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Last week, improbably, I attended the Toronto Symphony Orchestra’s Last Night of the Proms concert. This came about because my older son had come to enjoy Elgar’s 1st and 4th Pomp and Circumstance marches, which led to a conversation about the 1st march being traditionally played at the Last Night of the Proms, which led us to attend the TSO’s version of that concert.

It was my son’s first evening concert, and he enthusiastically enjoyed it, despite the late hour. I was amused to see a graying fair-skinned audience carrying their Union Jacks, a demographic that characterized the Toronto of my youth, not its current multicultural reality.

The program included the lyrics to “Land of Hope and Glory” and Jerusalem, with which I admit to being unfamiliar. Riding home on the subway with a tired son, I tried to explain the dramatic difference between the two anthems. The words have stuck with me, just as a tune will sometimes, involuntary, persist in one’s consciousness.

The nationalist jingoism of Land of Hope and Glory is unmistakable. “Wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set.” A global land grab. “God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet.” More wealth. A bigger navy.

If this was the world view of the British at the turn of the twentieth century, it was also the attitude of the Germans, Americans, Japanese, French, Austro-Hungarians, Turks, and even Belgians. In retrospect, it is obvious how this attitude set the stage for the First World War.

In his poem, “And did those feet in ancient time,” William Blake used Jerusalem as a metaphor for a better, more compassionate and caring world than that which he inhabited. As a liberal Jew, I refer to this vision as the messianic age. Blake asked whether, as legend had it, Jesus ever briefly visited England and then referred to the “dark Satanic Mills” of the industrial revolution. Those mills, paradoxically, are what those who would have fervently sung Land of Hope and Glory would have embraced as a key engine of economic growth that created the Empire.

Blake’s conclusion was that he “will not cease from Mental Fight” until “we have built Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant Land.” The dominant interpretation of his poem is that building Jerusalem means overcoming the inequities of economic growth to build a more just and compassionate society.

The conflict between “Land of Hope and Glory” and Jerusalem remains at the center of politics and policy today. “Land of Hope and Glory” is an expression of the view that puts a priority on economic growth with considerations of externalities, equitable distribution, and values that cannot readily be measured by the yardstick of GDP subordinated. Jerusalem speaks to the concerns of externalities, limited resources, equity, and community. These issues were recently discussed in Joe Gertner’s thoughtful article in the Sunday New York Times on May 10, 2010 entitled “The Rise and Fall of the GDP.”

In Canadian politics, the Conservative Party sings to the tune of Land of Hope and Glory, with its emphasis on a strong military, economic growth, northern sovereignty, “useful” science, and limited government. My regret is that those who would sing to the tune of Jerusalem – particularly the Liberal Party – have not articulated their program with comparable force or clarity.

In this post I will discuss two of the questions on the exam in the graduate narratives course. The first question, noting that some movies about managers are filmed almost entirely in indoor settings while others often use public spaces and outdoor settings, asked students to give two examples of each and discuss the advantages of both narrative approaches.

The second question asked students to discuss the significance of social class in four movies: Twelve Angry Men, North Country, The Class, and Remains of the Day.

The dramatic advantage of the prolonged use of an indoor setting, especially one room, is that it turns up the emotional heat of the narrative by focusing it on the interaction among the characters occupying the room. If that interaction is intense, confining it to one room makes it more intense. Facial close-up shots are often used and the audience is forced to zero in on dialogue, gesture, and body language. The two prototypical “small room” narratives we watched were Twelve Angry Men, where the entire movie takes place in a sweaty and claustrophobic jury room, and The Class, where most of the movie takes place in Monsieur Marin’s crowded classroom.

In contrast, the dramatic advantage of filming outdoors and in public spaces is that the movie incorporates panorama and spectacle. The narrative itself can be large, encompassing many places and many people. And the variety of settings should hold the interest of the audience. The two classic examples we watched were Charlie Wilson’s War, which moved between Washington and exotic Middle East locales (Afghan deserts, Pakistani palaces, and Egyptian belly dance lounges) with occasional stops in Houston, and The Insider, which after an opening scene in Beirut, wandered all over America. Some students noted that outdoor and public settings are better places to hold secret discussions than rooms which are being watched and possibly bugged, an observation which is correct, but misses the bigger point.

One advantage of using small rooms that, surprisingly, none of the MBA students discussed, is that filming in a studio is a lot less expensive than filming on location, especially if there are several locations, as well as hundreds or thousands of extras, involved.

Now, the second question about social class. The four movies treat social class in a variety of ways. In Twelve Angry Men, ethnicity and social class are markers that precondition the jury’s initial presumption that the accused is guilty. The jury deliberations, however, do not split along class lines. Starting with the upper middle class, the architect thinks the accused is innocent, the stockbroker that he is guilty, and the advertising man can’t decide. The working class jurors also split, with the ethnic and working man soon joining those favouring acquittal, while the salesman, garage owner, and messenger service owner hold out until the end for a conviction. Had the jury split along class lines, a deadlock and hence a hung jury would have been more likely.

North Country really is about sexism, and we find that all the men in the mining company, whether middle class executives or lower class miners, are sexists, with the difference being that the former were more subtle and less physical in their expressions of sexism. Thus class was not really at the core of this movie (call it a trick question).

In The Class, it is immediately evident that most of the students are lower class and of colour. But what struck me was the nature of their teacher Marin’s enterprise, which was to teach them “correct” grammar, usage, spelling, and accent. In effect, he was teaching them how to conform, linguistically, to middle class expectations. But the students were often resisting. This makes a for sharp contrast with other transformational teacher movies, most notably Stand and Deliver, in which Jaime Escalante was teaching his Latino students calculus because it would enable them to get ahead in Anglo middle class America, without necessarily buying in to the culture.

Finally, I see The Remains of the Day as a cautionary fable about class deference. The butler Stevens is deferential to his master and ultimately comes to realize he has drastically and unnecessarily limited his own life as a result. Mr. Benn, who ultimately weds Miss Kenton, is of the same class background as Stevens, but more assertive in every way: sexually, occupationally, and politically, and while his life was far from perfect, he had much more of a life than did Stevens. This contrast presents one of the main themes of the narrative, and Ishiguro’s novel can be read as a critique of deference and defense of a democracy in which the common-sense instincts of ordinary people are of equal value to the articulate but misguided musings of well-educated aristocrats.

Business schools are populated by students who are striving for wealth and ignore the existence of status gradations (and sometimes barriers) in society, and narratives are effective at pointing out this reality.

One of the questions on my recent public management exam asked students to resolve the logistical conflicts between the G-20 Summit, scheduled for June 26-27 at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre, and baseball games between the Toronto Blue Jays and Philadelphia Phillies at the Rogers Centre next door. The Phillies’ pitcher at one of those games would almost certainly be the Jays’ former ace Roy Halladay, in his first and only return appearance this season.

The question assumed that the federal, provincial, and municipal governments wanted to reconcile tight security for the summit with the personal freedom of baseball fans, and so the games would go ahead. As we learned earlier this week, the Blue Jays management concluded that those concerns were irreconcilable, and so the games will be played in Philadelphia instead.

Consider, first, the exam question. What would a logistical plan for holding the games at Rogers Centre have involved? Here are the elements I was looking for. First, restrictions on automobile access and parking near the stadium. Second, access to the games primarily by public transit from Union Station and St. Andrew’s, with clearly designated walkways to the game, likely avoiding Front Street. Third, strong military and police presence in the vicinity. Fourth, baggage and body searches of fans closely resembling the practice at airports. Fifth, very clear and repeated communication with fans so they know what to expect and prepare themselves accordingly.

As this wasn’t the outcome, let’s consider the decision to move the games. Whose decision was it? We don’t know how much prior consultation there was between Blue Jays management and any of the three levels of government, in particular the feds, but it was Blue Jays management that announced the decision. My strong suspicion is that, whatever their role in the decision, the government didn’t want to announce it themselves. For government, it’s a bad news story, and they are happy to let the team take the heat.

Life imitates art. In preparation for my book on narratives and public management, I have recently been watching back episodes of The West Wing. One of the episodes I watched yesterday, “The Women of Qumar” involved a series of decisions that represented defeats for the Bartlet Administration. The communications strategy involved announcing them all in a short period of time, with the announcements to be made, not by White House spokesperson C.J. Cregg, but by a number of departmental spokesmen at departmental offices rather than at the White House. Conclusion: distance yourself from the bad news.

But can government, particularly the Harper Government, distance itself from this particular item bad news? Governments want to host G-20 summits to showcase some aspect of their society. But does downtown Toronto really need to be showcased? It’s probably the most high profile urban venue in the country.

The Harper Government has a GTA problem, and would like to win some Toronto seats to contribute to a parliamentary majority. Perhaps the decision to host the summit in Toronto (rather than Muskoka, as had originally been planned) was an attempt to raise Toronto’s profile in the world and thus the government’s profile in Toronto.

But the G-20 summit is turning out to be a logistical disaster, as more and more aspects of normal urban life and personal freedom are being restricted on a weekend at the start of the summer. The residents of Toronto are being asked to turn over downtown to visiting politicians (who will only be visible on our television screens), the global media, and a massive military and police presence. Will this make the skeptical citizens of Toronto more likely to vote Conservative? I think not.

C.P. Snow, in Strangers and Brothers, his series of eleven novels about life in academe, business, and government, often referred to “closed politics.” By this he meant decisions made on the basis of confidential consultations among politicians and public servants and announced as a fait accompli.

There is, of course, another side to political life. In a democracy, politicians must take into account public opinion and must ultimately submit to the will of the electorate, which Snow refers to as “open politics.”

In the exam in my graduate narratives course, I asked students to discuss how the following politicians practiced and conceived of the relationship between open and closed politics: Richard Nixon, Jack Kennedy, Charlie Wilson, and the fictional Jim Hacker. Here’s what I was looking for.

Richard Nixon was, more than any other, a practitioner of closed politics. He was an introvert who preferred to spend as much of his time as possible alone in the Oval Office. He once referred to it as his State Department. His famous opening to China, negotiated in secret by Henry Kissinger, was an example par excellance of closed politics.

Nixon didn’t like campaigning and didn’t think he was effective at it. The White House plumbers and their dirty tricks, including the Watergate break-in, were an example of closed politics of the worst kind – illegal – intended to achieve an objective in open politics, namely ensuring that the Democrats would nominate the weakest possible candidate. The tricks were initially successfully, but when they and the cover-up were exposed, he paid the ultimate political price.

Jack Kennedy, as illustrated by his handling of the Cuban Missile Crisis, liked both closed and open politics, was skilled in the use of both, and knew when to call on each to achieve his desired result. He set up the top-secret Excom for advice during the crisis but relied on the inner Excom – Bobby Kennedy, Ted Sorensen, Robert McNamara, and McGeorge Bundy – for support for his final deal with the Soviets. That deal was made in secret by Bobby Kennedy and Russian Ambassador Dobrynin and Jack Kennedy demanded it be kept secret.

At the same time, it was important to him that the Administration’s position was presented in as clear and compelling a way to the public as possible, at both the United Nations and the Organization of American States. Kennedy presented his case to the American public after the initial naval quarantine was implemented, and he was able to prevent the New York Times from publishing the story in advance. Part of Kennedy’s ease in combining both forms of politics was his skill as an orator, displayed, for example, in his famous Berlin Wall Speech.

Charlie Wilson was effective at both open and closed politics but the two were disjoint. He was always popular in his constituency due to his personal charisma, and no less to his ability to deliver the earmarks they wanted. In his closed politics, he pursued the cause that became his passion, winning CIA support for the Afghan Mujahadeen in their resistance to the Soviets. The cause was necessarily covert and not of much moment to his constituents. But he moved easily in both the worlds of East Texas constituency politics and CIA operations and back channel deals in Pakistan and the Middle East. Winning re-election was essential to providing the status necessary to play “the great game,” but his playing the game in no way contributed to his life in constituency politics.

Finally, Yes Minister. The television series was structured entirely around back-room deals among politicians and public servants, and the viewer never sees crowds or voters. This was in part a function of the BBC’s production format and the constraint that it be produced in studio before a live audience. But the politicians are certainly aware of the voters, and winning election or re-election is a prime motivator. In the episode we watching in call (“The Smokescreen”), Prime Minister Hacker is pursuing a tax cut that he thinks will be tremendously popular with the voters, the Health Minister undertakes a public campaign to pass anti-smoking legislation, which the Minister of Fitness and Sport opposes because it will put marginal seats such as his own at risk. But the deal that resolves the conflict is cut in private.

The conclusion. A really great politician is effective at both, understands the importance of open politics for legitimacy and validation, knows how to do what has to be done in private and how to sell it to the public.

As the UK election approaches, with the prospect of no clear majority, let’s think a bit about what happens on May 7. Unaccustomed to such situations, people in the UK refer to it as a hung Parliament, a term that suggests political immobility. Canadians, who have had considerable such experience at the federal level refer to it as a minority government, a term that suggests getting on with the job of governing, regardless of whether the party in power has a majority in the House of Commons.

In my recent public management exam, I asked students to speculate about possible political alignments at Westminster as well as what the UK Civil Service should be doing to prepare for the different scenarios. The latter I put in terms of UK Cabinet Secretary Sir Gus O’Donnell consulting Canadian Cabinet Secretary Wayne Wouters.

Regarding political alignments, the issue seems to be how close either Labour or the Conservatives comes to a majority and which of the smaller parties either can convince to support it.

Will the Liberal Democrats play the role of unique king-maker, in that they alone with Labour or the Conservatives constitute a majority? This appears to be what the commentators I have read are suggesting. If this is the case, Liberal Democrat leader Nick Clegg has to choose between a tired party and discredited leader with which it has greater ideological affinity or a rejuvenated party with a fresh leader but a strange ideological bedfellowship.

There might be another possibility, however, which is that either Labour or the Conservatives could get close enough to a majority that the support of one or more of the smaller parties (Scottish Nationalist, Welsh Nationalist, etc.) would be sufficient. Then the question would be whether either the Conservatives or Labour could offer these parties enough (for example increased devolution for the Scottish and/or Welsh Nationalists) to get their support.

If these scenarios start to play out, we will see an interruption to the British tradition of a 24-hour transition of power. Gordon Brown may be remaining in Ten Downing albeit with his bags packed as intense discussions go on among the parties as to which coalition can constitute a majority.

Like Canadian Governors General, the Queen, for the first time in her long monarchy, may actually have to make a decision with political ramifications. Thinking back in British history, the most recent precedent I can recall was King George VI’s momentous decision in May 1940, taken after considerable consultation, to call upon Winston Churchill rather than Lord Halifax to succeed Neville Chamberlain.

What should the UK Civil Service be doing now? First and foremost, it should be analyzing in great detail the platform of every party, so that it is in a position to effectively assist whatever coalition takes power after the election. So for example, it should be anticipating policies of a Conservative minority government supported by the Scottish and Welsh Nationalists, not just the policies of Labour supported by the Liberal Democrats or the Conservatives supported by the Liberal Democrats.

Looking back to Canadian precedent, the most unprepared public service I can think of was the Ontario public service in 1990, which thought it most unlikely the NDP would be elected with a majority, and so did not fully prepare for that eventuality. Let’s hope that Sir Gus and his colleagues do a better job and are ready for all the permutations and combinations of coalitions that could emerge next Friday morning. That will be the real test of their professionalism.