A Man of Zen-like Calm in the Mirror

T of TW Feb 2016

Quality of Mercy Strained in my Village

By Kent Barker

Oh, the joy of being on the parish council! 

I’d take a small wager that’s not a phrase you’re likely to hear too often. But it does have its moments. Such as when the result of the complaint against me came through recently. 

Now, when I look in the mirror, I see a man of Zen-like calm; patience that would impress a saint, and the reasonableness of a philosopher. Extraordinarily, though, in my more than three score years, I’ve come to realise that’s not how everyone else sees me. ‘Impetuous’ is a description I’ve heard used, along with ‘rash’, ‘imprudent’ and even ‘precipitous’.

Some might say it’s a problem of opening the mouth before engaging the brain. I say it’s not hesitating to speak as I find. Anyway, the results have, on occasion, been that others are offended by my straight talking.

An example occurred a few months back at a planning committee meeting which I chair. The proposal before us—for an anaerobic digester—was from a farmer and fellow councillor.  While maintaining an open mind about the individual proposal, in general my view was that AD plants are good things. They take farmyard waste and some specially grown crops and store them in an airless chamber while bacteria get to work. Within days, the process produces heat and biogas (methane and CO2) which is used to make electricity or, in bigger plants, refined to become biomethane—a renewable natural gas.  The by-product is digestate—an excellent, inert and odourless fertiliser.

It’s an almost magical process that saves burning fossil fuels; reduces greenhouse gases, and helps combat climate change. But a surprising number of people around my village oppose it. Vigorously. So vigorously in fact that they set up a protest group and sent out an anonymous leaflet.

Now I greatly dislike anonymity. I believe that if you want to publish a view you should be prepared to put your name to it. But I dislike anonymous leaflets even more if they contain gross inaccuracies, or criticise (or even libel) named individuals. And I particularly dislike them if they are put through the doors of fellow planning committee members on the eve of a decision.

So I said so. In no uncertain terms. From the chair at the start of the planning meeting. In fact I described “hiding behind a cloak of anonymity” as the “last refuge of a scoundrel”, and said the leaflet in question was “a reprehensible attempt to exert improper influence on the democratic process”.

Well, come on! That’s not SO unreasonable is it? A trifle intemperate, yes, but not utterly outrageous surely? But the author of the leaflet seemed to think it was. He identified himself and made a formal complaint to the relevant authority accusing me of attempting to “discredit, intimidate and bully” those opposed to the planning application.

Well, I won’t weary you with the details of drafting my defence or the long wait for adjudication but, when it came, it found pretty comprehensively in my favour. First, there had to be some identifiable person to bully or intimidate and, since the leaflet was anonymous, that couldn’t be the case. (Oh wise judge!). Secondly, the delivery of literature to the committee did not follow the correct procedure and WAS an attempt to influence them. (Noble judge!).

However, Portia-like, the finding did criticise me for use of the word “scoundrel” and a threat to report matters to the police as being “inadvisable and likely to inflame the situation”. With hindsight, I entirely accept that and, at the next meeting, I apologised to the full parish council.  But should I also apologise to the complainant? Had the finding gone against me, I would certainly have done so—and probably had to consider my position as chair of the committee.  But perhaps he might apologise to me for bringing the unfounded complaint in the first place? The thing is that ours is a small village and we were likely to bump into each other sooner or later. Which is exactly what happened a few Saturdays later at our club tennis session. He arrived after me and studiously avoided my gaze.  But then we were paired against each other in a doubles match and so had, at least, to acknowledge each other’s existence—even if only to shout the score.

Actually, I think it passed off reasonably amicably. I doubt if either is likely to invite the other to a birthday party, but I feel honour is squared.

Or I did until another anonymous leaflet was circulated with yet more falsehoods about the digester. I can have no idea whether it’s from the same source. But I think I’d better be a bit more temperate in any public statements I make about it!

ends.