THE PRESENT IS ANOTHER COUNTRY
I do not know how important familiarity, routine, habit, the
predictable, is in our lives, though I suspect it is much more important than
most people might like to admit. Our lizard brains certainly prefer solidity. We
sit in the same chair, sleep in the same position, take the same route to work
each day. When we ascend on the escalator, we know that daylight will greet us as
we leave the familiar tube station, supermarket or department store. To gauge our reliance on familiarity for our
mental health it only requires this orderly arrangement of things to be
disrupted. We instantly feel uncomfortable, ‘put out.’ The greater the
disruption the greater the discomfort.
When the reliable and familiar disintegrates on a much
larger scale, at the national and cultural level, this sense of disorientation can
be even more disturbing. This is best illustrated by the hyperinflation of Wiemar
Germany, or the impact of the Wall street crash and the depression of the early
nineteen thirties. When the familiar and trusted disappear panic sets in and people
search for scapegoats. People, just like ourselves, demand order, that someone take
control and bring back the lost security and familiarity. Demagogues’ rise to prominence
by exploiting these fears.
For so long Britain felt immune from this phenomenon, ‘English’
exceptionalism in particular rested on the smug assumptions created by centuries
without turmoil, revolution, or civil war, that that kind of thing couldn’t
happen here. Change was something that if it happened, happened slowly in an
evolutionary way.
Now these smug assumptions no longer seem to hold. Politicians
seek and promise revolutionary change. Our
unwritten constitution, wholly dependent on politicians playing by the,
unwritten, rules. When they cease to observe these unwritten rules and
conventions the whole edifice is seen for what it is, a fragile framework of
compromise and reliance on politicians behaving ethically. Our democracy is
seen not as a stranding on the solid ground we thought it did but turns out to
be as delicate as tissue paper and as just as easily blown away by gusts of a populist
wind. More significantly these winds far from being confined to our own country
seem to be sweeping the democratic world.
With so much that seemed secure and stable swept away it is
no longer possible to be sure of anything. So already the period before 2015[1]has
taken on an attractive hue, a period that feels stolen from us, when presidents
did not tweet banal abuse and prime ministers behaved like prime ministers. The
world we knew and understood and the rules that governed democratic discourse are
vanishing fast into a cloud of the past. So that it is no longer the past that
feels like a different country but the present.
[1]
The real point of departure was, of course the 2008 financial crisis, the wave
of populist anger was merely the delayed aftershock.