San Francisco’s shoplifting epidemic is shocking to behold. But we shouldn’t imagine that the same couldn’t happen here. In fact, we’re well on our way. According to the British Retail Consortium, theft from stores across 10 UK cities is up by 26%. More, “incidents of violence and abuse against retail employees have almost doubled on pre-pandemic levels.”

On Tuesday, Asda Chairman Stuart Rose told LBC that “theft is a big issue. It has become decriminalised. It has become minimised. It’s actually just not seen as a crime anymore.”

In the absence of an adequate response from the authorities, retailers are beginning to take defensive measures. For instance, home furnishings company Dunelm is now locking up duvets and pillow cases in cabinets; Waitrose is offering free coffees to police officers to increase their visibility; and Tesco plans to equip staff with body cameras. 

The “progressive” response to this phenomenon isn’t quite as deranged as it is in in the US. Nevertheless, British liberals have responded as expected. A piece in the Observer is typical. You’ll never guess, but apparently it’s all the Tories’ fault: “Starving your population and then ‘cracking down’ on it for nicking baby formula or a can of soup can start to make a government look rather unreasonable.”

But as the writer ought to know, the issue here isn’t the desperate young mum hiding a few groceries in the pram. Nor is it the schoolboy pilfering the occasional bag of sweets. Rather, the real problem is blatant, organised and sometimes violent theft of higher value items. Criminals who never previously thought they could get away with it increasingly now do — thus presenting a material threat to retail as we know it. 

But instead of addressing the issue head-on, the writer blames the victim: “Once goods were kept behind counters, but since the birth of large supermarkets they have been laid out near the door, ready for the taking.” How terribly irresponsible of them! On the other hand, perhaps the open display of goods isn’t just a convenience for customers, but instead the hallmark of a high trust society. 

In fact, modern shops are a minor miracle of civilisation: public spaces, stacked high with products from all over the world, that passing strangers may freely inspect and handle, but which aren’t looted by anyone who feels like it.

Surely, that’s something worth defending. But if you’d prefer to abandon retailers to their fate, then don’t moan when they do what it takes to survive. Some will close, of course, and others will move their operations online. Those who stay open will guard themselves and their stock behind plexiglass and electronic tags. And then there’s the hi-tech solution: the fully automated and completely cashless store, in which customers have to be authenticated to even get in. 

Remember that retail facilities like this already exist. One day, when they become the norm, we’ll remember what shops used to be like. Then, we’ll ask why no one stood up for them.

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Peter Franklin is Associate Editor of UnHerd. He was previously a policy advisor and speechwriter on environmental and social issues.

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Ayatollah Ali Khamenei is dead, and the obituary columns are full of him. They apparently leave many readers unhappy. Far too soft, some say, for a man who directly ordered the killing of tens of thousands of his own people: ordinary citizens who only wanted change, freedom and help to survive. Why not give the man both barrels, since he showed no mercy to others?

Writing the obituary of a bad person is always tricky. Some would argue that they should not be memorialized at all, but instead passed over and forgotten, just as their statues might be pulled down and reduced to rubble. This implies, however, that an obituary is a mark of esteem granted only to good and worthy candidates. Britain took this view until near the end of the 20th century; Americans, by and large, still do. But if every obituarist adhered to that then, let’s face it, numberless members of the human race would be disqualified. And almost every human being, if looked at more closely, may have a fascinating story to tell.

The stories of the bad — especially those who had a traumatic effect on the world — are more fascinating than most. We can certainly give them both barrels, or we can try to see matters as they did. This is not to exonerate them, but rather to try and fathom their thinking. Not our voice, but theirs, which won’t be heard live again. In every case I’ve experienced, the subjects — though given air-time — also don’t fail to hang themselves with their own rope.

In 2011, I wrote an obituary of Osama bin Laden for The Economist. There was no question of ignoring him, but it brought fury from American readers. First, some felt that because he had directly ordered the killing of thousands of Americans in the 9/11 attacks he should not have been dignified with an obituary at all. But my obituary also provoked rage because I had mentioned that he liked to eat yogurt with honey, take his children to the beach, and ride through the forest on a white horse on Fridays in imitation of the Prophet. I had humanized someone who was inhuman. Critics seemed to overlook my mention, higher up in the piece, that bin Laden said he was never so happy as when he saw people leaping from the towers. The callous brutality and the domestic ordinariness could both be seen, contrasted and puzzled over. I also believe there is no such thing as a totally good or a totally bad human being.

In Khamenei’s case, too, the slaughters he ordered went alongside a contented marriage, six children, enjoyment of great European writers and the poetry of Hafez. For years he did dogged work as a low-level cleric, and was considered so meek and mild that he was sent by the mullahs in 1980 to wish the American hostages a happy Christmas. Is it soft to mention these things? I don’t think so. They don’t excuse anything he did, but they complicate the picture. It becomes more interesting. In particular, they show how a man who genuinely felt himself unqualified could instantly change his mind; how once appointed as ayatollah, vested with divine authority, he became a dictator, issuing his own fatwas, almost overnight. They show how quickly and irrevocably people can take on power, if it is offered.

Withering, definitive judgments have their place, but they belong in the editorial columns. In obituaries the subjects are the theme, and should have more of a voice. Their unique stories, their unique spirits, need catching, however awful they have been. We will never see their exact like, or hear their exact voice, again.