by Angus Wolfe Murray
Every day another murder. The media writes of meltdown and if the media is the messenger escort him into rehab. He has been corrupted by an addiction to scoops and scandal. Corbyn talks of new politics. He is vilified. Andrea talks of motherhood. She is vilified. The Donald talks. He is vilified.
Twitter is filled with angry and abusive voices. Ugly is the new nice. They compare Gove to Brutus. He saved us from Boris. Brutus saved Rome from Julius. They had their reasons. History vilifies them. Or will.
If politics is a game, there are rules and there is competition. The people, otherwise known as plebs, or The Great Unwashed, have no control, have no say in this. They vote, or not. Their voices are muffled. The game takes place in parliament. If you haven’t been picked, you’re not on the team. You sit in the stadium and make a noise that no one understands.
And then came Brexit and now everyone understands what that noise meant and they are terrified. How can something so world turning as this be allowed within the rules of modern democracy? Isn’t it cheating? The laws of the game deny the people the privilege of being heard.
Was it the plebs, was it the tabs, was it common sense that tore off their clothes and let Chaos in?
The sky has not fallen. New politics continues to break the rules. Andrea continues to be accused of naivety. The Donald continues to feed the shudder monster. Iraq is bleeding. Syria is dying. The refugees are weeping. The EU is wounded. The Great in Britain is threatened. Where is summer? Has hope been eaten by the doomsayers?
Of course not. Change is good. Shaking up normal creates the possibility of difference and difference does not have to be anarchic or fascist. It can be fresh air in a dank cellar. It can be life after Brussels.
The flags are flying. Futility has no place in the new order.
Ah, there is a new order then? With different rules?