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10、[Maiden Voyage] S01E01 Information Currency ...
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[Maiden Voyage] S01E01 Information Currency
Wednesday, 23rd January, 1980.
A rare sunny day in London. Sunlight slanted through the tall window on Whitehall, casting a pale rectangle on the carpet.
The office, mockingly dubbed the 'gilded cage', was filled with a frustration from its occupant, Minister Charles Hyde, that was almost tangible.
He was pacing before his 'new toy', his fingers unconsciously tapping a light tattoo on the edge of the whiteboard.
Charles was dressed today in a crisp, dark grey pinstripe suit, with a diagonal-striped tie in the Liberal Party's gold and yellow. He had, unusually, tied a standard half-Windsor knot, as if trying to dispel the absurdity of the impending meeting with an outward display of solemnity.
A soft knock came at the door. Cyril Astley entered, carrying two red boxes, with several letters resting on top.
"Minister, the replies from the departments have all arrived." He placed the letters on Charles's desk, setting the red boxes aside for the moment. "Regarding this afternoon's meeting."
Charles picked up the topmost letter, from the Treasury. The wording was polite, the content vacuous, amounting to little more than bureaucratic platitudes about 'looking forward to a fruitful exchange'. The second, from the Home Office, was almost identical in its officialese. The third, from the Ministry of Defence…
"All the same nonsense." He placed the letters back on the desk, casually fanning them out with a fingertip.
"A fruitful exchange, a constructive dialogue, a comprehensive information sharing… Cyril, what do these words mean in Whitehall?"
"Minister, it means they will all send a representative," Cyril offered tentatively.
"Splendid. Another piece of nonsense. A Whitehall tradition?" Charles glanced at him.
He turned back to the whiteboard, picked up a black marker from the tray, and wrote the meeting's title:
Inter-Departmental Information Sharing Meeting
"Couldn't they have thought of a proper name? IDISM? It sounds like some sort of intestinal disorder."
The nib of the pen tapped two black dots at the end of the title before drawing several lines, beneath which he wrote the acronyms of the various departments.
Cyril hesitated slightly. "Minister, in Whitehall, a lengthy title usually serves the dual purpose of lowering external expectations and maintaining operational flexibility."
"Lowering external expectations?" Charles looked back at him. "In our public pronouncements, the DSC was established to improve government efficiency and strengthen departmental coordination within the coalition. We are not here to play word games, Cyril." He paused, drawing a circle on the whiteboard. "At least, I'm not. I will not let it just look like it's running."
"A unified data-sharing platform. A centralised information storage system, with departments connected by dedicated lines, submitting regular updates. Transparent, efficient, irrefutable. Break down the departmental silos, let information flow freely, drive decisions with data and logic, not convention and prejudice. We could establish a uniform file format, introduce new statistical methods…" As Charles spoke, he laid out a series of boxes and arrows on the board.
"A… rather ambitious vision, Minister," Cyril commented cautiously.
"This isn't a vision, it's a solution." Charles tapped the whiteboard with his pen, turning back to his PPS. "This is synergy, and it's coordination. It's the reason our department exists. We cannot be allowed to sink into a quagmire of worthless information."
He gestured with his chin towards the pile of red boxes Cyril had just made taller. "Those red boxes, the lists of what the departments are willing to share—all summaries, trends, entirely public information, utterly worthless. If departments can't even share basic information, what's the point of talking about optimising efficiency?"
Cyril seemed about to say something, but in the end, just pressed his lips together.
Charles paid him no mind, continuing to write and draw on the whiteboard until a soft knock came from the door connecting to the Permanent Secretary's office.
Alistair Cavendish entered, holding a file.
"Good morning, Minister." His grey-green eyes swept over the passionate blueprint on the whiteboard without lingering. "Regarding this afternoon's Inter-Departmental Information Sharing Meeting, I have prepared a preliminary draft agenda." He offered the document to Charles.
Charles took it, his brow furrowing at the first glance.
"A discussion on principles of intent? A working group for a feasibility study?" He practically threw the document onto his desk. "Formalism."
"This is an agenda for inviting people to tea and an afternoon nap. We are here to solve problems, not to form a committee to discuss how to define the problem." Charles tapped the whiteboard behind him. "I won't let this meeting be just a meeting, Victor. We either do something, or we don't meet."
"Formalism is function's exoskeleton, Minister," Alistair said calmly. "Building consensus is the first step to solving a problem. And consensus begins with a set of non-threatening terms that all parties can accept."
"And are my terms so threatening?" Charles pointed to his plan on the whiteboard. "Data platform, dedicated lines, regular updates… these are merely engineering terms, not a declaration of war."
"In Whitehall," Alistair tilted his head symbolically, then looked back at Charles, "any proposal that implies a change to the existing power structure can be perceived as a declaration of war."
Charles stared at him for several seconds. Then he picked up his marker and drew a large cross over the draft agenda. "No. We will use my agenda. Direct, frank, focused on solutions."
Alistair did not argue. He simply gave a slight nod and retrieved the rejected draft.
"Yes, Minister. Your agenda, your meeting."
His compliance was so crisp and absolute that it left the series of rebuttals Charles had prepared hanging in the air.
"Good," Charles cleared his throat, trying to regain the initiative. "Cyril, compile the key points of my agenda into a new draft. I want it on my desk before noon."
"Yes, Minister," Cyril replied.
Alistair's gaze rested on Cyril for a moment, then shifted back to Charles. "Well then, I wish you a fruitful meeting this afternoon, Minister. The Private Office will prepare all necessary background materials for you."
With that, he turned and returned to his own office, the door closing softly behind him.
Charles stared at the door, the sense of irritation within him not diminishing but growing.
He took a deep breath and refocused on the whiteboard. Whatever happened, this was his debut. He had to achieve something.
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Shortly before three in the afternoon, Charles walked into the conference room, accompanied by Cyril.
Alistair had already arrived and was seated to the immediate right of the head of the table, speaking in a low voice with another civil servant beside him, a fountain pen in his hand, occasionally making a note on the document before him.
As Charles strode in, Alistair excused himself from his conversation and rose.
He pulled out the chair at the head of the table for Charles, his movement natural. "Good afternoon, Minister."
"Good afternoon." Charles took his seat. Cyril sat to his left, opening a notebook.
His gaze swept the room. The attendees had already arrived.
Treasury, Home Office, Ministry of Defence, Department of Employment, Department of Energy, Department of Industry…
Almost all the core departments were represented, but they were mostly of Assistant Secretary or Principal rank. High enough to speak for their departments, but not high enough to make any substantive commitments, able to deflect anything with the excuse of "needing to consult with superiors."
He cleared his throat, and the room fell silent.
"Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for attending despite your busy schedules." Charles looked around, his eyes resting briefly on each face. "Although this is our first meeting, I am well aware of how valuable your time is. Therefore, we shall skip the superfluous pleasantries and proceed directly to the agenda."
He picked up the document in his hand. "According to Cabinet Office statistics, in the data reports submitted to Parliament by various departments last year, there were seven different versions of the unemployment rate. Five departments gave five starkly different forecasts for North Sea oil production. This situation must change."
"Forgive me, Minister," the representative from the Department of Employment, a young woman, explained, "regarding the unemployment statistics, the Department of Employment has consistently followed the standard definition of the International Labour Organisation. As for the discrepancies in the figures from other departments, I'm afraid that stems from the use of… different statistical methods."
"It is precisely this 'difference' that I wish to address," Charles seized on her point. "We are gathered today not merely for a meeting, but to discuss a more substantive issue—how to make this overly large machine of government, at least in certain key areas, cease its frictional waste and learn to talk to itself."
"My proposal is simple. A central information hub, accessible to all departments with appropriate permissions, where data is readily available. Decisions would no longer be based on rumour or precedent, but on fact itself. The locks on filing cabinets and the doors to our offices should not be the ramparts of our governance." He gestured for everyone to turn to the agenda.
A rustle of paper filled the room, punctuated by a few indistinct coughs.
Cyril noticed Alistair's pen make a very light stroke in his notebook, but he did not look up.
"A refreshing concept, Minister. I sincerely applaud your pursuit of efficiency," began Mr Pinkerton from the Treasury, a white-haired man with reading glasses.
"In principle, the Treasury naturally welcomes any proposal that contributes to efficiency. However, the establishment of a system of this scale—the hardware procurement, system development and maintenance, operator training… its initial investment and subsequent running costs would far exceed any established budget framework for this fiscal year, or even the next. This runs almost counter to the Prime Minister's current strategy of 'efficiency reviews' and downsizing the public sector. It may not align with the 'value for money' principle, and I fear it would struggle to withstand the scrutiny of the Public Accounts Committee."
"Cost is of course a consideration, but we cannot ignore the long-term benefits for the sake of initial investment. This is a strategic investment," Charles countered.
"Benefits? Oh, yes, benefits." Pinkerton nodded with deep empathy. "I completely understand your vision, Minister. Perhaps we could consider first forming a working group to assess the feasibility?"
"A working group?"
"Yes, Minister," Pinkerton nodded again.
"To draw up detailed terms of reference, invite experts from the Exchequer and Audit Department and the Central Computer and Telecommunications Agency to participate, conduct a comprehensive feasibility study and cost-benefit analysis…"
"How long would that take?" Charles asked.
"I imagine, if all goes well, we should be able to submit a preliminary report to you in six months' time?"
"Six months to study whether or not to share data?"
"It is a necessary procedure to ensure the prudent use of public funds, Minister," Pinkerton's tone was apologetic, but his position was firm.
Beneath the table, Charles's fingertips began to tap unconsciously on the edge of his chair.
He turned to Ms Davies from the Home Office. "The Home Office? A more efficient information platform would better serve the public."
"Minister, we all admire your enthusiasm," Ms Davies's wording was even more watertight. "The Home Office is equally committed to improving efficiency. It is just that much of the information we hold is directly linked to citizen privacy, public safety, and indeed, national security. A unified platform, accessible to multiple departments simultaneously—the weakest link in its security chain would be catastrophic. We must place the privacy and information security of our citizens first. Any form of data breach could have disastrous consequences for national security and public trust."
"You will recall the incident in Birmingham last month? A temporary worker left three hundred social security records on a bus. The result? The Home Office's complaint hotline was paralysed for a week." She tapped the agenda item regarding the sharing platform. "And that was just paper files. Can you imagine the headlines if a vulnerability were found in an electronic system accessible to all departments?"
Before Charles could speak, Davies cut him off. "'Government Spies on Every Citizen'? Or 'Whitehall Sells Your Privacy'? Perhaps even 'Big Brother is watching you'? Minister, we are in the process of rebuilding public trust in government. We cannot afford another privacy disaster."
She looked at Charles with a hint of apology. "This is not to say we are unwilling to share, Minister. It is to say that we must ensure all data transfer and storage meet the most stringent encryption standards, which requires substantial technical investment and a new legal framework for authorisation. Until these issues are thoroughly resolved, the Home Office believes any large-scale data sharing must be approached with extreme caution; any proposed data sharing agreement should first be submitted to the Law Officers' Department for detailed legal review."
"We can establish different access levels, use the most advanced encryption technology…" Charles tried to argue.
"Minister Hyde," Davies interrupted him, "the strength of a security chain is determined by its weakest link. One more user is one more point of risk. That is a risk we cannot afford."
Charles took a deep breath and turned to Major Sampson from the Ministry of Defence, leaning forward slightly.
"The Ministry of Defence? Major Sampson, I am sure the military has the most profound understanding of the need for efficient information processing."
"Of course, Minister," Major Sampson replied with a smile. "Information is combat power. We couldn't agree more. Your proposal is, in principle, most inspiring. However…"
His tone shifted. "When it comes to military data, its sensitivity is unique. Much of it pertains not only to national security but also to our… operational deployments and intelligence sources. This makes it difficult to simply 'unify'. We already have a mature, multi-layered encryption system and access control management. To rashly connect it with civilian data systems would be tantamount to opening a breach in a solid fortress."
"Minister, as you know, the international situation we currently face does not permit us any risk of data leakage. For example, the recent patrol mission in the South Atlantic—our patrol vessel's return to port was somewhat delayed due to some… ah, 'coordination issues' regarding budget and maintenance. If that data were, hypothetically, to be compromised via your sharing platform…" Sampson leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "The MoD is not unwilling to cooperate, Minister, but a matter of national survival is at stake. I'm afraid, Minister, our operational data must be disseminated strictly on a need-to-know basis and remain within secure channels. Sharing beyond that would be... inadvisable for national security."
"Perhaps we could start with a small-scale pilot…"
Charles fell silent for a moment, then spoke again, trying to salvage the situation.
"For instance… we could pilot with employment and tax data. Imagine, Treasury tax data could be cross-referenced in real-time with unemployment data from the Department of Employment. We could assess the social impact of any economic policy with unprecedented speed and accuracy. Information should flow freely like blood in the body of government, not be hoarded in self-governing organs, causing the entire system to malfunction due to information blockages." He presented his idea again, looking at Pinkerton.
"Oh, a pilot. A very good idea, Minister. But that presupposes the construction of a shared system," Pinkerton said, taking off his glasses and slowly polishing the lenses before putting them back on.
He opened a leather-bound notebook, his finger sliding down a page of dense notes. "According to… ah, Section 43, sub-section B of the Government Expenditure Control Act of 1978, any new computer system project exceeding fifty thousand pounds requires a three-tier approval process. Tier one is an internal departmental feasibility study, which takes six to eight weeks. Tier two is an inter-departmental resource allocation committee assessment, at least two quarters. And tier three is a comprehensive Treasury review."
"Considering the current backlog…" he looked up at Charles, "optimistically, we might have a preliminary opinion by the end of the next fiscal year."
"The next fiscal year?" Charles was incredulous. "Mr Pinkerton, how much in unemployment benefits did the government mis-issue last year because the Department of Employment and the Inland Revenue data didn't communicate? We must act now."
"Of course, Minister Hyde," Pinkerton nodded again in agreement. "A detailed, quantifiable report of expected benefits would be the first step in initiating a feasibility study. I would be very happy, after the meeting, to send the relevant format requirements and guidelines to your office via internal telex."
Pinkerton had once again deflected his proposal, or rather, delayed it into 'the future'.
Charles felt a wave of powerlessness, a familiar dizziness, as if he were back in the argument with Alistair two days ago about procedure and substance.
He felt as if he were trying to melt an iceberg with a single match.
Charles turned to the representatives from the Departments of Trade and Industry, trying again. "Then at least… in the realm of publicly available trade and industry data, surely we can take a first step, a pilot? It wouldn't require building a vast system immediately."
"Much of our commercial data and analysis of international market trends involves commercial confidentiality and negotiation sensitivities. A partial, un-contextualised snapshot of data could trigger unnecessary panic in the financial markets, or become a stick for the unions to beat the government with," the young official from the Department of an-Trade shook his head. "Forgive me, but I cannot make a commitment. This will require consultation with our Minister and Permanent Secretary."
The old director from the Department of Industry looked equally worried. "A standardised system? Technical compatibility is a bottomless pit. And who gets to define the data fields? More importantly, who pays for it? We need to clarify the source of funding before we can discuss the technical route." He looked at Charles as if at a budgetary black hole.
"All reserve funds for computer projects in the current fiscal year have already been allocated to the computerisation of the Health Service and the upgrade of the Inland Revenue's systems," Pinkerton interjected helpfully.
Every word was polite, every reason unimpeachable, but together they formed a dense, impenetrable wall built of procedure, budget, law, and security.
Charles's patience was wearing thin, but the meeting continued.
The representative from the Scottish Office, in a thick accent, slowly explained the 'uniqueness of local data' and the 'issue of sovereignty, requiring a joint memorandum to define first'.
The Welsh Office immediately followed up with 'binding clauses on data use' and the bottom line of 'ensuring it is not used to cut special funding for Wales'.
The lady from the Department of Health skilfully deflected responsibility to 'the duties of local health authorities' and 'patient confidentiality'.
Charles kept trying to interject, to offer rebuttals, but each time he was deftly parried with a citation of some regulation, some law, some committee resolution.
He glanced at his watch. The hour hand was nearing five.
Almost two hours, and he hadn't secured a single substantive commitment.
They didn't say 'No' directly. They just kept proposing 'further study', 'forming an expert group for feasibility assessment', 'awaiting a legal opinion', 'this is beyond my authority and needs to be taken back to the department for discussion', drowning all of Charles's proposals in officialese.
"…In short, Minister," concluded the representative from the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food, "we are convinced that your department will have a great deal to contribute in coordinating the work of various departments. But just as our ministry currently faces challenges in coordinating fishing quotas—which involves balancing multiple interests and complex local practices—information sharing also requires a long and meticulous, gradual process. We look forward to the DSC providing more guiding principles in the future, to ensure that our efforts are, within the existing framework, truly fruitful."
Charles almost groaned aloud.
He looked at Cyril. The young PPS was writing furiously, documenting this nutrient-free meeting, his pen scratching across the paper, leaving a trail of shorthand symbols. When their eyes met, Charles thought he saw sympathy in the young man's blue eyes.
He then looked at Alistair. The Acting Permanent Secretary had not said a word throughout, merely listening quietly, occasionally jotting a word or two in his notebook.
Just as Charles was about to lose his patience completely, Alistair closed his notebook and tapped the table lightly with his fingers.
"Gentlemen. Our time is nearly at an end. Perhaps we might reach a minimal, operable consensus, to find a constructive conclusion for this meeting's agenda."
His voice was not loud, but it drew everyone's attention.
Charles looked at him too, wondering what conclusion this Observer intended to draw.
"Given the Treasury's concerns about budget and procedure, this meeting will not, for the time being, establish a large-scale information sharing platform. Considering the reminders from the Home Office, the Ministry of Defence, and others regarding information security risks, we will also not, for the time being, set a mandatory list of shared content or technical standards. At the same time, respecting the sovereign concerns of the Scottish and Welsh Offices, any information flow will follow the established bilateral consultation frameworks."
Alistair opened a file he had beside him.
"Based on this understanding, we propose the establishment of a non-binding, foundational 'Dedicated Liaison Officer for Information Notification' mechanism. Each department will designate a Dedicated Liaison Officer, responsible for receiving formal inquiries for information from the DSC. The content and format of the response will be entirely in accordance with that department's existing procedures and information classification guidelines."
"The DSC will be responsible for collating the summaries of public information submitted by each department and compiling a regular 'Whitehall Information-Flow Overview', to be circulated to attending departments and the Cabinet Secretariat for reference. The brief's content will be limited to information that is already public or that departments have authorised for sharing."
"Finally—" he paused slightly, "—to foster an informal atmosphere of exchange, the DSC will host a Quarterly Informal Tea. No mandatory agenda, no formal minutes, merely providing a relaxed platform for you to discuss non-sensitive, operational issues of common interest."
Alistair put the file down, his grey-green eyes sweeping the room. "This both demonstrates the DSC's efforts to fulfil its coordinating function and fully respects the considerations of each department. A report that reflects positive consultation but where concrete collaborative measures await further development will, I trust, also satisfy the expectations of Number 10. What are your thoughts, gentlemen?"
Mr Pinkerton was the first to express his support, pushing his glasses up his nose. "This proposal is… very pragmatic. It is feasible within the existing framework."
"The Home Office has no objection. Clarifying authority and procedure helps to delineate responsibility," Ms Davies nodded.
"The Ministry of Defence supports it. A clear channel is better than chaotic sharing," Major Sampson concurred.
The other representatives also nodded in agreement.
No compulsion, no risk, and the prospect of regular free tea, with the occasional formal inquiry to deal with. A handsome report could prove their participation in coordination. Why not?
Charles watched this scene unfold, feeling only a sense of absurdity.
He had exhausted himself trying to push for substantive progress, only to be met with prevarication from every angle. Yet Alistair's proposal, seemingly a compromise, which in fact rendered information sharing completely formalised and harmless, had easily won everyone's 'support'.
"Splendid," Alistair nodded. He turned to Charles.
"Splendid," Charles squeezed the word out through his teeth. He suppressed the urge to slam the table and delivered the closing remarks. "Since you are all in agreement… we shall establish this DLO mechanism. Cyril, please draft the minutes after the meeting, highlighting this 'constructive' outcome."
"Yes, Minister."
The meeting concluded in an atmosphere of unspoken understanding.
The representatives rose, shook hands, and left behind a trail of "thank you, Minister," "most constructive," and "look forward to further cooperation," their faces relaxed, the task complete.
