Why Royal Mail Should No Longer Be Trusted for Anything Important — and Why It Should Just Be Called “Mail”

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Why Royal Mail Should No Longer Be Trusted for Anything Important — and Why It Should Just Be Called “Mail”

The recent chaos at Royal Mail has exposed a simple truth: the service can no longer be relied upon for anything that truly matters. In the West Midlands, particularly in areas like Kidderminster, letters have been piling up for weeks, with postal workers describing sorting offices as resembling a “slaughterhouse” of scattered mail. This is not a minor glitch; it is a systemic failure with real human consequences.

Residents report that vital documents have vanished into the backlog. One elderly person in Kidderminster nearly went without diabetes monitoring equipment because the batteries for their blood‑glucose meter never arrived on time. In Solihull, a family received only two deliveries after Christmas, one of which contained a husband’s cancer‑surgery and scan notifications. Had those letters been delayed even slightly, treatment could have been postponed. Another resident, working in online marketing, almost missed a court deadline because legal papers arrived two weeks late, putting her at risk of a £300 fine and deepening her anxiety.

Royal Mail publicly blames the delays on staff sickness, bad weather, and Christmas parcel overload. It insists that mail is still delivered at least once every other day. Yet postal workers say the opposite is happening: management has ordered them to prioritise parcels over letters, and has refused to approve overtime to clear the backlog. This internal logic—treating urgent correspondence as secondary to commercial parcels—turns the postal service into a profit‑driven logistics arm rather than a public utility.

When healthcare information, court notices, benefit letters, and tax documents are all at the mercy of a system that treats them as low priority, the name “Royal Mail” becomes an uncomfortable irony. The “Royal” prefix suggests stability, tradition, and trust. In practice, it now signals a brand that has failed to adapt, underinvested in infrastructure, and lost public confidence. If the service cannot guarantee timely delivery for life‑affecting items, it should not be allowed to keep a title that implies reliability and prestige.

A simple but symbolic reform would be to strip the name of “Royal” and rebrand it as “Mail” or “UK Mail.” This would reflect the reality: a basic, often unreliable carrier, not a crown‑endorsed institution. More importantly, it would force both the company and the public to treat it for what it is—a fragile, under‑resourced network that should never be the sole channel for critical communications.

Citizens, doctors, courts, and government agencies should stop assuming that “first‑class post” means “safe and timely.” Instead, they should:

• Use tracked courier services for medical and legal documents.

• Rely on secure email or verified portals for government correspondence.

• Treat any Royal Mail delivery as a best‑effort service, not a guarantee.

Until Royal Mail proves it can consistently deliver what matters, it should not be entrusted with anything that affects health, justice, or livelihood. And if it cannot live up to the dignity of its name, it should at least drop the “Royal” and be honest about its true status: just another mail service, not a national institution.

The Iron Truth: Echoes of Deception from British Railings to China's Smelters – Why Governments Demand Eternal Vigilance

 

The Iron Truth: Echoes of Deception from British Railings to China's Smelters – Why Governments Demand Eternal Vigilance

Across different continents and distinct epochs, the pursuit of national ambition has, at times, led governments down a perilous path of obscured truth and compromised trust. A striking historical parallel emerges when examining Britain's wartime "missing railings" phenomenon alongside China's Great Leap Forward steelmaking campaign. Both represent grand, centrally orchestrated drives for material production, fueled by patriotic zeal or ideological fervor, yet ultimately marred by a systemic disconnect from reality and a profound lack of transparency. From a historian's vantage point, these episodes serve as stark reminders of the inherent dangers when the principle of "for the people" is overshadowed by the chilling conviction that "the end justifies the means," demanding constant vigilance over state power.

During the darkest days of World War II, following the dire straits of Dunkirk, Britain embarked on a nationwide crusade. Under Lord Beaverbrook's fervent encouragement, ornamental iron gates and railings, symbols of private property and public grandeur, were enthusiastically surrendered by citizens. The public wholeheartedly embraced the narrative: this iron would be melted down to forge the very weapons needed to secure victory. It was a potent act of "wartime sacrifice," a visible contribution to national defense that rallied a populace under siege. Yet, as historical inquiries now reveal, the grand gesture of collection far outstripped the practical capacity for processing. Millions of tons of metal were gathered, but a mere fraction, perhaps only 26%, ever became munitions. The vast remainder, a rusting testament to overzealous collection, was quietly stockpiled, buried, or even dumped at sea, its fate shrouded in secrecy, with pertinent records conspicuously absent. The "stumps of trust" left in walls across the UK were not just physical voids, but enduring symbols of a public largely kept in the dark about the true utility of their sacrifice.

Decades later, half a world away, China embarked on an even more ambitious, and ultimately catastrophic, industrialization drive: the Great Leap Forward (1958-1962). Under Mao Zedong's ideological conviction, the nation was mobilized to "surpass Britain in steel production" within fifteen years. Millions of peasants, diverted from agriculture, were pressed into building "backyard furnaces" in a frantic effort to produce steel. The propaganda machine tirelessly extolled the virtues of this "people's steel," depicting a unified nation striving for communist prosperity. However, like the British railings, the reality was a tragic farce. Much of the steel produced in these rudimentary furnaces was of abysmal quality – brittle, full of impurities, and utterly unusable for industrial purposes. Furthermore, the diversion of labor from farming, coupled with falsified production reports to meet unrealistic quotas, led directly to one of history's worst famines, claiming tens of millions of lives. The truth of the famine and the industrial failure was suppressed, dissent crushed, and the narrative of success maintained at an unimaginable human cost.

The parallels between these two seemingly disparate events are chilling. Both involved:

• Mass Mobilization & Propaganda: Governments in crisis (war for Britain, ideological transformation for China) successfully rallied their populations to contribute en masse, leveraging powerful, albeit incomplete, narratives.
• Disregard for Practicality: In Britain, the logistics of collecting and processing vast quantities of iron outstripped industrial capacity. In China, the steel produced was largely worthless, and the agricultural sector, the very foundation of life, was fatally neglected.
• Systemic Secrecy & Deception: Both governments chose to withhold the full truth from their citizens. In Britain, it was a quiet omission to preserve morale and avoid embarrassment. In China, it was a brutal suppression of facts to maintain ideological control and prevent internal dissent.
• The "End Justifies the Means": For Britain, winning the war was the paramount end, justifying a degree of paternalistic deception. For China, achieving rapid industrialization and communist ideals justified extreme measures, even at the cost of widespread suffering and death.
• Profound Long-Term Costs: While the British experience primarily resulted in a subtle erosion of public trust and aesthetic scars, the Great Leap Forward led to an economic collapse and an unparalleled demographic catastrophe.

From a historian's viewpoint, these episodes underscore a timeless imperative: governments must be checked. Power, by its very nature, tends to concentrate information and decision-making, creating an environment where ambition or expediency can eclipse prudence and transparency. As the esteemed Lord Acton famously warned, "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." When the state, even with purportedly noble intentions, believes it knows best and that the "end justifies the means," it risks leading its citizens down paths paved with illusion and unintended suffering.

The integrity of a nation's relationship with its people rests on a foundation of truth and accountability. Thomas Jefferson's dictum, "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty," applies not just to safeguarding individual freedoms, but to holding state power accountable for its actions and pronouncements. George Washington, understanding the dual nature of governance, noted: "Government is not reason; it is not eloquence; it is force. Like fire, it is a dangerous servant and a fearful master."¹⁰

The visible stumps of missing railings in British cities and the invisible graves of millions who perished during China's steel famine stand as solemn monuments to this truth. They are historical lessons that transcend specific political systems or historical contexts, serving as a perpetual reminder that even in times of grave national challenge, transparency, accountability, and the unyielding scrutiny of government are not mere luxuries, but the very bedrock of a functional and ethical society.