charismatic leaders + charismatic leadership = ?

OK.  Am sophisticated enough to know events and personalities are just as important as the long sweep of history; but …

At one time we were just as overwhelmed with Blair as we are now with Corbyn.

It’s cool when a leader with the political empathy people like both the aforementioned have shown catalyse moribund societies into action: provide the much-needed bridges against the walls the bad and sad always build; say what we are unable to verbalise; capture our thoughts and display them before we even knew we ever had them.

And I am not proposing we compare the politics of Corbyn and Blair at all here.

But when charismatic leaders and charismatic leadership (see Weber for the latter – and Harold Evans!) come together, the power to act becomes almost Harry Potter-like!  Mean it, honest …

Magically explosive, just about almost.

Am not putting a dampener on the proceedings; not my intention at all.  But I would like the future to be good, not dark.  We’re too accustomed to dark of late.  We don’t deserve to be any more.

It’s OK to star; more than OK.  But we should star to make space for others to do more, not star to push the envelope of our own belief systems around these others, who in principle have every right to co-exist on equal terms.

is my unease existential or rational – or, alternatively, a case of lazy “whataboutism”?

The events and aftermath this weekend in Paris underline how tenuous and fragile our sense of wellbeing can be.

Eight horrible people, funded we are told by a network of thousands of equally horrible people, have killed more than a hundred people – and injured hundreds more – more or less simultaneously in six different places in the French capital.

I live in another country; a sea divides us from France.  But I cannot help my feeling sick these past two days: truly, honestly, physically sick.  As if I were there, as if I saw it all.  As if members of my own circle – whether family or friends, in connected worlds it really doesn’t matter – had been struck down all the same.

And my immediate reaction has been one of solidarity.  Even though the verb doesn’t exist in English, as it frequently does in other languages; even though the adjective is curiously missing from our lexicon; even though this language I treasure, so generally rich in words for everything, struggles to put an easy-to-pronounce noun to the concept.

Then my thinking moves on.  And I begin to dance around the happenings: the “whataboutism” that afflicts many of us, to greater or lesser degree.  And I wonder: why this instinct?  Why, when someone deliberately attacks the progressive, enlightened and outreaching in society, do people like myself begin to wonder if it’s because those we identify with most closely – ie the progressive, enlightened and outreaching mentioned – have done something wrong?

I struggle with this process, because when someone does something horrible to me in my private life … well, I always find it easy to blame myself.  I didn’t do this or I went and did that; I forget to say what I should’ve said or find myself saying precisely what I shouldn’t’ve.

And so this impulse writ large, at a societal level, during public tragedy, makes me think twice, three times – or a hundred.

Is this a wider thing?  Do you do that too?  Is it a weakness of our civilisation – or a prime strength which the violent on all sides are desperately trying to eliminate?

I do wonder, have been wondering today, if in part the problem lies in our no longer valuing the individual over the mass.  We won the Cold War against the massification of anti-human rights by the Soviet Union (and by extension, the whole Eastern European bloc too) – but then we have proceeded, a posteriori, to massify almost everything a successful command and control economy could’ve done in the 1950s, if successful had – at the time – been within its reach.

Everything, that is, except human rights.  Instead of human rights being a prerequisite for 21st century economic development, they have been allowed to tag along at the tail-end somewhere down the line: oh yes, jam elsewhere for places you may already export to; alternatively, jam in a very tomorrow that fridges and mobiles may, some day, lead you to end up at.

Globalisation means freedom for capital, timidly for exportable labour, full-on for tourism, absolutely for technology … but human rights?  Let them flower by themselves.  Do let’s not be too proactive in this respect.

“Let them flower by themselves.”  Remind you of anything?  Yes, it does me too.  Sadly, as well.  The unplanned aftermaths of well-meaning and liberal invasions, which only created the conditions for an unspooling of distant society.

We will never be to blame for Paris.  But we are to blame for not having a strategy, for hobbling our way to a single-minded failure.  You may ask why, and you’d be right to do so.  Once, as a strategy, it actually worked.  Monolithic certainties won the battle against a pretty evil empire – an empire quite absent from human rights; an anti-human Communism of anything but the sacrosanct nature of the individual.

Eventually it did, anyhow.  Western democracies’ ultimate resilience won out against what were shown to be very puff-pastry Soviet politics.  No guarantees, of course; there never are in history.  But intuitively, pragmatically, industrially, economically … in the face of such inhumanity we had no alternative but to follow such psychologies.  And it worked out all right in the end.  To the extent that it did work out for the majority.  (Nor should we underestimate the importance of how we used to fete those refugees, those economic migrants even; those who managed to cross the Berlin Wall in their escaping of terrible politics.  But that is a theme for quite a separate post.  A post which talks of double standards.)

Compare and contrast with the current situation, at least as I am minded to see it.

Command and control economics – how globalisation is manifesting itself now both at nation-state and business level – has returned our philosophies to the times of the Cold War.  But instead of singular incompetence facing us on the other side of ideology – the enemy being that idiocy and flat-footedness of slow-burn, self-destructing Communism – our monolithic certainties are setting us on a path to becoming a reactive civilisation with little strategy at all.

In times of awful crisis such as this weekend, we citizens respond; we tweet; we protest our personal confusions – as we must, and rightly so.  The right to say the right thing or quite the wrong is, after all, precisely what we are defending.

Meanwhile, our politicians in their privilege began to find themselves incapable of delivering certain things – things which their rhetoric has previously auto-convinced us all they should be capable of.  How to live with such incoherence – a difficult task for the most level-headed of folk.  (Oh, and remember: not all those with privilege, nor all the less powerful littler people it must be said, are necessarily the most level-headed.  Just because you are small doesn’t make you good.  Just because you are big doesn’t make you bad.)

I could be wrong, of course.  Maybe the psychology isn’t thus.  Maybe our politicians are right after all: those politicians who say this is the biggest test of our generation (when what they really mean is their generation.  Generations are multiple – many existing simultaneously; you can probably talk about a nation, a civilisation, a set of values even – but hardly one generation we all belong to.)

In their monolithic firm responses, then, perhaps they do provide us with the bedrock that more woolly-minded citizens like myself are unable to construct with that necessary resilience already described and alluded to.

But all the same, unease remains.  I sense it around.  I’m sure you do, too.  Is it existential, then?  Or is it rational, this unease?

Are we in the grip of an intellectually lazy “whataboutism” – or are we fairly questioning the fundamentals of how we are approaching the 21st century?

And if the latter were the case, in some small measure at all, do we then have the right to react existentially, logically and “whataboutedly”?

Entirely compatible reactions for human beings living in worlds which they control less and less – at all levels, and in all areas, of their experience?


Update to this post, 15/11/2015: this video has just come my way via Rob Evans of the Guardian‘s Twitter feed.  If only the woman speaking were president – or, indeed, prime minister …

Further reading, 16/11/2015: much as I have argued in this post, Isis have a strategy and the West really does not.  We do little more than counter-message at masses, whilst Isis talks to individuals one-to-one.  This is not good enough on our part, and does explain a lot of what appears to be going wrong:

We have “counter-narratives”, unappealing and unsuccessful. Mostly negative, they rely on mass messaging at youth rather than intimate dialogue. As one former Isis imam told us: “The young who came to us were not to be lectured at like witless children; they are for the most part understanding and compassionate, but misguided.” Again, there is discernible method in the Isis approach.

Eager to recruit, the group may spend hundreds of hours trying to enlist a single individual, to learn how their personal problems and grievances fit into a universal theme of persecution against all Muslims.

what happens when democracy ignores you?

It happened in Blair’s time.  The Iraq War mobilised millions.  Maybe not a majority, not then.  Though you’d be hard put now, after everything that’s emerged, a bit in hindsight, a bit out of a prior obfuscation impossible to sustain forever, to find too many people too keen any more to associate themselves with its supposed blessings.

It then seems that the period between May 2010 and May 2015, here in the UK, became an extended example of this.  (Not in the nature of the conflict, of course: Iraq wasn’t a developed country deliberately imposing from within austerity economics on its own people.  Rather, it had been a pretty evil dictatorship – is there any other? – which an interventionist liberalism felt obliged to engage with.

Or at least, with respect to the Blair side of things, I think that’s how it started out.)

But, over a fairly long five years, Ed Miliband’s Labour always struggled to battle it out with the Tory/Lib Dem Coalition.  I don’t think it was a lack of knowing how to exactly: what to say, what to do, where to set up alliances.  More, I believe, it was because like any vicarly type – and I think Ed Miliband is definitely one such person – his leadership didn’t have the heart to kowtow to the violence the Coalition offered up.  To meet the Coalition on the playing-field they’d designed from the outset.  That of serious conflict.

Meantime, Miliband’s Labour believed in conversation.  It truly was born of social-media tropes.

Corbyn’s Labour won’t be, I can assure you.  They’ve already shown themselves capable of using it to their advantage, that is true.  But social media for them will be a tool to fight, not converse.  And that is what happens when democracy ignores you.  Five years of being ignored bodes an awful future for those – ie Cameron & Co – who did so much of the ignoring.  No wonder the latter are already indirectly painting Labour members and supporters as Fifth Columnists:

It’s a savage game they’re continuing to play – but no more nor less than their precursor, the Coalition, played for those five years we’ve discussed:

Jeremy Corbyn represents “a threat to our national security, our economic security and your family’s security” according to an aggressive attack message the Conservatives released hours after his election as Labour leader.

The image, sent by email to the party’s supporters, selectively highlights some of Corbyn’s comments about Osama Bin Laden’s death, Hezbollah and Hamas, nuclear weapons and tax. Showing a black and white photograph of Corbyn in front of a red background, the warnings are spelled out in capital letters.

And whilst Miliband (E) would’ve decently snuffled his disagreement, and in truth did, Corbyn’s Labour has had five years of referred supporter pain – of disabled deaths, of broken families, of the working-poor, of the mental and physical poverties of unemployment – to back up its desire to fight back rather more aggressively.

Factor in, as well, the successful shutting off of almost everything left-like within Labour under Blair, and the wilderness years for Labour’s left stretch out far behind the last five.

Miliband believed in assertion over aggression, because Miliband had the power of opposition over sixty – ultimately awful – months, as well as the honestly held delusion that government was in the offing.

Corbyn is unlikely to take the same decision or direction, for the reasons – fairly emotional too, though none the less real or comprehensible for that – which I’ve mentioned above, and with which many people will be all too familiar.

So what’s the next step?  After democracy ignored a very vocal, cogent and considerable minority at the time of Iraq, after democracy ignored a probably growing majority during the last five years, and after more people voted against Cameron than for him at the most recent general election, the Tories now in power – and maybe the governing institutions they work with – must surely be a tad worried that they can no longer operate democracy as they used to.

Imagine, in fact, we’ve reached a moment when a threshold of people now ignore what politicians trot out and newspapers dutifully publish.  That’s a whole layer of comms control – expensive comms control at that – which suddenly becomes irrelevant.

Two elements interest me as a result:

  1. people will begin very unpredictably, unleashed as they are, to form opinions of their own – or, at least, opinions they believe to be their own
  2. the newspaper commentators and political number-crunchers will begin to realise their wisdoms lay not so much in understanding voters as in having the luxury, no longer to be present, of being able to define – fairly predictably and regularly – what voters thought

Not seeing into the soul of the body politic in some remarkably prescient way – instead, just being able to control it, and tell it – quite shallowly – what to do.

Imagine, this time however, that the people which democracy ignores – no longer the Iraq marchers nor the dying disabled nor the voters who refused to vote for more of the same – are those who are used to sitting amidst its highest layers.

How would they react?  What would they do?  Would they accept a fate of impotent existence and acquiescence like everyone else has learnt how to?  Would they carry on with their lives, prepared to be ignored for their deepest opinions and beliefs?  Would they allow the national discourse to revert as vigorously as some would have it revert?

Would they meekly try, Miliband-like, to converse as assertively as possible with the enemy?

Or would they choose to aggressively fight back?

I suppose my question here really is: in a democracy like ours, hidebound (perhaps constructively in some respects) by tradition, procedure, history and unwritten ways of doing, what really happens to the privileged few when fewer of the under-privileged continue to listen?

To that, I know no clear answer.  How can I?

But we may be on the point of finding out.