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Regrettably, events have proved it wrong.
In theory, a guaranteed revenue stream should have enabled the BBC to concentrate single-mindedly on its admittedly ill-
defined public duties. However, the corporation's bosses, entranced by their uniquely privileged status, were gradually
seduced away from high purpose into institutional aggrandisement. This led them to want an ever-bigger licence fee. To win
public support for this aim, they decided to maximise ratings. Hence dumbing down, which was already a live issue in the
1950s. The independence that the licence fee promised also proved illusory. To get the rate increased, the BBC needed
politicians' goodwill. That meant restraint, "responsibility", support for the conventional wisdom and respect for the
establishment - not rocking the boat.
The struggle for a great big licence fee proved a long haul. It stayed at a mere ten shillings for the first 20 years. As recently
as the early 1970s it was just £7 (the equivalent of £60 today). Even then, however, the Minister of Posts and
Telecommunications was having to warn that the BBC "should not attempt to compete across the board with commercial
interests". Finally, in a deal brokered by John Birt in 2000, the corporation hit the jackpot, by agreeing to throw its weight
behind the government's dubious plan to switch Britain to digital broadcasting.
Not that it is satisfied. It wanted 5 per cent a year more than inflation, not 1.5 per cent. Already, in the wake of Jowell's kind
words, it is manoeuvring for a further boost in 2006. By securing the exclusion of a pay-TV facility from the digital terrestrial
platform it is now to control, it has buttressed licensing by making it harder for individual services to be charged for directly.
Yet the flaws in the idea behind the licence fee have long been clear. As long ago as 1986, the Peacock Committee ended a
report on BBC funding thus: "If we had to summarise our conclusion by one slogan, it would be direct consumer choice
rather than continuation of the licence fee." Yet licensing survived, as it survived the latest such inquiry as recently as 1999.
Why? The system is hardly popular. A recent report from Sony Broadcast suggested that 73 per cent of the population want to
be able to pay only for channels that they actually watch. MPs are regularly badgered by constituents grumbling about the
licence fee. But so what? It continues to be sustained by a broad coalition of the powerful, none of whose members is stuck
for £112.
The BBC loves TV licensing. Wouldn't you? The rest of the broadcasting industry likes it because it pumps £2.5bn a year into
the sector on top of whatever advertising and subscription would naturally yield. To politicians (especially nanny-staters such
as Jowell) it is a positive delight, keeping the nation's main provider of supposedly impartial news on a short leash, while
appearing not to. Even Margaret Thatcher, who instinctively loathed the system, came to appreciate that it was to be preferred
to one that would make the BBC genuinely independent.
Critically, however, the licence fee is also a totem for the Guardian-reading, public-sector-and-professions-based "liberal"
establishment which dominates the formulation of polite opinion. For these people, the corporation enshrines sacred but
otherwise endangered values, attitudes and tones of voice, while keeping at bay unsettling demons such as Rupert
Murdoch. Celeb rity Sleepover may be regretted; but no risks must be taken with the institution that provides The Archers and
The Antiques Roadshow. If a tax sustains it, well, these people prefer tax-and-spend to the vulgarity of the market place. If the
tax is regressive, that is in theory disgraceful but in practice entirely acceptable.
Members of any part of this coalition will tell you that the licence fee is one of those strange British phenomena that does not
appear to make sense but is none the less a national triumph. If this is so, why don't we also tax the owners of bookcases,
so we can set up a British Publishing Corporation, to churn out free, state-approved books alongside those produced by
commercial providers? Perhaps because TV licensing reflects what is wrong, not what is right, with Britain.
Unfair, patronising and dishonest, the licence fee keeps the foremost guardians of our culture tame and compromised. It
channels the energies and talents of their brightest and best away from creative achievement and into sordid political
manoeuvring. It entrenches mediocrity, crowd-pleasing and playing safe. It discourages original thought, subversive ideas,
danger and excellence. It sustains Sara Cox, Holb y City and Thought for the Day. In doing these things, it stultifies the
national soul.
Stop and think. Do we really want to keep a piece of domestic electrical equipment whose future is uncertain as part of the tax
base? We have, after all, said goodbye to the window tax. If broadcasting is to make a claim on public funds, why should its
needs not be met from the Exchequer, like those of health and education? That way, the value of quiz shows and docu-soaps
would be measured against that of quicker cancer treatment.
The BBC's apologists say such a system would imperil its freedom and undermine its ability to plan, even though the World
Service is already funded in this way. The first argument is disingenuous, since the government's power to set the licence fee
has proved quite sufficient to instil compliance. The second argument is insolent. Does a broadcaster need a steady income
more than schools or hospitals?
We also need to ask whether broadcasting should be given public money at all. Books, magazines and newspapers get
none. Theatre, opera, dance and museums might all fancy an equivalent of the licence fee. Yet a case can be made that
broadcasting should get state funding. Although hundreds of commercial television channels and radio stations now exist,
they provide only services that individuals want. Society may feel there are other functions it needs to have discharged that
are best left to the broadcast media.
A list of such "market failure" functions might include educational programming, creative innovation, fostering national identity
or what you will. Yet perhaps the most obvious of such roles is the need to ensure that citizens are properly equipped to
perform their democratic duty. We need only contemplate this requirement to appreciate the inadequacy of the licence fee as
a mechanism for achieving it. In spite of its avalanche of billions, the BBC does little to explain the arguments for and against
the euro, Brazilian politics or the economics of development.
Yet we could get such public functions discharged for a fraction of the sums now generated by the licence fee. It might,
however, make sense to ensure that public money earmarked for such purposes did not all end up in one monolithic
institution. Sharing it between different bodies would reduce the danger of waste. Pluralism would encourage independent
thinking. Creative competition would raise standards. Until Margaret Thatcher's 1990 Broadcasting Act, franchises for
commercial broadcasters were awarded to the applicants deemed likeliest to advance the public weal. In those days,
commercial broadcasters surpassed the licence fee-funded BBC in news, current affairs, drama, religion, children's
programmes and other kinds of programme-making that did little for their ratings.
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In future, public funds for such broadcasting as is deemed socially desirable but commercially unsustainable could be made
available to all comers. Parliament could define goals; then broadcasters themselves could bring forward proposals for
achieving them, naming the price which would make it worth their while. An independent board could choose the proposals
that would enable us to achieve public purposes in the most cost-effective way.
The BBC, privatised or turned over to a not-for-profit regime such as Channel 4, could compete for this business against
commercial rivals. It would probably become braver once it paid its own way: it is no accident that it is the advertising-funded
Channel 4 that currently dares confront us with Brass Eye and Rory Bremner's take on Blair and Campbell. Probably, the
corporation would perform better if it were broken up into more tightly focused units, free to compete against each other.
Its successful entertainment activities could be separately funded by subscription, advertising or sponsorship or a mix of all
three. Freed to attract investment wherever it chose, it might grow into the global media player that Britain, unlike France and
Germany, has never so far produced.
Biting the hand that fed him, Tony Hancock once called the licence fee an annual "clout around the ear'ole". Certainly, it
seems to belong to the black-and-white era, when superior beings ministered to the people, even the poorest of whom
expected to pay for the privilege. Now it's time to move on.
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