Data-driven government.
Until somebody asks for the data.
Officially Speaking was written after yet another run of parliamentary answers where ministers insisted they simply didn’t hold the information being requested. Britain can apparently tell you everything about your tax return, your benefits, your driving licence and the exact date your wheelie bin should be outside. Ask how much a policy costs, who benefits from it or how many people it affects, however, and Whitehall suddenly discovers a remarkable enthusiasm for the phrase “not held centrally.” It’s a song about the strange point where transparency becomes remarkably opaque, and evidence-led government develops a very convenient memory problem.
Facts are important.
Transparency matters.
Trust must be earned.
Apparently.
Count every penny
Count every car
Count every journey
Count where we are
Count every worker
Count every home
Count every detail
They want to know
Ask what it costs
Ask where it went
Ask who came in
Ask what was spent
Suddenly numbers
Are terribly hard
Funny how data
Can catch us off guard
Not held centrally
Not kept that way
Not in the figures
We’ve got today
Officially speaking
Everything’s fine
Nothing to worry about
Nothing to find
Officially speaking
Nothing is known
Nobody counted it
Leave it alone
Led by the data
That’s what they say
Right up until
The data gets
In the fucking way
Housing is measured
Waiting lists grow
Who gets the houses?
Harder to know
Crime gets recorded
Forms get complete
Ask for the breakdown
Watch the retreat
Benefits counted
Payments go through
Ask what it costs us
No useful view
Millions of records
Filed every day
None of the answers
Quite stored that way
Not held centrally
Not broken down
Not something measured
For this part of town
Officially speaking
Everything’s fine
Nothing to worry about
Nothing to find
Officially speaking
Nothing is known
Nobody counted it
Leave it alone
Led by the data
That’s what they say
Right up until
The data gets
In the fucking way
They know what you earn
They know what you owe
They know when you’re late
They know where you go
They’ll find every penny
They say you should pay
They’ll send you a letter
Before the next day
But measure the changes
We all plainly see
And Britain’s great machine
Develops amnesia
Strange little illness
Strange little trick
Ask the wrong question
The numbers go sick
Not in our remit
Not in that form
Not something tracked
Not quite the norm
Further research
May be required
Records incomplete
Systems expired
Nothing concealed
Nothing denied
Nothing available
Either, mind
How many?
Not held.
How much?
Not known.
Who paid?
Not clear.
Who’s waiting?
Unknown.
Officially speaking
Everything’s fine
Trust in the system
Trust in the line
Officially speaking
Nothing went wrong
We’ve simply no figures
To prove you belong
Led by the data
Proudly proclaimed
Until there’s a number
That somebody
Might have to explain
Transparent.
Accountable.
Evidence-led.
We don’t hold that information.
Officially speaking.