Monday 7 October 2019

The Elephant and the Bad Baby: A Study in Directed Moral Outrage and Systematic Othering as Weapons in the Class War

My adventures in parenthood continue, hence the recent lack of posts. Along with the nappy changes, bathing, beard-pulling, finger-gumming and the frankly bewildering quantity and variety of bodily fluids produced by this tiny humanoid, there has also been the opportunity to read lots of children’s books.
We have recently become acquainted with a large portion of Julia Donaldson’s corpus (The Highway Rat and Room on the Broom being a couple of my (um, I mean his) favourites). It’s also been an opportunity to reunite with a few books from my own tiny-personhood, including Each Peach Pear Plum, and Hairy Mclairy.

One of the books I have read to my son is one that was my absolute favourite as a micro-human. It’s The Elephant and Bad Baby, by Elfrida Vipont, illustrated by Raymond Briggs.

It is my opinion that this is one of the finest pieces of prose ever written in the English language, a rich piece of surrealist art with a solid moral and a memorable refrain. However, in re-reading it with eyes rather older and more jaded than before, I’ve realised that a considerable sea of subtext roils beneath the apparently placid surface.

The richness of the text demands a deeper and fuller analysis, a broader and wider interrogation of its themes and ideas, than a mere surface reading would allow. In these days of Brexit and border walls, a fresh examination of this seminal work would, I believe, have significant value. On the surface it’s a simple, albeit highly surreal, lesson on manners. In this study I intend to show that the Elephant and the Bad Baby actually represents an incisive exposé of the politics of division, and the establishment’s use of systematic othering as a method of deflecting criticism and defending the social and political structures that maintain a wealthy elite at the expense of the proletariat.


WARNING: IF YOU’VE NOT YET READ THE ELEPHANT AND THE BAD BABY, THERE WILL BE SPOILERS BELOW.

To summarise the story, an elephant one day decides to go for a walk through what appears to be an industrial town in the north of England in the 1950s or 60s. Soon after setting off, he meets a baby sitting by himself in the middle of the road. We are immediately informed that this is a Bad Baby, although as yet he has done nothing to deserve this epithet. Apparently Ms Vipont doesn’t follow the maxim of ‘show don’t tell’.

The elephant offers the baby a ride. The baby curtly accepts, the elephant picks him up, sets him on his back and they go rumpeta rumpeta rumpeta, all down the road. This is not the last time that they will do this.

They soon come across an ice cream stand, and the elephant asks if the baby would like an ice-cream. Again the baby offers a curt acceptance. The elephant takes an ice cream for himself, an ice-cream for the baby, and they go rumpeta rumpeta rumpeta, all down the road.

Eagle-eyed readers will have realised that they did this without paying for the ice creams. The ice-cream man certainly realises this, and chases after them angrily.

The elephant outpaces the ice-cream man sufficiently that when they come to a butcher’s shop, the scene can be repeated, only this time with pork pies. The elephant takes one for himself, one for the baby, and they go rumpeta rumpeta rumpeta, all down the road. Now though they are pursued by not only the ice-cream man, who by now has caught up, but also the butcher, who is wielding a meat-cleaver.

The scene repeats itself at a baker, snack bar, a grocer’s, a sweet shop, and a fruit barrow. Each time the elephant takes an item for himself, an item for the baby, and goes rumpeta rumpeta rumpeta, all down the road with an ever-growing posse of angry shopkeepers, some of them armed, chasing after.

We now learn why the baby is Bad. It is now that the elephant realises that throughout this whole process, the baby has not once said please. He stops so suddenly that the baby goes flying off his back onto the road, and the posse chasing close behind run straight into the back of the elephant and fall in a heap. By some miracle, none of them are hurt.

The elephant complains loudly at the baby’s lack of manners, and the posse pick themselves up and commiserate, expressing their shock at the baby’s rudeness. The baby asks (politely) to be taken home to his mummy. The elephant picks him up, puts him on his back and goes thrice rumpeta all down the road. The posse continue to chase them, some of them still brandishing weapons.

They get to the baby’s house, where his mummy offers everybody pancakes for tea. They politely accept, then everybody leaves. The elephant rumpetas all down the road, the shopkeepers run off (still waving weapons) and the baby, having learnt a salutary lesson in basic courtesy, goes to bed.


That’s the story as it first appears, but I believe a deeper analysis of the work is possible, nay desirable.

Firstly then, what does the eponymous pachyderm represent? I would argue that the elephant represents the bourgeoisie, the establishment operated by a wealthy elite which includes high-level business people, press barons and financiers in addition to the traditional aristocracy and political classes. It might be going too far to suggest that Ms. Vipont was thinking of the traditional symbol of the Republican party in America when she wrote this work. Then again, it might not.

The elephant decides to take a stroll. However, unpleasant details immediately intrude on his comfortable world. A small but intrusive presence sits in his way. The book was first published in 1969, so I think it most likely that the baby represents immigration, but a modern reading might identify the Bad Baby as being any kind of identifiable minority.

Initially, the elephant is apparently kind. ‘Would you like a ride?’. Surprised and pleased by this unexpected offer, the baby immediately accepts. Rumpeta rumpeta rupeta, all down the road.

Now though, the apparently benevolent elephant reveals a little of his true intentions. ‘Would you like an ice-cream?’ Another generous offer. Of course the baby would. He’d like a pie, a bun, a packet of crisps, a chocolate biscuit, a lollipop and an apple too, when each of these is generously offered in turn.

However, the elephant has not paid for any of these things, and has no intention of doing so. More, he takes two of each thing, suggesting that he only ever offers the baby things that he wants himself. An angry mob quickly builds. The various shopkeepers of course represent the native working class. They are butchers, bakers, grocers, market stall owners. Ordinary, decent, hard-working people. The elephant seizes the fruits of their labour and rushes away without a word. Understandably angry, opposition starts to grow.

Soon the elephant can’t ignore the growing, increasingly angry backlash to his repeated depredations, his stripping away of the working class’s hard-won but meagre wealth. He stops so suddenly that his pursuers run into the back of him, losing all organisation and direction in their surprise.

Now for a piece of masterful deflection. ‘He never once said please!’ the elephant cries, pointing accusingly at the fallen baby. The shopkeepers pick themselves up, and immediately fall for the elephant’s trick. ‘How terrible! He never once said please!’ Swept up with moral indignation, the thefts and the chase are already forgotten. The illustration on this page is particularly revealing. The baby sits huddled miserably on the ground. On one side of him is the elephant, frowning and pointing accusingly with his trunk. On the other are the assembled proletariat, all also frowning and pointing accusingly. The elephant has taken the anger of the mob and deftly turned it away from himself.

The people have, in a flash, forgotten that it was the elephant that stole their produce. They have forgotten that every time, the elephant kept half of the stolen goods for himself. All they are focused on now is this small, defenceless individual who has marked himself as an outsider by failing to follow cultural norms that he was in all likelihood honestly ignorant of. Apparently, the fact that the baby didn’t say please is of far greater weight in the minds of the shopkeepers than the fact that the elephant has stolen their goods and led them on a chase all around the town. The fact that the baby merely accepted what was offered to him is forgotten, or goes unnoticed.

The baby has no defence, no recourse. ‘Please,’ he begs belatedly trying to assimilate himself, ‘I want to go home to my mummy’. With exaggerated magnanimity, the elephant agrees. He picks him back up and takes him home. Here, faced with an angry elephant and an armed mob, the baby’s mummy has no choice but to adopt a cheerful facade and attempt to appease her child’s persecutors. Her offerings are immediately seized upon and devoured, both by the establishment and the proletariat.

The subtext is clear. ‘Ignore the misuse and misappropriation of public funds,’ the elephant cries. ‘Ignore the inflated salaries of CEOs, the off-shore tax havens, the legal loopholes that allow the rich to grow richer from the work of the ordinary person, while they struggle with rent increases, price inflation and stagnant wages. Look over there! Look at that person! They’re different to us! Their ways are not our ways, their customs are not our customs! They have benefitted from our generosity. They have eaten the food that you have made, and you have received nothing in return. Is this fair? Is this just? Will you accept this state of affairs for a second longer? No!’ And to their shame, the proletariat fall for the deception and turn their wrath on the minority. It is far easier to believe the elephant and take out their frustrations on a target that can’t fight back than to question him, and risk shaking the foundations of their world, no matter how badly they might need shaking.

Once the minority has suffered the misplaced wrath of the majority, the elephant gallops away without punishment, and the workers return to their businesses, temporarily sated and convinced that justice has been done. And, as the last line of the book goes, the Bad Baby went to bed.

Elfrida Vipont’s bitter satire is more relevant today than it was when it was written. A surface reading presents the elephant as the put-upon protagonist, and the baby as the ill-mannered antagonist. A more rigorous examination flips these roles around. The elephant is a cunning, silver-tongued rogue, using his benevolent public image and powers of persuasion and rhetoric to obfuscate his crimes and protect his vested interests. The baby becomes the innocent protagonist, as much a victim as the hard-working men and women whose goods the elephant steals, if not more so.

Unlike Yurtle the Turtle,  Dr Seuss’ famous essay on the need for Marxist revolution, this is not a call to action. It is a condemnation of the easily swayed and easily distracted public, a raw look at the ease with which ruling elites can create scapegoats, and the way in which the mob will eagerly fall on them. With The Elephant and the Bad Baby Elfrida Vipont holds a mirror up in front of us and asks us to confront our fear of the other, our tendency to lash out, the ease with which we are manipulated, and the injustices that occur as a result.

And she never once said please.

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