End of a troubling year

The advent of a new year, once seasonal festivities are over, always makes us ponder the future. It creates an urge in us to look at the world around and wonder about the direction of our journey ahead. We reflect, we predict, we plan - and these days, it seems, we fear. There hasn’t been a lot to celebrate in recent times but, conversely, much to worry about: the rise of right-wing populism, the dreadful war in Yemen, the abuse of the environment, the plight of refugees across the world, and increasing impoverishment in sections of otherwise wealthy societies……..and Brexit. They are all grounds for shame and concern.

So this year, my usual, hopeful curiosity about the future is low on the dial and I don’t really want to look ahead into 2019. I just know it’s going to be grim. Another year of bluster and bombast, lies and licence, suffering and silence, pain and poverty: the matched pairs are endless. With good cause, I find I am eschewing attempts at good-humoured, festive bonhomie. When friends tell me I look miserable, I simply smile wanly and say “Yes, I am”. For once, I really don’t think I’m going to be able to say “Happy New Year”.

Gillian Dalley

The Days of Our Years

I've gone through life implicitly believing in key notions of the Enlightenment: reason, knowledge, freedom, skepticism. Sure there were ongoing  --but solvable-- problems of racism, sexism, homophobia, unequal resource distribution, war. Still, I assumed things would inexorably get better. Progress was slow, and many tried to stop it. But I believed in the struggle for justice, certain of the triumph of the good. All would be well, if we just kept working to make it so. The 'we' is those enlightened folks, like me, who know how things ought to be.

Then, BOOM. Explosions rock my foundations. Trump is elected. Brexit is approved. Far right leaders take power in Hungary, the Philippines, Brazil, Turkey, Italy. Israel tightens its grip on the Occupied Territories and moves closer to  theocracy. Putin re-starts the Russia dominance dance. All this is the result of free democratic elections, leaders chosen by the popular will, not through coups. The people spoke, and what they said, to persons of my ilk, is unspeakably retrograde.

It's impossible to predict what the world will be like even twenty-five years from now. For along with straightforward choices by the vox populi, the horrors of global climate breakdown imperil the very existence of the earth. It is undeniably the case that we are in danger of making our planet uninhabitable. Whether you believe this or not is irrelevant; it's true.

So this is where I, a woman in my seventies, find myself: a US citizen who can barely contain my rage at Trump's psychopathic daily cruelties; an inhabitant of London where Brexit's impending arrival threatens the stability of a fragile, small, pleasing but not very significant country; a Jew anguished by what's done in the name of insuring that never again are Jews victims; a climate activist who can barely comprehend what I can do to make things better; an urban, Jewish,  educated cosmopolitan stranded in an increasingly populist world.

Futility is not an option, so I continue to engage. The realization that much of my personal narrative has played out raises the questions: how can my diminishing narrative space allow for room to make a positive impact on the crazy stories which define this time? What is the point of my Third Age journey as I work above all to survive, and next to make meaning.

Rose Levinson

Three Cheers for the Home Team

The US midterm election is over. Democrats now control the House of Representatives. Republicans have a majority in the Senate. And a sociopath is still President of one of the world's increasingly dangerous superpowers.

Here in the UK, Brexit sucks up almost all energy, and people like myself look in horror as the country positions itself for a terminal dive into decline. Former Prime Minister John Major wrote: "There is no doubt in my own mind that our [Brexit] decision is a colossal misjudgment that will diminish both the UK and the EU... It may even, over time, break up our United Kingdom."

But enough of these woeful facts. Let's turn to metaphor. Consider how the US election demonstrates human beings' capacity to turn critical events into a game. There are winners and losers, cheerleaders and mascots, loud-mouthed commentators giving blow-by-blow empty interpretations, raucous fans rooting for their team, angry crowds screaming, people getting hurt.  Oh, and endless overtime;  the US election cycle is about two years long. When it's all over, the debris is collected and the arena cleaned up-- until next time. In the US, ‘next time’ comes quickly. As soon as a round is over, the Bully-in -Chief takes the field and dirties it up again.

You don't have to take my word for it that politics is a blood sport. In the mid 1900's, the Welsh MP Nye Bevan (architect of the NHS) said it. (He also remarked on his deep hatred of the Tory Party, suggesting they were lower than vermin. And this is way before Boris Johnson.)

And here's Barack Obama, that most restrained of human beings, commenting on the political process:

[An election is]... not mechanical…. There is always the possibility of surprise. And in that sense it’s a little bit like sports. It doesn’t matter what the odds are…. And that makes it scary if you’re rooting for one team or the other, but that’s the drama of it.”

Quintessentially, the bloodiness of athletics embodies a traditional macho ethos. That ethos dominates how contemporary politics operates: winner takes all, opponents are crushed (or killed), there’s only one victor.

What might a democratic process predicated on other ‘rules’ look like? It’s not clear , but it’s a question to consider before we tear ourselves to bits in the name of democracy.

Rose Levinson

November 2018