The police watchdog had failed

The Guardian online reports: On Tuesday Jessica Leigh, one of the original vigil’s organisers said the watchdog report had failed to investigate how the cancellation of the event had led to more anger and the greater likelihood of public disorder.

Let me add: the watchdog failed to investigate the police's and  politicians' inability to foresee and anticipate what happened when they refused to cooperate with Reclaim These Streets and cancelled the event.

The Guardian online reports: The group Reclaim These Streets, formed of local women, had originally worked with police to organize a peaceful and short vigil to honour Sarah Everard. They said local police had originally been willing to work together, but had then said their “hands were tied” and they had to ban the event because of coronavirus restrictions. The group took the police to the high court for an emergency hearing on the day before the event was due to be held, but after their challenge failed, they cancelled the event citing the police’s “lack of constructive engagement”.

Jessica Leigh said: “There is no attempt in this report to address the issue that women now have less trust in the police than they did before the vigil. It is a missed opportunity to recognise the damage done by the police’s decision to push for the event to be cancelled, and exacerbated by their actions while policing the event.”

Let me add: the watchdog failed to anticipate the profoundly negative effect of its report. Young women determined to Reclaim These Streets have now less trust in the police than they did before the watchdog’s report was made and published.

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On March 13 I tweeted: Shouldn’t the police have helped to organise Sarah Everard vigil – helping to preserve social distancing, offering face masks to those who wouldn’t wear one – instead of cancelling it?

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The watchdog’s report is bedevilled by glaring inconsistency. It says on its website: ‘HMICFRS found that an event on Clapham Common could have taken place because the right to protest remains even during the pandemic. However, it said planning a COVID-friendly event at Clapham Common was not realistic because of the high number of people expected to attend and the limited time available to plan the event. The inspectorate concluded that, in this case, the Met’s decision to prioritise consistency with their approach to policing other mass gathering during the COVID-19 lockdown was right.’

The Associated Press says on its website on March 14: ‘Emotions were still running high Sunday, as several hundred demonstrators gathered outside London police headquarters. The crowds, which were peaceful, then marched to Parliament and laid down on the ground for a minute of silence to remember Everard.’

The policing of the event was impeccable. But imagine what would have happened if the event had been policed in line with ‘the Met’s decision to prioritise consistency with their approach to policing other mass gathering during the COVID-19 lockdown’.

2 Plato’s Phaedrus and Aristophanes’ Frogs, Cleophon in the Frogs, demagogue in the Phaedrus

In my preceding post I suggested that the Phaedrus can be seen as Plato’s answer to the expectations concerning his entry into the political arena, expectations voiced in Aristophanes’ Frogs. I argued that the song – in which the chorus in the strophe celebrates Aeschylus for ‘his keen intelligent mind’ (echȏn xunesin ȇkribȏmenȇn, 1482-3), returning home to save his city ’because of his keen intelligent mind’ (dia to sunetos einai, 1490), and in the antistrophe deprecates Socrates for activities in which nothing is done, nothing achieved – is aimed at Plato: Plato must shake Socrates off (the antistrophe), becoming fully aware of his powers and of his destiny (the strophe).

Plato in the Phaedrus entered the political arena with Socrates’ opening words ‘My dear Phaedrus (Ō phile Phaidre), where is it you’re going (poi dȇ)?’ Phaedrus was in exile; introducing him as Socrates’ dear friend, Plato presented the return of the emigrants as a political imperative.

Phaedrus replied: ‘I’m going for a walk outside the city-wall (poreuomai pros peripaton exȏ teichous) … I’m taking my walks along the country roads (kata tas hodous poioumai tous peripatous) … walking here is more refreshing than in the colonnades (akopȏterous einai tȏn en tois dromois).’

Phaedrus could take his walks along the country roads only in the dialogue dramatically dated in time of peace, prior to his being accused of profaning the Eleusinian mysteries and fleeing into exile, and thus prior to the Athenian’s invasion of Sicily.

In 405 B.C., when Aristophanes’ Frogs were written and staged, Aristophanes could present the annual solemn procession to Eleusis only in the Underworld. For since the fortification of Deceleia by the Spartans, the procession had been compelled to travel by sea, except when Alcibiades, restored to Athens in 407 B.C. led out his army to protect the overland route (Xen. Hellenica, I. iv.,20,21), ‘so guarding the Mysteries which himself was accused of profaning, and neutralizing the garrison in Deceleia which he had himself recommended to Sparta. And whilst the procession had to travel by sea, says Plutarch, it was shorn of its accustomed solemnities – Alcibiades 34.’ (B.B. Rogers’ comment on Frogs 326). 

Aristophanes in the Frogs, and Plato in the Phaedrus, thus emphasised the conclusion of peace with Sparta as a political imperative. 

In the Frogs, in the parabasis the chorus advises the citizens to re-enfranchise those who were disenfranchised for their connection with the oligarchic revolution of the Four Hundred (in 411 B.C.):

Well it suits the holy Chorus evermore with counsel wise

To exhort and teach the city: this we therefore now advise –

ton hieron choron dikaion esti chrȇsta tȇi polei

xumparainein kai didaskein. prȏton oun hȇmin dokei

End the townsmen’s apprehensions; equalize the rights of all;

exisȏsai tous politas k’aphelein ta deimata. (686-688, tr. B.B. Rogers)

Scholiast says that ‘the play (to drama) … was so admired because of its Parabasis (houtȏ ethaumasthȇ dia tȇn en autȏi Parabasin), in which the author reconciles (kath’ hȇn diallattei) those who enjoyed their citizen-rights (tous entimous) with those who were deprived of all their rights of citizenship (tois atimois) … that it was acted a second time (hȏste kai anedidachthȇ), as says Dicaearchus (hȏs phȇsi Dikaiarchos).’ (III. THŌMA TOU MAGISTROU).

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Dicaearchus was a distinguished disciple of Aristotle. Diogenes Laertius refers to him in corroboration of the ancient tradition according to which the Phaedrus was Plato’s first dialogue (III. 38).

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Aristophanes in the Frogs pleaded for disenfranchised citizens who lived in Athens. Plato went further: he turned the reader’s mind to citizens who were in exile.

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When Aristophanes wrote the Frogs, the political situation in Athens was dominated by the aftermath of the naval victory of Arginusae. The Spartans offered to evacuate Deceleia and conclude a general peace, on the terms that each side should retain what it held. The wiser citizens were anxious to embrace the offer, but the Athenian Assembly, inflamed by the demagog Cleophon with deleterious patriotism, rejected the offer. If Athens were to be saved, Cleophon’s hold on the People’s Assembly had to end. In the Frogs, in the introductory song of the parabasis Aristophanes points to his semi-Thracian origin: ‘upon whose double-speaking lips (eph’ hou dȇ cheilesin amphilalois) the Thracian swallow is terribly roaring (deinon epibremetai Thrȇikia chelidȏn), as it sits perched on that barbarian leafage (epi barbaron hezomenȇ petalon).’

This is Rogers’ prosaic translation of lines 679-682, which he gives in his note on Frogs 678, commenting: ‘It was far from Aristophanes’ intention to attribute to the demagogue the musical notes of the swallow, and therefore the bird on Cleophon’s lips does not warble but deinon epibremetai, “makes a terrible roaring”. It is Cleophon’s voice, and not her own, that issues from the swallow’s throat.’

In his poetic rendering of the Frogs Rogers translates:

‘On the lips of that foreigner base, of Athens the bane and disgrace,

There is shrieking, his kinsman by race,

The garrulous swallow of Thrace.’

Having thus initiated his attack on Cleophon in the parabasis, Aristophanes turns it into a veritable onslaught in the scenes with which the Frogs culminate. Sending Aeschylus ‘back home’ (palin oikad’, 1486), Pluto says to him:

‘save our state (sȏze polin tȇn hȇmeteran) … and give this to Cleophon (kai dos touti Kleophȏnti), and this to the revenue-raising crew (kai touti toisi poristais), to Nicomachus and Myrmex, together (Murmȇki th’ homou kai Nikomachȏi).

The Scholiast says that ‘this’ means a halter; Aeschylus is asked by Pluto ‘to be carrying’ (pherȏn) three halters, one for each of the three to hang themselves. Pluto continues:

‘And bid them all that without delay,

To my realm of the dead they hasten away.

kai phraz’ autois tacheȏs hȇkein

hȏs eme deuri kai mȇ melleinˑ

For if they loiter above, I swear

I’ll come myself and arrest them there.

And branded and fettered the slaves shall go

Down, down to the darkness below.

k’an mȇ tacheȏs hȇkȏsin, egȏ

nȇ ton Apollȏ stixas autous

kai sumpodisas

kata gȇs tacheȏs apopempsȏ.

Rogers notes on Pluto’s ‘save our state’: ‘In this last solemn scene – for solemn scene it is, although it occurs in comedy – Pluto is paying a compliment to Athens, by identifying himself with her citizens.’

***

The reader of Plato will be reminded of the closing scene of Plato’s Symposium, in which Socrates ‘compels Agathon [a tragedian] and Aristophanes to acknowledge (prosanankazein ton Sȏkratȇ homologein autous) that the true artist in tragedy is an artist in comedy also (tou autou andros einai kȏmȏidian kai tragȏidian epistasthai poiein, 223c-d).’

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In the closing song of the Chorus the desire for peace is paramount, and the rejection of Cleophon definitive:

First, as the poet triumphant is passing away to the light,

Grant him success on his journey, ye powers that are ruling below.

prȏta men euodian agathȇn apionti poiȇtȇi

es phaos ornumenȏi dote, daimones hoi kata gaias,

Grant that he find for the city good counsels to guide her aright;

tȇi te polei megalȏn agathȏn agathas epinoias.

So we at last shall be freed from the anguish, the fear, and the woe,

Freed from the onset of war. Let Cleophon and his band

Battle, if battle they must, far away in their own fatherland.

pangchu gar ek megalȏn acheȏn pausaimeth’ an houtȏs

argaleȏn t’ en hoplois sunodȏn. Kleophȏn de machesthȏ

k’allos ho boulomenos toutȏn patriois en arourais.

Although Aristophanes does not mention the Spartan offer of peace directly, he clearly alludes to it in this closing song of the Chorus. For the Athenians can be ‘freed from the anguish, the fear, and the woe, freed from the onset of war’ only if they conclude a lasting peace with Sparta.

Plato in the Phaedrus does not name Cleophon. But when he speaks of ‘a rhetorician (ho rȇtorikos) who is ignorant of good and evil (agnoȏn agathon kai kakon), who employs his power of persuasion on a community as ignorant as himself (labȏn polin hȏsautȏs echousan peithȇi), and by studying the beliefs of the masses (doxas de plȇthous memeletȇkȏs) he persuades them to do evil instead of good (peisȇi kaka prattein ant’ agathȏn, 260c), who else can he be speaking about but Cleophon?

Cleophon was invincible in the People’s Assembly. Aristophanes could allow himself to attack him as he did because he directed at him his wit, in which his audience delighted. Had Plato merely stated that Cleophon, being ignorant of good and evil, persuaded the Athenians to do what was bad for them instead of good, his statement would be counterproductive.

Socrates asked: ‘Well then, for things that are to be said well and acceptably, at least, mustn’t there be knowledge in the mind of the speaker of the truth (Ar’ oun ouch huparchein dei tois eu ge kai kalȏs rȇthȇsomenois tȇn tou legontos dianoian eiduian to alȇhes) about whatever he intends to speak about (hȏn an erein peri mellȇi;)?’

Phaedrus: ‘What I have heard about this (Houtȏsi peri toutou akȇkoa), my dear Socrates (ȏ phile Sȏkrates), is that there is no necessity for the man who intends to be an orator (ouk einai anankȇn tȏi mellonti rȇtori esesthai) to understand what is really just (ta tȏi onti dikaia manthanein), but only what would appear so to the majority of those who will give judgement (alla ta doxant’ an plȇthei hoiper dikasousin), and not what is really good (oude ta ontȏs agatha) or fine (ȇ kala) but whatever will appear so (all’ hosa doxei); because persuasion comes from that (ek gar toutȏn einai to peithein) and not from the truth (all’ ouk ek tȇs alȇtheias).’

Socrates: ‘Not to be cast aside, Phaedrus, must apply to whatever wise people say, and we should perhaps look to see whether they may not be right (Outoi apoblȇton epos einai dei, ȏ Phaidre, ho an eipȏsi sophoi, alla skopein mȇ ti legȏsi); what has just been said, particularly (kai dȇ kai to nun lechthen), must not be dismissed (ouk apheteon).’ – Phaedrus: ‘Quite right (Orthȏs legeis)’. – Socrates: ‘Let us consider it like this (Hȏde dȇ skopȏmen auto). – Phaedrus: ‘How (Pȏs;)’

Socrates: ‘If I were persuading you (ei se peithoimi egȏ) to defend yourself against the enemy (polemious amunein) by getting a horse (ktȇsamenon hippon), and neither of us knew what a horse was (amphȏ de hippon agnooimen), but I happened to know just so much about you (tosonde mentoi tunchanoimi eidȏs peri sou), that Phaedrus thinks a horse is that tame animal (hoti Phaidros hippon hȇgeitai to tȏn hȇmerȏn zȏiȏn) which has the largest ears – (megista echon ȏta)’ – Phaedrus stepped in: ‘It would be ridiculous, Socrates (Geloion g’ an, ȏ Sȏkrates, eiȇ).’ – Socrates: ‘Not yet (Oupȏ ge); but it would be when I tried earnestly to persuade you (all’ hote dȇ spoudȇ se peithoimi) by putting together a speech in praise of the donkey (suntitheis logon epainon kata tou onou), labelling it a horse (hippon eponomazȏn) and saying (kai legȏn) that the beast would be an invaluable acquisition both at home (hȏs pantos axion to thremma oikoi te kektȇsthai) and on active service (kai epi stratias), useful to fight from (apopolemein te chrȇsimon) and capable too of carrying baggage (kai pros g’ enenkein dunaton skeuȇ), and good for many other purposes (kai alla polla ȏphelimon).’ – Phaedrus: ‘Then it would be thoroughly ridiculous (Pangeloion g’ an ȇdȇ eiȇ).’

Socrates: ‘Well then (Ar’ oun), isn’t ridiculous and friendly better than clever and hateful (ou kreitton geloion kai philon ȇ deinon te kai echthron einai; 260c3-4)?’ – Phaedrus: ‘It seems so’ (Phainetai). – Socrates: ‘So when an expert in rhetoric (Hotan oun ho rȇtorikos) who is ignorant of good and evil (agnoȏn agathon kai kakon) employs his power of persuasion on a city as ignorant as himself (labȏn polin hȏsautȏs echousan peithȇi), not by extolling a miserable donkey as being really a horse (mȇ peri onou skias hȏs hippou ton epainon poioumenos), but by extolling evil as being really good (alla peri kakou hȏs agathou): and when by studying the beliefs of the masses (doxas de plȇthous memeletȏkȏs) he persuades them to do evil instead of good (peisȇi kaka prattein ant’ agathȏn), what kind of crop his oratory is likely to reap from the seed thus sown (poion tina oiei meta tauta tȇn rȇtorikȇn karpon hȏn espeire therizein;)?’ (259e4-260d1)

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Hackforth and Rowe translate 260c3-4 differently. Hackforth: ‘Well, isn’t it better to be a ridiculous friend than a clever enemy?’ Rowe: ‘Well then, isn’t it better to be ridiculous and well-intentioned than to be clever and full of hostile intentions?’ But Socrates’ question – ‘isn’t ridiculous and friendly better than clever and hateful’ – refers to the rhetorician’s pronouncements, not to his intentions. Cleophon wanted the best for the people of Athens, he just did not know what was good.

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Let me end this post with Cleophon as Lysias saw him:

‘You all know that Cleophon had all the affairs of the State in his hands for many years (Kleophȏnta de pantes iste hoti polla etȇ diecheirise ta tȇs poleȏs panta), and was expected to have got a great deal by his office (kai prosedokato panu polla ek tȇs archȇs echein); but when he died (apothanontos d’ autou) this money was nowhere to be found (oudamou dȇla ta chrȇmata), and moreover his relatives both by blood and by marriage (alla kai hoi prosȇkontes kai hoi kȇdestai), in whose hands he would have left it (par’ hois an katelipen), are admittedly poor people (homologoumenȏs penȇtes eisi).’ (Lysias XIX, 48-49, tr. W.R.M. Lamb)

After the disastrous battle at Aegospotami, Cleophon once again damaged the city with his well intentioned rhetoric: ‘They [ie. the oligarchs] began with an attack on Cleophon in the following matter (prȏton men oun Kleophȏnti epethento ek tropou toioutou). When the first Assembly was held on the question of peace (hote gar hȇ prȏtȇ ekklȇsia peri tȇs eirȇnȇs egigneto), and the emissaries of the Spartans (kai hoi para Lakedaimoniȏn hȇkontes) stated the terms on which the Spartans were prepared to make peace (elegon eph’ hois hetoimoi eien tȇn eirȇnȇn poieisthai hoi Lakedaimonioi) – on condition that the Long Walls were demolished, each to the extent of ten stades (ei kataskapheiȇ tȏn technȏn tȏn makrȏn epi deka stadia hekaterou), – you then refused, men of Athens, to stomach what you had heard as to the demolition of the walls (tote humeis te, ȏ andres Athȇnaioi, ouk ȇneschesthe akousantes peri tȏn teichȏn tȇs kataskaphȇs), and Cleophon arose and protested on behalf of you all (Kleophȏn te huper humȏn pantȏn anastas anteipen) that by no means could the thing be done (hȏs oudeni tropȏi hoion te eiȇ poiein tauta).’ (Lysias XIII, 8, tr. W.R.M. Lamb)

Cleophon prevailed: ‘After that Theramenes (meta de tauta Thȇramenȇs), who was plotting against democracy (epibouleuȏn tȏi plȇthei tȏi humeterȏi) arose and said that (anastas legei hoti), if you would appoint him (ean auton helȇsthe) an ambassador to treat for peace with a free hand (peri tȇs eirȇnȇs presbeutȇn autokratora), he would arrange (poiȇsei) that there should be neither a breach made in the walls (hȏste mȇte tȏn teichȏn dielein) nor any other abasement of the city (mȇte allo tȇn polin elattȏsthai mȇden); and that he thought (oioito de kai) he would contrive even to get from the Spartans some additional boon for the city (allo ti agathon para Lakedaimoniȏn tȇi polei heurȇsesthai) … Well, he went to Sparta (ekeinos men oun elthȏn eis Lakedaimona) and stayed there a long time (emenen ekei polun chronon), though he had left you here in a state of siege (katalipȏn humas poliorkoumenous), and knew that your population was in desperate straits (eidȏs to humeteron plȇthos en aporiai echomenon), as owing to the war (kai dia ton polemon) and its distresses (kai ta kaka) the majority must be in want of the necessities of life (tous pollous tȏn epitȇdeiȏn endeeis ontas). But he thought that (nomizȏn), if he should reduce you to the condition (ei diatheiȇ humas) to which he in fact reduced you (hȏsper diethȇke), you would be only too glad to make peace on any terms (hopoiantinoun ethelȇsai an eirȇnȇn poiȇsasthai). The others remained here (hoi d’ enthade hupomenontes), with the design of subverting the democracy (kai epibouleuontes katalusai tȇn dȇmokratian); they brought Cleophon to trial (eis agȏna Kleophȏnta kathistasi), on the pretext (prophasin men) that he did not go to the camp (hoti ouk ȇlthen eis ta hopla) for his night’s rest (anapausomenos), but really (to d’ alȇthes) because he had spoken on your behalf against the destruction of the walls (hoti anteipen huper humȏn mȇ kathairein ta teichȇ). So they packed a jury for his trial, and these promoters of oligarchy appeared before the court and had him put to death (ekeinȏi men oun dikastȇrion paraskeuasantes kai eiselthontes hoi boulomenoi oligarchian katastȇsasthai apekteinan) on that pretext (en tȇi prophasei tautȇi). Theramenes arrived later from Sparta (Thȇramenȇs de husteron aphikneitai ek Lakedaimonos) … He came bringing a peace (pherȏn eirȇnȇn) … its terms required (enȇn gar) … the razing of the Long walls in their entirety (hola ta makra teichȇ diaskapsai); and instead of his contriving to get some additional boon for the city (anti de tou allo ti agathon tȇi polei heuresthai): surrender of our ships (tas te naus paradounai) and dismantling of the wall around Piraeus (kai to peri ton Peiraia teichos perielein).’ (Lysias XIII, 9-14, tr. W.R.M. Lamb)