In a move that can only be described as the universe having a particularly cruel sense of humour, a victim of the Post Office Horizon scandal has been awarded an OBE, which he promptly dedicated to the sub-postmasters who lost everything to faulty accounting software and corporate obduracy. The government, sensing an opportunity to look magnanimous while the cameras are rolling, has vowed 'full compensation' for all those affected. This, of course, is the same government that spent years insisting the software was infallible and the sub-postmasters were thieves. But hey, let's not dwell on the past. Let's celebrate with a stiff gin and a stiff upper lip.
The ceremony was a masterclass in cognitive dissonance. There stood the recipient, a man whose life was dismantled by a spreadsheet from hell, now wearing a medal pinned by a representative of the very institution that enabled his persecution. The applause was deafening, the smiles plastered on. One could almost hear the ghost of every ruined sub-postmaster whispering, 'Thanks for the thought, but I'd rather have my pension back.'
And then came the compensation vow. A grand promise, issued from a podium flanked by ministers who likely couldn't tell a Horizon terminal from a toaster. The details are, as always, sketchy. There will be a 'speedy process' and a 'no-wrongdoing admission' because God forbid anyone actually says, 'We broke you and we're sorry.' Instead, we get a bureaucratic shrug and a cheque that probably comes with a confidentiality agreement the size of a small novel.
Let's be honest: compensation is necessary but it's also a bit like trying to un-kill a cat. The trauma, the broken families, the suicides, the lost decades of life. None of that can be quantified in pounds and pence. But we'll pretend it can, because that's what we do. We reduce human tragedy to a line item in a budget review.
Meanwhile, the Post Office continues to operate, now with new software that definitely works (they promise), and the same executives who presided over the scandal have retired with golden handshakes. Some have even been knighted. Because in this country, failure on a grand scale is often rewarded with a trip to the palace.
So yes, an OBE for a victim. A full compensation promise for the rest. It's a beautiful piece of political theatre, and the crowd is expected to applaud. But as the gin flows and the truth curdles, one can't help but wonder: when will we stop awarding medals for surviving disasters that should never have happened? When will we stop promising to fix things that were broken by design?
The answer, my friends, is blowing in the wind. Or perhaps it's stuck in the hard drive of a Horizon terminal, buried in a landfill somewhere, never to be seen again.
