the call he expected to receive from Harold Wilson to join his new Cabinet. This was at a time when rumours were swirling around him. But the rule of public life that had prevailed since the middle of the nineteenth century, that the nature of corruption meant that the appearance of impropriety was sufficient to disqualify a person from public office, was being replaced by the assumption that a public official was innocent until his was proven guilty. If anything marked the beginning of the degeneration of British culture, that did.
Practice did not, of course, always follow the rule. The Marconi affair, cash for peerages, police malpractice and other scandals occur as quickly to my mind as to the mind of any reader. But by the middle of the twentieth century, English politics, English public adminstration, and English public life generally were probably as clean as in any large society that has ever existed.
Anyone interested in this side of the matter can look at the Smith affair, and contrast it with the the Sidney Stanley affair, as dealt with in the report of the Lynskey Tribunal, and as dealt with by both Churchill and Attlee when the Lynskey Tribunal's report came before the House of Commons.
The whole thing blew up in everybody's face when a Pontefract architect called John Poulson went bankrupt. When his documents were subpoenaed, hundreds of notes on scrappy bits of paper were unearthed, implicating dozens of politicians, from Westminster to the obscurest pit village on the Durham coalfield. Poulson had kept them for quasi-blackmail purposes. If he went down, they'd all go down with him, so they'd better protect him.
For months, as the scandals unravelled, Smith was supported by important sections of the national broadsheet press. (Guess which.)
He was eventually jailed.
Ronan Point collapsed in east London. People hated the maisonnettes and blocks of flats. Whereas in the 1960s working-class communities had united in opposing the plans to demolish their houses, in the 1980s they were turning out to cheer the dynamiting of the flats into which they had been rehoused.
So it was all bad do's. But it wasn't driven by "builders and money". It was driven by good intentions.
The point is, that if the good intentions had meant that Smith lost money (he ended up on "Millionaires' Row" in Newcastle, and the Rolls Royce of this poor lad from Wallsend had one of the first customised plates--was it T Dan 1?); or had meant that the building industry fueled with enormous taxpayers subsidies lost money; or that local government officers were being sacked instead of hired as fast as the machinery of government could manage; or that university, polytechnic and training-college posts in social work were being curtailed instead of vastly expanded, then the effects of the good intentions would have been subjected to scrutiny by more than a handful of extremely unpopular academics (as one critic wrote) "from their fastnesses on the banks of the Wear". (Note from Jon Gower Davies: "Heh! What about the fastnesses on the banks of the Tyne? I was just as unpopular as you.")
Go to the top of the class the person who sees any resemblance between this phenomenon and the dismemberment of the institution of life-long monogamy. If divorce meant a halving of the houses being needed instead of a doubling of them when the former united household splits into two; and if only half the washing machines, TV sets, refrigerators, beds, resulted from families breaking up instead of doubling the number, do you think that the crime, the disorder, and the damage to children would have been accepted complacently as a case of "change but not deterioration" (the slogan of the 1990s)?
Big business didn't drive the cultural revolution. But the cultural revolution turned out to be very profitable for big business.
And as the breakdown of the family has been good for business, not to speak of armies of government and voluntary social workers of all varieties, then any adverse effects of the breakdown of the family have to be soft-pedalled.
It must be literally among the daftest things that have ever been said, that crime is lower today than it has been since records began. Yet that's what the Home Office officially said in dismissing Cultures and Crimes.
And the Guardian quoted an "expert" (somebody called Professor Mike Hough) who was "bemused" by the book, because "most academics" (still only most academics!) believe that crime rose "in the early 1990s" but that "crime had fallen since then".
The headline in the Guardian was, "Experts deride report on crime and moral decline". Experts? It need not be said that I'm no Einstein (the understatement of the year), but I was reminded of what Einstein said when he heard that Hitler had provided one hundred physicists (wow, that's a lot of experts, Einstein's in trouble now) who all agreed that Einstein was wrong. Einstein remarked, "If I were wrong, one of them would have been enough".
So I agree with the sense of Mr Bramwell's comment. But what interests lie behind any particular long-lasting folly of the intellectuals is sometimes quite a complicated matter, and what those interests are is a puzzle that has to be unravelled in each particular case.