The remarkable thing about an all-terrain vehicle is how many kinds of terrain it can cross. Evidently, the boundary around its funding purpose is not a major obstacle. Perhaps the next model will come with a conscience in the navigation package.

France is investigating British-funded border vehicles used against student protesters, the Guardian reports. The UK Home Office declined comment.

The following vehicle demonstration is entirely imaginary. It contains no injured students, because they are not the joke. The demonstrator is a public official attempting to explain why a machine’s capacity to travel should also permit the purpose of the money to wander.

Recalculating The Mission

Our fictional demonstrator starts with the advertised features. Four-wheel drive. A sturdy body. Excellent clearance. The ability to move seamlessly from one minister’s explanation to another without damaging the suspension. The last feature is not in the brochure, which is a pity. It appears to be the one currently undergoing the most demanding test.

A taxpayer asks whether border-control funding should buy border-control work. The official admires the taxpayer’s interest in specialist terminology. A border, he explains in this parody, is a line. There are lines everywhere. The line between a designated purpose and whatever the vehicle is doing now is especially easy to cross.

The satnav announces that the driver has left the route. The official changes the destination. This is much more efficient than turning around. It also permits an excellent performance report: arrival was achieved at precisely the place where the vehicle eventually stopped.

The taxpayer asks who approved the change. The official points to the steering wheel. It is important to maintain a clear division of responsibility. The funder paid for the wheels; the operator decided where they went. Between these two perfectly separate achievements, accountability has elected to walk.

A Very Adaptable Purpose

Our imaginary salesman offers a useful upgrade: purpose-lock. It prevents the vehicle from being deployed outside the job used to justify buying it. The official asks whether purpose-lock can be disabled remotely. The salesman says that would defeat its purpose. They agree this sounds like a serious compatibility problem.

Next comes an automatic mission-creep detector. It sounds an alarm whenever an explanation begins with technically. The test is halted before the vehicle leaves the showroom. Apparently the instrument is far too sensitive for government use.

A third accessory measures distance from the original public objective. The dial immediately spins. Engineers are called. The official suggests measuring distance from the latest explanation instead, which produces a reassuring zero. The machine has now been calibrated to administrative reality.

None of these imaginary features is required to ask a very ordinary question about real public resources: did the use match the purpose? A machine’s versatility is not an answer. An office printer can print a wedding invitation. That does not make somebody’s wedding part of the department’s statutory mission.

The fictional demonstration ends with the salesman opening the bonnet. Underneath is a completely conventional engine. The official seems disappointed. He had hoped to find the decision in there, somewhere beyond the reach of questions.

The funding was earmarked. Unfortunately, the wheels were not.