The farmer and the fly-tipper
Late one evening in mid-September, a farmer was driving along a lane near his home in north Warwickshire when he saw a stationary white van. He stopped and turned his vehicle spotlights on to it. Two men were at the back of the van, unloading some bits of wood and broken furniture on to the verge.
The farmer started filming them. One of the men ran to the van and drove off, leaving the rear doors open. More rubbish scattered over the road as he drove away. His passenger was nowhere to be seen.
The farmer phoned the police, who had no staff available to respond. He then posted the video on Facebook and added some midlands humour in his commentary: “Please help this poor white van man. When attempting a 3 point turn in the lanes by Church End, Ansley last night, the back doors of his van failed and allowed his valued possessions to fall out. Please help us, @warwickshirepolice and @northwarksbc reunite him with his property.”
In north Warwickshire terms, the video went viral. (North Warwickshire is a quiet place, a maze of lanes bordered by hedges that hide fields, woodland and streams. It is surrounded by several conurbations, whose residents are usually only made aware of its existence when their satnav takes them on a shortcut through it.) The national media picked up the story. The ripples continued outwards. Local dignitaries expressed outrage. The story appeared on local TV. The police were invited to comment.
However, fly-tipping is officially no longer a police matter. Government guidelines tell us to report an incident to our local council, who will take action — or not. In the absence of video evidence, I wonder how many councils have the time or resources to pursue a successful prosecution. How well equipped are they to take on an investigative or policing function of this order? In this case, without the quick-thinking farmer who posted his video footage on social media, the driver would have got away with it and almost certainly done it again.
When the police aren’t available, something else fills the gap. The farmer’s video was shared to local Facebook groups, again — and again. Eventually, inevitably, someone saw the video and recognised the driver. They put his name in a comment. Others added the names of his various businesses. He lives in one of the local conurbations. His business Facebook page (which gives his address) showed one of the sofas later seen in the back of the van. The name of his passenger was also given. A disgruntled ex-customer told how he had hired the driver to do a house clearance, and was then prosecuted by the council because the contents had been fly-tipped. It would seem that the original owner is liable for the sofas and mattresses deposited at the side of a road, not the person who put them there.
I guess that white van driver’s phone was busy after that night, and not with customers asking for his services. I wonder if he dared go out of his front door. Will he still have a business after this episode? There is an uneven justice when an individual is named and shamed on social media. It bears little relation to the nature or severity of the offence or to any external concept of right and wrong. It is driven by the popularity and coverage it leads to. Its sanctions range from the object of its attention being ignored and forgotten, to at worst their being hounded beyond their ability to bear it. It is arbitrary and uncontrollable.
And I wonder what his mates think. Because there is another danger with tribal justice of this order: notoriety can turn into celebrity. A year from now, he may be lauded by his friends as the person who stirred up this ruckus that was reported in the newspapers and on TV.
Such peer-group justice has a longer pedigree than our current structure with police, solicitors and law courts. Sanction based on exclusion goes back to ancient Greece, and beyond. The word ‘ostracism’ comes from the Greek word ‘ostrakon’, a tile which citizens of Athens marked when they voted to banish a disruptive person from the city. It has parallels in the natural world. In his book, ‘The Man Who Listens to Horses’, Monty Roberts tells of a wayward colt he saw who nipped and harassed the other members of the herd. As she was grazing, the lead mare moved towards him and the young colt gradually found himself pushed to the edge of the group. For a prey animal such as a wild horse, exclusion from the herd can mean death. The colt got the point, showed signs of submission and was allowed back into the group.
Do we feel safe, relying on the judgements of neighbours rather than those of a supposedly impartial external authority? Those external institutions are becoming ever-more remote, as the farmer found when he tried to report the incident to the police. And at the same time our social structures are evolving, fast. People move house. We may not know the names of those who live next door. Our family may be miles away. Our most regular contact may be with friends we hardly ever meet in person. Humans are social, so we need our tribes, our support groups, our networks, and we don’t know what they are turning into. How much of our time and attention and interaction is given to those who live in the local area? The local shops and pubs, places where neighbours would cross each other’s paths, are closing. I wonder if, as a society, it is even possible to dispense such justice wisely and responsibly when our lives are so dispersed, so fragmented.
A final question: why did that white van driver do it at all? On the Warwickshire County Council website, the cost for disposing of up to 100kg of general waste is £27. Maybe it was too much effort or expense to register with the council. Note to self: if I hire a white van driver to dispose of some rubbish, make sure they are registered with the council.
