Latest news with #Dalek-like
The Guardian
22-04-2025
- The Guardian
Hell is not other people – it's being stuck in the ninth circle of an automated telephone service
Life is about to change on the remote island nation of Tuvalu. And not, in my opinion, for the better. To great fanfare, Tuvalu – an entirely cash-based society – has unveiled its first ever ATM, marking its move towards financial modernisation. But while the 10,000 people living in that country may be celebrating no longer having to queue at the bank, I fear their happiness will be short-lived. It's the start of the slow erosion of human contact that heralds the dehumanisation of yet another society. The world's first ATM was introduced in Britain in 1967, but for me the tyranny of machines that promise convenience but erode human contact really began about 20 years ago, in the form of self-checkouts in our local Sainsbury's. Having watched the Terminator movie franchise during my formative years, I railed prophetically against them, aware that it was just a small slippery slope from 'unexpected item in the bagging area' to the extinction of the human race. I wrote about my fear of these machines with their Dalek-like commands and even started a short-lived and extremely unpopular Facebook campaign against them. But like a modern-day Cassandra, I was doomed to be ignored. To be clear: I'm no luddite. While I admit I am not an early adopter, I do have the latest iPhone, spend far more time than is wise on social media and can frequently be heard barking orders at an Alexa device. I'm also well aware that technology can make life easier, simpler, quicker and more efficient. The problem is, it has insidiously crept into areas of life where it has no purpose other than to replace human interaction. And that has left society poorer and far more miserable. Today, automated checkouts have not only taken over supermarkets (where often they're the only option unless you want to buy a scratchcard or cigarettes), they have also appeared in pharmacies and clothes retailers. Customer services departments have been decimated, helplines substituted with AI chatbots, and local bank branches replaced by apps. It's easy to see why. Machines make model employees. They don't have rights or belong to unions, and they don't require sick pay or holidays. A rise in the minimum wage or employer's national insurance rates are irrelevant to them. If they break, you fix them or simply replace them. Never mind those who most need this type of work – school-leavers, the unskilled, disabled people. And forget elderly shoppers, for whom a chat with a cashier might be the only human contact of the day. Retailers claim customers love dealing with machines. Do we? A survey by the Belonging Forum found nearly half of UK adults (48%) are more likely to return to shops where they're served by a person rather than a self-checkout. The other day, when I had to contact my bank, it took lots of Googling to find its (well-hidden) customer services number. When I finally got through to someone, I expressed my preference for talking to a person over using an app because I have fat thumbs, and because it's so much more pleasant and efficient. 'I'm old school,' I stated. The young woman responded kindly by offering to send me information on 'courses to improve your digital skills'. She might as well have suggested a blue rinse and a freedom pass to boot. For the record, my digital skills are fine, dear. My middle-aged pride, on the other hand, is rather wounded. Age does appear to be a big factor in our attitude towards technology. In 2017, a survey by LivePerson found that 69.4% of gen Z and millennial respondents would choose a messaging app over a phone app if they could keep only one. But we also know how much reliance on technology and lack of human contact are damaging young people's mental health. And employers frequently complain that young new recruits come to them unable to make a simple phone call or converse with colleagues or customers. Loneliness is now an epidemic. In 2023, the World Health Organization (WHO) declared it to be a global health threat, with its mortality effects equivalent to smoking 15 cigarettes a day. Human contact isn't just more pleasant, it's also essential. There are signs that the tide may be turning. A supermarket chain in the Netherlands, Jumbo, introduced slower checkouts in 2019 for any customers who prefer to chat to a human being. The initiative aims to tackle loneliness, particularly in elderly customers. Hell, it turns out, is not other people. It's being caught in the ninth circle of an automated telephone answering service, which can't understand your commands and takes you back to the same menu again and again. But here's a little tip for you: if you scream 'human being' when asked which option you'd like, it usually works. For now, at least. Hilary Freeman is a journalist and author
The Independent
26-03-2025
- Business
- The Independent
Battle-tank Reeves crushes the Tories – but her own side are yet to be steamrollered
There's something of a battle-tank about Rachel Reeves, so it was no surprise that she started her big day posting a picture of herself posing by an actual armoured car and flanked by soldiers in khaki. Gears crunching, helmet hair rigid, the chancellor's verbal caterpillar tracks soon flattened another chunk of the welfare budget. 'Economic security is non-negotiable,' she intoned, Dalek-like. Exterminate! Reeves' military imagery alluded to one of her key messages, which she repeated all day long, that 'the world is changing'. This is the Treasury 's latest excuse for the economy not growing in the way that Labour promised, but it also sounds uncomfortably similar to 'events, dear boy events', which was the answer famously given by Harold Macmillan when asked why governments lose elections. For the morning media round, the defence secretary was wheeled out of his bunker. John Healey was a good choice, not just because he is getting all the cash hijacked from overseas aid, but also because he is about the only top rank minister who hasn't pocketed free family tickets to pop concerts. Shortly before lunch, Reeves trundled from No 11 to the Commons wearing a huge smile – looking as though she had just won the lottery rather than been informed that her NI rise had caused the growth rate to halve. Some tanks have no reverse gear. Taking her place at the dispatch box, she received a dutiful rather than ecstatic cheer from her own side. Labour MPs were going to make her work harder than usual. At the back of the chamber, a Banquo-like Anneliese Dodds apparated at the fore of a crowd of standing MPs, just within the chancellor's eyeline. Wearing a baleful expression and dressed head to toe in black, Dodds, the sole senior minister to resign over the aid cuts, glared in reproachful silence. If Reeves spotted her, she gave no sign but ploughed on through her statement, red-painted fingernails marking her place in the treasury script. The chancellor was kept occupied by the Tories, who adopted a strategy of laughing uproariously whenever she resorted to clichés, which was often. She took revenge by bringing up Liz Truss's disastrous mini-budget at every opportunity. Sir Keir Starmer, next to her, listened with a slightly furrowed brow. Angela Rayner nodded enthusiastically –and was rewarded with a big sisterly credit for pushing through planning reforms that Reeves predicted will boost the economy just in time for the next election. There was not much red meat to cheer Labour backbenchers. In the words of Sabrina Carpenter, the pop singer that Reeves took freebie family tickets to see recently: 'Oh, it's slim pickings.' But with Reeves it's all about the politics – and her messaging was relentless. Britain would be 'a defence industrial superpower'. The parties opposite were opposing new homes and jobs. Labour was making a difference. She sat down to a bigger cheer than when she stood up. Mel Stride, the Conservative shadow chancellor, spent much of the statement poring over graphs and tables from the Office for Budget Responsibility. There are few tougher tasks than replying to a spring statement – and his creased script bore visible proof of the herculean effort involved, the original typescript hidden behind scrawled annotations. He called it 'an emergency budget', despite the absence of tax and spend changes, and attacked the welfare cuts while also saying his side would have gone 'much, much further'. With an impressively straight face, he asserted that Reeves's tax rises had killed off a healthy growth rate inherited from the Tories. 'With her fingers crossed, she fiddled the figures,' Stride alleged, almost begging speaker Lindsay Hoyle to rebuke him. Inflation, at under three per cent, was 'growing on her watch', went on Stride, which drew laughter from Labour MPs who recalled the dizzying 10 per cent rate under Liz Truss's watch. Potentially more dangerous for the chancellor was the handful of Labour MPs who stood up to voice misgivings. Debbie Abrahams, chair of the work and pensions committee, warned of ' severe poverty ' and sickness due to welfare cuts. Left-winger Richard Burgon questioned the 'easy option' of taking rather than 'the Labour option' of a wealth tax. But the tank rumbled onwards. Later, the economic wonks of the IFS issued their own verdicts, making clear just how vulnerable the chancellor's numbers are to economic shocks. One passage in Reeves' speech hinted at the precariousness of her position. 'The British people put their trust in this Labour government because they knew that we – they knew that I – would never take risks with the public finances.' The use of 'I' instead of 'we' indicated, rightly, that one woman will claim full credit if her economic plan works – and will be swiftly disposed of if it fails.
