So who do you complain to when the Ombudsman lets you down? Is there an ombudsman’s ombudsman? Is an ombudsman always a man? If so, why? And if not, why hasn’t it been changed to a gender-neutral title, like ombudsperson or just ombuds? And what even is an ombuds?
The word sounds like one of those old English titles, like alderman, but you won’t find the definition of ombuds by leafing through your book of Saxon hierarchy. Instead, you need to look to Sweden – not something we tend to do unless we’re looking for a decent Eurovision winner or a desk lamp.
During the reign of George I, Sweden had a king called Charles XII (yes, Twelfth!), a very successful military leader who blew it by committing the now well-known schoolboy error of marching on Moscow. Defeat led to his exile, during which he managed affairs in Sweden remotely via the appointment of a Supreme Ombudsman. The title was taken from an old Norse word which literally meant ‘commission man’, or someone acting on behalf of another.
You would think we would have had something similar here, what with all the monarchical shenanigans that had taken place over the centuries, but it seems we didn’t, because when the time came to appoint such a representative, we didn’t have a word for it and had to nick ombudsman from the Swedes.
In fact, it wasn’t until 1967 that we got our first ombudsman, the UK Parliamentary Commissioner for Administration. It’s a comforting thought to know that there is an organisation set up to protect us all from the low down cunning of nefarious politicians and organisations like TfL, who think it’s OK to fine people for ULEZ breaches when the bike they’ve been riding is ULEZ compliant, and then refuse to pay the money back.
It’s nearly a year now since that fateful ride, during which time some hefty interest will have accrued on the £270 I was falsely made to pay. About £13 to be precise. To be honest, though, it’s not about the money. I don’t really need the £13. Not that desperately anyway. This is about justice and that’s why I love the word ‘ombudsman’. The ombudsman will get me justice, I told myself.
But no. They tell me they can’t step in until I’ve exhausted the complaints procedure with the organisation I’m complaining about. TfL’s complaints procedure comprises three steps. Step 1: Complain. Step 2: Complain again having received no satisfaction from Step 1, but send it to a different address. Step 3: Complain again, having received an acknowledgment to Step 2 from the same person as in Step 1, but don’t expect any response this time.
This is where I’m at: in the third circle of TfHell, forsaken, abandoned, and wondering who will protect my ombuds now.
