There is a certain greyness to Monday morning, no matter how bright the sunshine nor how blue the skies may be. Upon awaking today, I awkwardly, sleepily made my way to the kitchen and switched on the coffee maker and BBC Radio 4: I caught the tail end of an item which said that the United Auto Workers had reached an agreement with Chrysler, Fiat and the American government, which should save the American auto company from bankruptcy and liquidation.

I know that there are aficionados who will be cock-a-hoop at the thought that the maker of their favourite mode of transport has been saved. My reaction, in contrast, was “Oh”.

My ambivalence comes from the following paradox: I don’t want the people who work at Chrysler to lose their jobs and be pushed to the margins. As someone who has been unemployed and lived on state benefits in the past, I know it’s a miserable experience and one to be avoided if at all possible.

On the other hand, my recollection of the cars they have produced is tainted. My first experience of a Chrysler product came from my grandfather’s 1969 Dodge Dart: every time it started up, it sounded as if it was struggling with an intestinal complaint. Furthermore, my grandfather had to fight a constant battle against rust, in spite of his devoted care and attention; I remember him at the age of seventy-five, bent over yet another dark ochre spot with a can of aquamarine paint, doing his level best to keep together a disintegrating bit of steel.

My impressions of other Chrysler cars are just as negative: I remember K-cars looking like something a child would put together out of cereal boxes perched on wheels. The Chrysler Le Baron Coupe was a symbol of Yuppie tackiness. The Plymouth Duster was the kind of car you gave to a teenager as their first mode of transport, because if it ended up wrapped around a tree or stuck in a ditch somewhere, no one would care. This “tradition” now lives to fight another day; no doubt, the new alliance with Fiat will add Italian flair to this storied history.

But beyond my visceral distaste, I couldn’t help but think about a discussion I had with a colleague the other day. He was telling me that he was interested in writing a PhD thesis about “why certain technologies win”.

“Ah,” I said, “you mean like how VHS beat Betamax?”

He shrugged. “That’s one example, certainly. However, I’d like to find out how we adopted cars as an optimal transport solution.”

I asked him to explain further. He replied, “Well, how did we decide that pushing ourselves around in a heavy metal box full of flammable liquid was a good idea?”

I had to admit that put that way, yes, cars do sound preposterous. We dig up ore from the earth, pull rubber out of chemicals, melt silicon from sand all to assemble a vehicle which most drivers rarely utilise at full efficiency. Admittedly, I am one of those who is guilty of this: my car can hold four people, but most of the time, I am driving alone. The cars ahead and behind me testify to the fact that there are many other people heading the same way at the same time, yet we are all (mostly) alone in our vehicles and all putting out carbon. Yet, we accept this inefficiency as normal.

We also accept as normal that this wasteful mode of transport consistently works out cheaper than more efficient means. In order to use public services to meet my transport needs, I would have to pay bus and rail bills which are more than the fuel and lease costs of my car; for someone on a limited income, switching is not an option. Worse, the journey would take twice as long.

Partially, this is due to the insane policies of the British government; it makes no difference if they are Conservative or Labour, the politicians have consistently refused to look at costs on a cascading basis. Adopting this approach would require them to provide subsidies to rail transport with the full knowledge that the service would not turn a direct profit from passenger numbers. But, and this is a big but, the costs saved on items such as road maintenance and health service cost reductions (due to fewer road accidents), means that the nation turns a profit. What is more, the environmental savings on carbon emissions also help the nation meet its obligations to the planet. However, no British government since Attlee was Prime Minister seems to have operated with this societal calculus in mind. Rather, governments have grown more dependent on our fuel and road taxes as a source of revenue; the car industry is so central to economic life that even the company that inflicted the horror of the Plymouth Duster can go cap in hand to Washington and expect a rain of cash to fall upon them.

That said, the voters have started to object to constant bailouts and as a result, the industry is being forced to downsize. It was announced today that General Motors is to get rid of its Pontiac line of cars and cut jobs by a third. It is my hope that the assembly line workers will be given the opportunity to turn their hand to other things. For example, in February 2008, the German manufacturer Siemens warned the British government that it was having problems meeting the demand for wind turbines. The engineering skills learned on the assembly line surely could be redeployed, with appropriate training, towards meeting this need and that of other green energy products such as solar cells, and tidal power generators.

However, one of the more disturbing motifs of our present economic crisis is the sheer number of references by government and business leaders about “returning to normal”. The implication is that once we get past the turmoil, things will carry on more or less as they did previously: this should be a thoroughly unacceptable way of looking at our present situation, after all, it was the previous state of affairs which led to the current catastrophe. There should be no doubt that we don’t want to re-inflate the housing bubble, which priced homes out of the reach of first time buyers and the poor. There should be no hesitation in eliminating lax rules on lending that only benefit the lender and no let up on those bankers who played fast and loose with their depositors’ money. However, there should also be no doubt that much of the manufacturing model which has sustained us hitherto has run its course. There is nothing normal, natural or inevitable about us transporting ourselves the way we do: in the past, people felt that the horse drawn carriage was going to be around forever, but we changed. It is time to change again, and to do so with the cascading costs in mind. On the day that a government is intelligent enough to do so, I’ll be amongst the first to paraphrase an old Beatles tune by saying, “Baby, you can take away my car.”

It’s uncommon to associate melancholy with either majesty or beauty, particularly in the English speaking world. It’s a widely-held belief, certainly in America, that lacking overt cheer is evidence of psychological dysfunction. Anyone who thinks otherwise should try the following experiment: find a group of Americans, ingratiate yourself into their midst, and then look purposefully, woefully depressed. The response one will get is “cheer up”, “things aren’t that bad”, or even “snap out of it”.

But melancholy has its place, and other cultures exploit it well: perhaps nowhere more so than in Scandinavia. It is perhaps a matter of survival; in the deep midwinter, many Scandinavians make do with only 4 hours of sunlight per day. One has to learn to cope with the dark, and the ensuing depression that may follow. There can be poetry in coping with the bleak.

“Let the Right One In” is a good example of this. It is a Swedish film, it is magnificent: I suggest that it is wonderful precisely because of its point of origin.

The vampire film genre, to be blunt, is near exhaustion, and thus the public can be forgiven for groaning at the thought of yet another film featuring more blood slurping monsters. We have seen Dracula many times and presented in many different ways: in versions in which he wears a cape, in versions in which he dons armour to go fight the Turks, in versions where he was played by actors as different as Christopher Lee, Frank Langella and Gary Oldman. We have had many female vampires who double as seductresses, a decolletage plunging to the navel coming as standard. Additionally, we have seen a huge variety of cat-eyed contract lenses and long fangs. We have even had vampires portrayed, somewhat nauseatingly, as objects of teenage affection, almost as if blood sucking fiends are supposed to somersault into the “young adult drama” genre, attempts which should perhaps be entitled “Transylvania 90210”.

“Let the Right One In” transcends existing norms from the very beginning. We are presented with a very ordinary block of flats, possibly social housing, on the edge of a major Swedish city (presumably Stockholm). It is snowing, it is dark, and the scene is unremittingly bleak in its tediousness. We first see this world through the eyes of a twelve year old boy named Oskar, played to perfection by Kåre Hedebrant: his every gesture indicates that he is a shy, rather timid boy who dreams of being much more powerful than he is. His first words are “Squeal like a pig”, something he desires to say to his tormentors.

The vampire’s arrival does not occur in a manner a traditional horror film fan may expect: there is no magnificent black coach drawn by horses with flame red eyes, nor does the vampire arrive in a luxurious limousine. Rather, we see an ordinary looking dark-haired girl, accompanied by an older man, step out of a plain taxi.

Oskar befriends the vampire, named Eli, who appears to be as old as he is. If we did not know about Eli’s true nature, we would take their introduction and first conversations as being touchingly ordinary and sweet. However, it is the mundane used in this manner that makes their relationship believable. While other vampire films have claimed to be a love story, this one genuinely is, even though the words “I love you” are never spoken.

However, this element would not work without the performance of young Lina Leandersson as Eli. It would not be understating matters to say that her selection made this film. It is extremely difficult to simultaneously portray youth and great age at the same time: Ms. Leandersson more than pulls it off. She can reach out tentatively for Oskar’s hand, as if she is feeling the first pull of young love. Yet at the same time, one can look into her eyes and see the great sadness and weariness of advanced age. If acting to this level is a skill that can be learned, then many of today’s “A list” film stars need to get on the next plane to Stockholm.

As with any great film, it is the attention to detail that enhances it significantly: we are never told what year it is, for example. However, Oskar gives a Rubik’s Cube to Eli, who has never seen one before: this instantly thrusts us into the early 1980’s; this detail is enhanced later by a small mention on the news of Brezhnev still leading the USSR. Similarly, we are never precisely told that Oskar’s parents are divorced, nor are we explicitly told why: an overheard phone conversation introduces us to the former, the latter becomes clear when Oskar’s father has a male friend over for drinks. Also, Oskar never tells us that his school is a miserable place: he doesn’t have to do so. I found myself squirming in my seat looking at the bland classrooms, the vaguely fascist Physical Education teacher, the subtle hell of school field trips.

Nothing is “over the top” in this film. We never see vampire fangs, though we witness what damage they can do; the sole noticeable visual “vampire” effect is Eli’s eyes are at times an unusual, though not unnatural colour. The children that bully Oskar at school are not “extravagant” bullies: the ringleader is a child not taller than Oskar himself. Eli’s lair is not caked in blood and gore: it is spartan, spare; she is unconcerned with money and luxury, indeed she offers Oskar a large wad of high denomination notes, as she doesn’t particularly care.

This combination of the dark, the subtle, the clever and the tender is just beyond the ken of Hollywood film makers. If they were to remake this film, and I suggest this is likely, then we would be “treated” to lengthy expositions about Oskar’s life, comic book bullies, CGI enhanced transformations of Eli into a much more savage creature, and perhaps they might even age Eli and Oskar sufficiently so they could have sex. In short, they would abandon the altogether Swedish economy of the present film for the cinema of fairground attractions.

I hope that Hollywood will be dissuaded from creating a ruinous facsimile. This piece of cinematic art should be left to stand as it is, a dark tale from a cold country, the kind of fable that justly comes from a land that has long had stories of gnomes and trolls. Yes there is death, there is pain, but there is love too. Sometimes these qualities together are richer than a tale that is full of ordinary facets and typical smiles. In this instance, they came together in a film that I will cherish for a long time to come.

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Perhaps the most depressing aspect of Britain’s Labour government is the amount of conformity it requires of its acolytes. It’s rare that I can watch a government minister or most Labour MPs without shouting at the television, “Say what you really think, for God’s sake!”

Anecdotal evidence confirms this impression; I once met a prospective Labour candidate for Parliament and found out that there is a rather strict party line in terms of what they could or could not say, particularly on television.

I said, “If you said what you think, people would respect you more.”

The reply I got was a shrug and smile. I suppose that this is the price that is demanded of anyone who wants to be an MP. Leave intellect at the door, leave passion to one side, sweep your scruples and ethics under the carpet, the good of the party is all that matters.

There are rare individuals who refuse to toe the line, and the results are generally magnificent. Parliament would lose much of its lustre and its colour without Dennis Skinner, MP for Bolsover, and his sharp quips. Frank Field, MP for Birkenhead, thinks deep thoughts about the pension and benefit systems, and often has very interesting things to say. Tony Benn, when he was in Parliament as MP for Chesterfield, was the consistent voice of Left’s conscience, jamming rhetorical needles into those who had sold out their principles for power.

Chris Mullin, MP for Sunderland South, is a nominal member of this “awkward squad”. He has opposed the government on a number of issues, including detention of terrorist suspects; however, he also has served as a junior minister on several occasions. This record suggests a man who has struggled to find a path between his conscience and what he considers to be his duty. This impression is confirmed by his recently published diaries, “A View from the Foothills”.

The title is apt. Mr. Mullin makes no claim that his book will describe what it is like to be at the summit of power, rather his perspective is informed from being at a rather lower altitude. However, this diary, whether Mr. Mullin likes it or not (I suspect the former), is perhaps the most informative book presently available on the personalities which drive the British Government.

However, a health warning: Mr. Mullin is not precisely what one would call modest. A substantial ego is probably necessary in order to stand for office in the first place. There is a fair amount of navel gazing, as one might expect from a diary, and some touches of self-righteousness. That said, Mr. Mullin does have a sense of humour, which leavens the mixture, and transforms him from a politician into a likeable human being.

If one ever wondered what it would be like to see a blog in book format, “A View from the Foothills” is as good example as any: the entries are generally short and terse, and offer sketches of a particular situation. However Mr. Mullin is also a published novelist, and this skill tells, mostly when he is describing the people around him, including his superiors.

These insights are fascinating, if not altogether surprising. Mr. Mullin’s first ministerial job was with the Department of the Environment, which was then run by John Prescott. I’ve often thought of Prescott as being a very insecure man: I recall an incident during a political awards programme, during which he and his wife Pauline were given a prize for producing a television series. The man dominated the podium, almost literally shoving his wife aside. However, this did not appear to be an assertion of strength to me, rather, it looked like a gesture of fear that somehow his wife would outshine him.

Mr. Mullin confirmed this diagnosis for me. He describes Prescott as being intelligent, capable of great warmth and insight, but simultaneously full of bluster and mishaps, as if he was trying to cover up a deep sense of personal inadequacy. This made his time with the Department of the Environment quite turgid and unpleasant.

Other characters are sketched just as forthrightly. We are introduced to the real Clare Short: warm, funny, intelligent, demanding, and yet also sometimes possessed of a tin ear. Robin Cook comes across as extremely clever but disliked.

But perhaps the most convincing insights that Mr. Mullin has to offer are in regards to the past and present Prime Ministers.

I have to admit I was little dismayed by constant references to Tony Blair as “The Man”, though given what Blair had achieved for the Labour Party, perhaps this admiration is understandable. Blair comes across as charismatic, sometimes willing to take a stand, yet also ruthless: in Mr. Mullin’s case, one gets the impression Blair was trying to co-opt him in order to silence a dissenting voice. It also looks like Blair got his way on the War in Iraq through sheer force of personality, which is not a particularly good way of making decisions of this magnitude. Mr. Mullin’s entries for this period are suitably full of disquiet and discord.

The impressions of Gordon Brown are more difficult to pin down, but perhaps this is testament to the accuracy of the diarist. He comes across all at once as secretive, distrusting and obsessive, yet at the same time he has a set of loyal acolytes. The former qualities should, in theory, prevent him from gaining the latter. There is no doubting Brown’s ambitions, however; it is clear from an early stage that he wants “The Man’s” job. What is slightly mystifying is the ease with which he obtained it, given the unease he inspired in others. One is left with the unhappy thought that he should not have become Prime Minister, and if the Labour Party had committed itself to a fully open and honest leadership election process, he would not have done so.

Mr. Mullin also provides hints as to the attitude which is presently killing the Labour Government: he does express frustration at times that his constituents aren’t sufficiently grateful for what Labour is doing for them. It appears that he forgot his Karl Marx, who stated that without the dynamic of criticism, no society can progress. Constituents are supposed to complain, not be satisfied, this is what drives politicians to achieve more.

Mr. Mullin is standing down at the next election: he has served as an MP since 1987, and in my opinion, a pleasant retirement is well deserved. It is a regret, however, that politics will be losing his wit, his libertarian instincts, and his keen observations. For now, however, we can use his tome, which I highly recommend, as a looking glass onto the past and to see how the seeds of Labour’s forthcoming removal from office were planted long so very long ago.

The Slovene philosopher Slavoj Zizek once said you could learn a great deal about a country from its toilets. He cited three main examples: the lavatories of France, Germany, and Britain tell us, in his opinion, all we need to know about French politics, German philosophy and British economics. French toilets are basically a hole, the design’s intent is to get rid of waste as quickly as possible; French politics similarly is about disposal, as we can see in the number of changes in their government since the French Revolution. German toilets have a “pan” whereby the waste can be examined; the reflective nature of German philosophy, mostly concerning itself with the matter of existence is similarly referential. British economics emphasise efficiency, as do British toilets.

Yesterday’s budget led me to think about this, not only because we are far up “Excrement Creek” and the politicians are full of faeces, but because if one thinks about it, the budget is an attempt at French disposal using a German implement. It is a highly silly budget, based on highly silly assumptions; the Government hopes it will dispose of trouble, but in reality we’re going to end up being stuck with it for quite a long time.

A good a place to begin as any is with the Government’s “eye-catching initiative”, the increase in income tax rates to 50p in the pound for those earning more than £150,000 per annum. There are distinct problems with this policy: first, the government is trying to paint everyone in this bracket as rich. Yes, they are better off than most, however there are swings and roundabouts associated with this calculation: if one lives in London, for example, that money goes less far than it would, say, in Hull. That said, there also is the problem of misidentification: when the government says “rich” or “high earners”, the public generally believes they are talking about the likes of Sir Fred Goodwin, the former Royal Bank of Scotland chief who not only destroyed the company, but managed to collect a huge pension in the process. Everyone can agree that someone like him ought to pay more: however, this tax is unlikely to catch the likes of Sir Fred, as people like him are able to tap into complex tax avoidance schemes. Rather, in order to snag these individuals, the Government needed to strengthen enforcement: I did not see any measures which indicated this was going to be significantly tackled. At the same time, there are professionals, such as highly skilled doctors, who will be negatively affected by this increase in tax; according to the Guardian, British income tax rates are now only second to Italy among the G20 nations. I imagine that Australia and Canada are salivating at the prospect of luring skilled Britons to their shores.

Worse still, the indications have been that this rise in income tax will not raise a tremendous amount of extra revenue; again, the priority should have been to eliminate avoidance, thus increasing revenues without increasing the perception of the burden.

There are other items which are just as bad: for example, the rise in alcohol duty is a killer blow to pubs. Alcohol abuse is a problem in the United Kingdom, however there is a public health question associated with how much the problem should be public or private: if drinking happens in a pub, then it is more of a social activity, which can be controlled by the bouncer and the barman. However, by raising alcohol duty without putting in a place a minimum alcohol price which would apply to supermarkets, we are pushing the problem out of the public sphere into a form of substance abuse which largely takes place at home. There is nothing in this budget which indicates the Government has taken this thought on board. Rather, they appear more concerned about raising revenue, whatever the source, rather than actually assisting public health.

The same money-raising logic applies to fuel duty. One of the main criticisms that the Green Party has levelled at this government is the fact that they make it difficult to be green. Quite so, and there should be no hesitation in saying that green taxes without green alternatives are not green at all. Rather, they are a shakedown and a scam. The increases in fuel duty, which will continue well into the future, are not going to be ameliorated by increases in the subsidy for rail transport, for example. Drivers will still be in their cars out of necessity, thus emitting carbon, but they are going to have to pay more for the privilege of getting to work.

A government spokesman might retort that the new scheme for drivers to replace their old cars with new, more efficient ones will have a beneficial effect on the environment. I wonder about this. Is it a given that a newer car is necessarily more efficient than one made ten years ago? Vehicle licensing statistics published by the Department of Transport in 2007 indicate:

The average engine capacity of all licensed cars in 2007 was 1,751 cc, an increase of 6 per cent over the average 10 years ago. The engine size of new car registrations is also increasing, up from 1,750 cc in 2003 to 1,789 cc in 2007. For motorcycles, the average engine capacity amongst the licensed stock increased by 17 per cent between 1998 and 2007.

While no doubt technology has moved on in the quoted period, there was obviously an emphasis on developing vehicles which had greater power; this is not necessarily conducive to greater efficiency. Rather, the concentration on more efficient cars has been a relatively recent development. Furthermore, the environmental cost of producing the new cars, including gathering the raw materials, should be taken into account. Truth be told, this is a sop to the car makers, not really for the environment nor even for the drivers’ benefit.

The other headline green measures, such as £1 billion for supporting low-carbon industries and green jobs are a joke: this indicates that the environment is not at the centre of an economic strategy, rather, it is on the periphery as window dressing.

All this said, perhaps the silliest element of the budget is its predictions for the future. The Chancellor believes that the economy will grow by 1.25% in 2010 and in excess of 3% from 2011 for three years. This contradicts the IMF which believes the British economy will again shrink next year, albeit by a smaller amount than in 2009.

I have to wonder why the Chancellor believes there is the remotest chance that his sunny predictions will come true. Growth has to come from somewhere, and up until recently the financial sector had been one of the key pillars of the economy. While this is not entirely gone, the nationalisation of key banks, the lack of trust in the financial sector, and the rolling back of the City of London’s present culture means that it will not be able to assist in boosting the economy, on the contrary, it will be a drag. This is actually a good thing: as we’ve discovered, the financial industry is actually a more dishonest business than gambling. At least with a casino one can be certain that the house always wins, and this fact is not hidden. The financial industry peddles the illusion that gambling can go on forever, and apart from a fine print disclaimer that shares may go down as well as up, they seem to suggest that everyone can emerge with a jackpot.

Britain does have other things upon which it can rely: pharmaceuticals and aerospace have a substantial role to play. However, it is going to take some time for the economy to rebalance itself: major economic shifts of this type generally take longer than 12-24 months to play out. The Chancellor is either not being honest with himself or the public, or both, if he thinks this change can somehow be condensed. Worse still, this is being accompanied by a clampdown in the number of university places for young students: ergo, education is being restricted just as its lubricating qualities for this process to occur are needed most.

If the budget does not achieve fiscal, economic nor environmental goals, the question remains: what is its real purpose? Sadly, the only answer that makes sense is a political one: it is an attempt to divide the rich and poor, and to present some semblance of economic sanity in order to give the impression of control. Even the “efficiency savings” it purports to make are window dressing; they have much more to do with staff rather than processes: to examine that would be to undermine the “public private partnership” model with its attendant consultants and managerial costs upon which Labour has staked its credibility – though that is precisely where much of the waste actually lies. Overall, it’s a badly packaged pile of excrement poured into the mould of a layer cake with birthday candles stuck into it which when lit are revealed to be sticks of dynamite.

Sadly, the public won’t get a say on this particular budget until over a year from now. However, there comes a point where spin gets old, and an even more tragi-comic point where the spinner doesn’t realise that the spin is dated and no longer believed. Above all else, the Budget indicates that Labour has reached this stage. Ironically, given such a “Germanic” budget in the Zizekian sense, the government can now only expect to be flushed away à la française.

Today is Earth Day, and by all rights, I probably should be commenting on that. However, it would seem that a number of big ticket items are happening all at once: in addition to Earth Day, it’s Budget Day in the United Kingdom. We here in Britain will discover, at long last, how truly broke we are. But that’s a target rich environment for another day.

Earth Day itself has been worked over a number of times; in my opinion, every day should be “earth day”, rather than having its precepts consigned to one date in particular. I am concerned that some people are going to switch off their television and their lights for a few hours, eat an organic yoghurt and go back to normal tomorrow, thinking that they’ve done something substantial to save the planet. However, I’ve made my disdain for simple, unsustainable solutions quite clear.

South Africa’s election, in contrast, has received less attention. This is probably because the outcome is already known: it is highly likely that the African National Congress will win yet another term in office. It is also just as probable that the next President of South Africa will be Jacob Zuma, the ANC leader. This appears to be a matter of resigned acceptance.

I have personal links to South Africa: a number of my friends are from there and live there. I was once married to a South African. I have visited the country and loved it to the depths of my soul. I support the Springboks and drink rooibos tea like it’s going out of style. I’m not entirely sure why I have this mad passion: perhaps I was a South African in a previous life, or it might have been witnessing Pretoria’s jacaranda trees in full bloom, but there is something special about the country that inspires me.

It helped that my love affair began shortly after South Africa became politically inspiring too: I first visited soon after it became clear Nelson Mandela was going to become the next President. He remains the epitome of leadership: he is committed to progress over retribution, solutions rather than blame, unity rather than fragmentation. As a “Founding Father”, the reborn South Africa could not do better.

However, I remember at the time that President Mandela took office, one of my political science professors said, “Nelson is a lovely man, but he can’t go on forever. Who comes after him?”

Who indeed? After all, the African National Congress that stood behind him was a fragmented party in every respect and it still is. Its membership ranges in ideology from hardline Communists to Thatcherite capitalists. It incorporates both Zulu and Xhosa interests. After the National Party, the Afrikaner organisation that underpinned the apartheid system, merged with the ANC in 2005, I’m sure I was not alone in asking: “Who are you now, precisely?” That said, the reply probably would have been just as confused as the party itself.

Worse, the leadership that followed President Mandela has been, to be blunt, terrible. President Mbeki has presided over growing inequality, and is guilty of inexcusable dithering over the issue of fighting AIDS and the horrors being perpetrated by Mugabe in Zimbabwe. It was an absolute relief to see him depart: but it says much that his exit has only brought limited succour.

Finally, there is a case to be made about one party serving too long in office. The ANC’s rule over South Africa has been unbroken since 1994. Fifteen years is long enough for complacency and corruption to have set in; according to Transparency International’s Global Corruption Perceptions Index, in 2008, South Africa was in 54th place. In 2007, South Africa was in 43rd place. A steep decline of this nature augurs poorly for the future if the present government is not provided with a suitably strong opposition to challenge it.

South Africa, sadly, only has a small Green Party to act as the voice of the environmental movement. This is understandable in a nation that has been outside of the political mainstream for so long. Given this situation, in my opinion, the best option is the Democratic Alliance.

For those who are unfamiliar with this organisation, the Democratic Alliance is a liberal political party which can trace its roots back to the South African Progressive Party. Overall, it can be summarised in a single word: prickly. It acquired this quality through its leading light and inspiration, Helen Suzman.

Helen Suzman is rarely mentioned in the same breath as Nelson Mandela, but her role was nearly as heroic. She was the sole liberal voice in South Africa’s parliament for much of the apartheid period. She consistently challenged racism; she had the audacity to refer to the government as “narrow-minded, prejudiced bullies”, and once called the head of the Bureau of State Security, “South Africa’s very own Heinrich Himmler”. She also told John Vorster, the Justice Minister, that he should visit his constituency “heavily disguised as a human being”. Verbal prodding of this kind once prompted a government minister to say she was embarrassing the nation. Quite rightly, she shot back, “It is not my questions that embarrass South Africa; it is your answers.” On top of all this, she extensively visited Mandela in prison and championed his release.

Overall, she was principled, indefatigable, and if I may say it, apparently quite curmudgeonly. As soon as I heard of her existence and learned about what she had done, I liked her very much. The Democratic Alliance is picking up where she has left off by challenging corruption and demanding an open, non-racial society. On the surface, these demands are an invitation to the world-weary practitioners of realpolitik to rub their foreheads, sigh, and say that idea of a colour-blind, fully tolerant, liberal South Africa is a pipe dream. As I’m sure Ms. Suzman would have retorted if she was still with us, “Yes, so was demanding an end to apartheid.” A slogan from the Spanish Civil War seems apropos, “Be realistic, demand the impossible.”

It is unlikely that the Democratic Alliance will win the election today; however it is possible that they could win control of the Western Cape’s provincial government. This would be a useful check on the power of the ANC; by losing the wealthiest province to the opposition, the federal structure of South Africa would then become something other than a transmission belt of orders from the centre. Rather, President Zuma would then be subject to scrutiny, questions, and challenge. In order words, he’d have the thorns of principle constantly scratching at him.

A successful election outcome for the DA would achieve one other great good: anecdotal evidence from my circle of acquaintances has made it clear that there is growing comfort among white South Africans to vote for a Zulu or Xhosa President. Most, if not all of them, backed President Mandela wholeheartedly. If South Africa is going to truly rise up from its past, the same level of comfort should exist the other way around: the present leader of the DA, Helen Zille, is white. However, her record is without reproach; for example, she was the journalist who exposed the truth behind the murder of Steve Biko. She was also voted World Mayor of the Year for 2008, based on her outstanding record in Cape Town. Rather than judging her on her skin colour or even gender, it should be her experience, principles and policies that count. If this proves to be the case, then South African politics will emerge tomorrow a little bit more diverse, a little bit cleaner, and hopefully a lot more prickly.

I’ve never been a big fan of biofuels. Some may call me crazy, but I strongly believe there is something inherently perverse about turning crops into vehicle fuel when starvation is still rife in some parts of the world. Perhaps this issue’s apotheosis occurred during an episode of “60 Minutes” which aired last December. It featured Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, who was bragging that he had converted his Hummer to run on biofuels. He also put forward his belief that we could continue to have the life we lead now, so long as we make eco-friendly changes in the types of energy we use, and make conservation a greater priority.

However, it was recently reported in the Economist that biofuels are having an unforeseen impact: their production is putting more nitrous oxide into the air. While everyone has been focused on carbon output, this gas is even more lethal in terms of climate change, and worse, it is more difficult to disperse. According to the scientists quoted in the article, the nitrogen cycle, which is part of the functioning of plant life on earth, is changing, and not necessarily in ways that are beneficial. So: even if we do limit our carbon emissions, it appears that the task is not yet done; we will still need to profoundly change our lives. The idea that we can simply change to biofuel powered cars and stick a wind turbine in the back yard or solar cells on the roof and this will save the earth is a mirage.

Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised by this: our actions in response to the changing environment highlights a character flaw in the human race. We reach towards the simplest solution, even if a more thorough examination of that solution shows that it is insufficient. Indeed, we continue to grasp at these mirages in spite of simplicity’s terrible track record.

Hard times make this flaw worse. In Britain, the British National Party appears to be gaining support despite, or perhaps because of, their long advocacy of anti-Semitic and racist policies. They recently elected a member of the London Assembly; additionally, they presently hold 56 seats in local government. They have cleverly repackaged their uncivilised and brutal creed by swiping a misstatement made by the Prime Minister; he once stated that his priority was “British jobs for British workers”. The BNP took this quote and plastered it on their website. Unemployment is growing as the recession takes its toll; in this context, a slogan as simple as this sounds good. Racism also sounds like a simple solution: if the Asians are removed from society, the argument goes, there is less competition for jobs and public services. Of course, the BNP is a party by and for the intellectually challenged: they never want to answer the questions which pertain to treating one neighbours with common decency and without prejudice. Furthermore, they also fail to come up with an answer for the likely international retaliation that would ensue due to following their policies; they also cannot answer questions regarding who would fill the labour gap the departure of minorities would leave behind. Complexity would obscure the message; it might even make some people question it. Therefore it is hidden beneath a mountain of childish, petty rhetoric which appears to be endemic among the European far-right.

But it’s not just the political extremes, nor individual peons like Schwarzenegger who have succumbed to the narcotic of simplicity. Most democratic politicians cling to it like a toddler clings to a favourite stuffed animal. As was stated by the writers of the programme, “Yes, Minister”, most elected officials adhere to what is referred to as “The Politician’s Syllogism”:

We must do something
This is something
Therefore we must do this

This has led to a plague of rash decisions, ranging from the toppling of the Iranian Prime Minister Mossadegh in the 1950’s (which is the basis of Iran’s mistrust of the West to this day) to the invasion of Iraq in 2003 to the dash for biofuels now. Blood has been spilled, lives have been ruined, billions have been spent chasing the mirage of a simple solution. Perhaps this an evolutionary hurdle that the human race cannot fully climb over: we still have not learned to face up to rather than shrink away from the complexities of the world. Indeed, past history suggests that when things become too painful or complex, that is the precise moment that human beings are most ready to surrender liberty.

I’ve been spending much of today watching “The World at War”; admittedly, I am one of those people who cannot bear silence as a form of background noise. What is striking about the portions which focus on the German home front prior to and during the war, is how readily nonsense was believed: the hysterical anti-Jewish, anti-British, and anti-anyone propaganda that Herr Goebbels put forward should have been worthy solely of laughter. Even prior to the Nazi takeover, the Jews were a tiny minority within Germany, and their influence on society was neither malevolent nor disproportionate: any “occupation” by Jews of “portable” trades such as finance and medicine was partially due to previous persecutions. Anyone with eyes to see would have been able to discern this.

Similarly, the idea that the Russians were any less human than anyone else is just as laughable; but again, it was believed, and used to justify tactics which rank alongside the Christian knights’ barbarism during the Crusades. But to blame one race or another for one’s problems was simple; it was easier to do this than to discuss issues like hyperinflation, the over extension of global finance, the domination of the German economy by firms like I.G. Farben. Far simpler to let someone else to do the thinking than to face up to these issues; but in abdicating from this responsibility, the Germans made themselves into both slaves and a menace.

By refusing to face up to the complexities which plague us now, we too are slaves, albeit a different kind. We have become servants to fads and fashions: if we assemble an “Earthship”, for example, or buy a Toyota Prius, we feel able to pat ourselves on the back for our virtue. There, we can say, problem solved. We don’t want ourselves to be troubled by the environmental costs of putting a Prius together (i.e., the toxic chemicals required in making the batteries), nor deal with the fact that Earthships are only viable in certain places with an adequate supply of land and sunlight.

We are also a menace too, but again, a different kind. As the example of biofuels shows, we often trade one problem for another, more intractable one; the environment, as per usual, ends up paying the price.

Lest I be unduly harsh on the human race, it is important to note that the phenomena I’ve just described does indicate that we are improving in some ways. At least outside the environs that vote for the likes of the British National Party, there is a healthy scepticism about totalitarian and racist solutions. Furthermore we have better information than ever before, thanks in part to the internet: with this knowledge, we are able to disperse mirages much more quickly than in the past. While evolution may not be happening fast enough, at least this is an indication that it is possibly moving in the right direction. If the eventual result is free individuals who acknowledge their role in the world, and their responsibility to posterity, even if that means living far less luxuriously than we do now, then perhaps all our present tribulations will have been worth it.

I am a latecomer to the Susan Boyle phenomenon. Perhaps I can be forgiven for this as I am allergic to Simon Cowell: I recall he was once asked if he enjoyed the process of crushing the hopefuls that came his way. While he didn’t explicitly say “yes”, he nodded and smiled in such a way that made my stomach churn. There is a pomposity, a smugness, a noblesse sans oblige about him which suggests he has an endless reservoir of cruelty. If I deign to watch him, I believe I would merely help fatten his bank balance. So I don’t.

However, I also believe in karma. I remain firmly convinced that whatever one puts into the world creates feedback which reflects the input. To put it in computer programming terms: garbage in, garbage out; I thought that Cowell’s eventual comeuppance would be in encountering someone worse than he. I don’t think anyone expected his Waterloo would take the shape of a middle-aged spinster from Scotland.

Much has been written about the contrast between Ms. Boyle’s appearance and her singing abilities. Certainly Cowell didn’t expect her to be so talented: if the You Tube clip is any indication, it took a few moments for him to regain his composure. Afterwards, he stated that he knew that she would be great as soon as she stepped out. I had difficulty preventing myself from shouting something obscene.

The panel’s attitude, as well as that of the audience, was perfectly summarised by one of the judges: she stated, “When you came out, everyone was against you”. It was this quip which really caught my attention: it appears that the last acceptable prejudice left is that which discriminates against the unconventionally beautiful.

Ms. Boyle should take comfort in the fact that she is not alone. For example, journals such as the Daily Mail are constantly analysing the weight gain or loss of celebrities. I remember a particularly unpleasant article in which they referred to Jessica Simpson as being a “bigger star than ever”. The tone of the article is condescending, the writer implies something is wrong with Ms. Simpson. The piece states she was once the doyenne of Hollywood red carpets, and it also engaged in speculation about her love life. We learn nothing about her intellectual, moral or personal qualities from articles of this type: when it comes to describing her kindness, generosity and overall benevolence, there is a noticeable void. Beauty is reduced to mere measurements.

If it were the Daily Mail alone, we could leave it as a symptomatic of the myriad pathologies which drive that publication. However, merely visiting a local newsagent is sufficient to show how widespread the problem is. Look at the long rack of so-called “women’s magazines”: the vast majority talk about beauty tips, cosmetics, diets. The celebrities interviewed are generally on the rise or comeback, in which case their secrets are “revealed”. Alternatively, the celebrities are on the wane or have crashed (Amy Winehouse springs to mind) in which case they provide carrion upon which the vultures of individual vanity can feed. All, however, are focused on “looking good”, outer appearance in this instance becoming a reflection of inner virtue.

There is nothing natural about this; if we believe both Freud and Lacan, we are not born with an inherent knowledge of what we should find desirable. Rather, this is something we learn over time from society’s influences. Looking at the history of art bears out this interpretation: the women painted by Pieter Paul Ruebens in the 17th century would not be confused with the elfin waifs that inhabit our catwalks today.

Again, the judge on Britain’s Got Talent said it best, “When you first came out, everyone was against you”. By the learned, societal standard, Ms. Boyle is not reassuringly conventional in her looks: she did not dye her hair to hide her grey, it does not appear that she has a personal trainer, nor was she dressed to the nines. She is more “everywoman” rather than “superstar”: she is the person we encounter in the supermarket or book store rather than an idol that we assume will emerge from a limousine. Because of our cultural conditioning, the expectation was that her outer visage was a reflection of some sort of inner decrepitude. The audience perhaps also resented her presumption: she had the audacity to “expose” herself to them and the viewing public.

However, everyone changed sides as soon as she sang. Her voice, melodic, powerful and clear, was such a shocking contrast that tears appeared in the eyes of two of the judges, and the audience burst into a standing ovation. She is now an international phenomenon. While Ms. Boyle’s raw talent is no doubt a motivating factor in this response, one wonders what else is behind it.

The negative interpretation is that perhaps she offers an opportunity for the public to expiate its guilt over how it views people who don’t meet the standards it sets for celebrities. She is the exception which supposedly means that the rule no longer applies, rather than the exception that proves the rule. This reduces Ms. Boyle to freak show status, and the audience to that of the gawking spectators who relish the curious juxtaposition of talent and ugliness.

However, this can be also viewed positively: Ms. Boyle’s arrival is a liberation from the straight jacket of our present culture. There can be no doubt that it is stultifying and worse, dull: one of the most depressing features of modern pop music, for example, is its constant churning out of cookie cutter singers. They all dress the same way, sing the same way, are coiffed the same way. Their careers rise and fall with an alarming regularity. Their songs are also very forgettable: it is unlikely that future generations are going to thank us for the works of Westlife, Boyzone or whatever boy band is popular this week. Ms. Boyle is different; she is by all means herself, rather than a manufactured product. She stands out in a field that is otherwise mundane.

Furthermore, perhaps she provides us with a salutary lesson: rather than having to erect monuments made of silicon and plastic, we have a symbol of the beauty that potentially lies in the truth. The early signs that she could provide this moral example are encouraging: she has already indicated that she will not change, in spite of her elevation to celebrity status. If this inspires others to burst forth in sweet song, or put pen to paper to compose flowing prose, or don their dancing shoes to trip the light fantastic regardless of societal constraints, so much the better.

I haven’t been paying much attention to what’s been going on in America this past week: theoretically, I’m on vacation. It’s been pleasant to have time to read, listen to music and to go out and experience Spring in England, even if that means getting rained on a few times.

However, I got a phone call from America yesterday; among other things, I was asked if I had seen anything in the British press about the Tea Parties.

“No,” I admitted, “but then again I haven’t looked for it.”

If my acquaintance’s estimate is to be believed, about 300,000 people gathered across the country on tax day, April 15, to protest at the high levels of government spending and taxation implied and stated by President Obama’s budget. This demonstration was supplemented by activists mailing tea bags to politicians; I can imagine the mild British retort about the quality of American tea making it unworthy for any other purpose.

Some commentators have tried to dismiss this as an irrelevance; while 300,000 across a country as vast as the United States does sound relatively minor by dilution, I don’t believe it is. I don’t believe it’s also right to say that this protest has no genuine echoes of the past. There was an alarming refrain from 1860; Governor Rick Perry of Texas said that his state had the right to secede if it wanted. The name “Appomattox” is apparently not one he’s heard before.

More fundamentally, the Tea Party of 2009, and its namesake in 1773 are similar in the following respect: a lot its energy came from an unwillingness for people to pay for public services which otherwise they will happily consume.

Perhaps one of the greatest (but most subtle) shocks I’ve experienced since moving to the United Kingdom was the shift in my perspective on the American Revolution. First, the British don’t call it the “American Revolution”; they refer to it as the “American War for Independence”. As many of the fundamentals of American governance were unchanged by the war (i.e., property rights, the rule of law), this is probably a more accurate moniker.

Second, I had the opportunity to look at the other side of the issue. The British perspective was actually very simple and utilitarian: they were not imposing taxes as part of some plan to impose tyranny on America. Rather, Britain had to raise cash to pay for the Seven Years War, which was fought between 1756 and 1763. When Americans talk about this particular war, they refer to it as the “French and Indian War”; this is accurate insofar as the American theatre was concerned (and furthermore it began in 1754), however the overall struggle was international and hugely expensive.

The French empire in 1756 rivalled that of the British; furthermore, their dominance of Louisiana, Quebec and all along the Mississippi River meant that the American colonists were essentially boxed in. Furthermore, the French were allied to the Native Americans (an exception were the Iroquois) who had an uneasy relationship, at best, with the Americans. If the colonies were going to be able to expand and thrive, this state of affairs could not be allowed to stand. War, in this instance, was welcome: there was no noticeable “peace movement” in the Thirteen Colonies during the conflict. Indeed, one of the more famous early portraits of George Washington show him dressed in a Virginia Militia uniform in preparation to battle the French.

The British won the war; the French were eliminated as a threat to the Colonies and the Native Americans’ resistance was crushed. Given the amount of men, materiel and money that had been expended by the Crown, it was not unreasonable for Britain to want a contribution from the Americans to help pay the bill.

If one subscribes to the hagiography of the Founding Fathers, this simple truth gets lost: if viewed through the fog of distorted history, the causes of the conflict change from a refusal to pay for services rendered, to the mighty issues of “taxation without representation” and preferring liberty or death to British rule. This is not to excuse the means by which the British imposed the tax: the proper method would have been to negotiate an arrangement with the colonial assemblies. There was also a disconnect between the London government and the colonists’ representation in Parliament. Finally, the British use of troops was incompetent and heavy handed, which led to the tragedy of the Boston Massacre. However, contrary to legend, George III was not a monster; he was certainly not an autocrat in the mould of King Louis XVI, with whom the Americans later allied, nor was the British government particularly possessed of evil intent. Again, it was simply short of money and needed the Americans to help pay the bills.

Having said all this, I could be branded a horrible traitor by many of my fellow countrymen. The hagiography of the Founding Fathers is extremely resistant to any alteration. I recall visiting Philadelphia in the mid 1990’s to attend my uncle’s wedding. Out of curiosity, I went to Independence Hall; I had not seen it since I was a small boy. I listened to the extremely earnest guide from the National Park Service talk about Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson and George Washington in reverential terms. I invariably wanted to pipe up and present the British perspective on the matter; however, given the intensity with which the guide spoke, it would have been rude and tragic to interrupt his flow. It is still considered not apropos to ask what the Founding Fathers were really fighting for; certainly, they were men of genius, talent and character. However they were human beings, and as such, they were not infallible.

In many respects, those today who want to party like its 1773 are not out of line with tradition: the American government is short of cash. The services rendered are different: the wars are abroad rather than against a local enemy. Americans also appear to want the government to improve their health care beyond the obligations that Medicare already provides, they also want Social Security payments to continue to be made, they want unemployment insurance, and they want the government to provide a variety of subsidies and payments ranging from agricultural price supports to infrastructure projects. They have voted for solid Democrat majorities in the House and Senate, as well as for a Democrat President to ensure these services continue. There is a price tag associated with these demands; I no more accept the demonstrators’ protestations that they want small government than I would a (fictional) American colonist in 1756 saying that he didn’t mind the French building up their presence in North America. It may sound fine in theory: but when Social Security stops being paid or the Native American allies of the French burn down your homestead, the real-time consequences are sufficient, at least, to cause one to pause.

However, it is likely that the impetus behind the modern Tea Party movement will peter out. Today’s Tea Parties lack a John Adams or Thomas Jefferson to give a coherent theoretical and political edifice to the opposition, nor is there a Sam Adams to provide the necessary agitation: the likes of Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter are no substitute. Furthermore, President Obama’s recent call for ensuring America’s money is well spent indicates he has some understanding of how to defuse the issue: articulating clearly what the money is going towards forces the public to view spending as a specificity, a payment for services rendered, rather than a generality. Knowledge, rather than propaganda, can take the steam out of public anger. I would also suggest that he takes steps to get rid of earmarks, the majority of which can only be described as waste (a “Lawrence Welk Birthplace Museum” built in North Dakota springs to mind).

Finally, if President Obama wants to talk about history, there are plenty of ways in which it can come to his aid: he can talk about John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay fighting for federal expenditure on internal improvements or about Andrew Jackson’s lack of support for America’s financial infrastructure, namely the Second Bank of the United States, and how this led to the panic of 1837. However, I don’t suggest he re-examine history in the manner which I have just done: “Tea Party Pooper”, for an American, is probably a title best acquired from a distance if at all.

I’m not usually inclined to comment on a book before I’ve read it. However, I’m moved to make an exception in the case of Anthony Giddens’ new tome, entitled “The Politics of Climate Change”.

For those who aren’t familiar with Lord Giddens’ previous works, he is one of the intellectual architects of the “Third Way”, the philosophy which underwrote both Tony Blair’s and Bill Clinton’s approach to politics. I recall one of Clinton’s speeches in which he articulated this perspective: he rejected the choice to be made between state intervention and free markets as false, rather, he called for a partnership between the two for the betterment of society. Rather than stop there, he continued in this vein for an additional thirty minutes; the lecture made one think of political philosophy as a caramel stickiness, a sugary adhesion between two diametric opposites in one great metaphysical globule. In an era of prosperity, few questioned this “post-ideological” approach; people were more interested in snickering at President Clinton’s sexual dalliances at the time.

Not content with creating a intellectual abortion based on avoiding the idea of choice altogether, Giddens’ latest work attacks the green movement. According to the Economist, he refers to greens as “relentlessly downbeat” and rejects the “hairshirt” approach as offered by environmentalists. He suggests that greens need to offer a vision of a bright future as opposed to issuing dire warnings.

Other commentators agree. Will Hutton stated in the Guardian that “the environment is too important to be left to the green movement”. In his words:

The green movement as it stands should receive the last rites. Its only hope is for a complete overhaul. Its mystic, utopian view of nature and its attachment to meaningless notions such as sustainable development or the precautionary principle should be done away with. It is time to move on.

To which I feel tempted to reply, “Oh, really?” Which has been proven to be unsustainable and impractical, the philosophy both Hutton and Giddens represent, or the principles for which the green movement stands?

I’ve often thought that the Green Party should base its next general election campaign around a single question: “How’s that working out for you?” It sounds very American, to be sure, but the tone behind the question: sardonic, sarcastic but pragmatic all at once should provoke thought about the modern world and how it is presently structured.

We have had nearly twenty years of Giddens’ philosophy being in vogue among the political Centre-Left; it was put into practice in the United States and Britain. Everyone thought they could have their cake and eat it too: Clinton thought he could spend more, solve the deficit and eliminate the barrier between investment and commercial banking (i.e., through the 1999 repeal of the Glass-Steagall Act of 1933) and it would all come right. Yet, it was the refusal to diminish expectations (e.g., by pricking the housing bubble), and his government’s elimination of regulation that helped pave the way to our present crisis. It is possible to ask the American public now: how’d that work out for you? Unemployment is on the march, people are locked into debts they can no longer afford, banks will be propped up by the taxpayer for years, industries are shutting down. The pessimists, the Cassandras, those who sounded a cautionary note and were swept aside by the Third Way optimists were the ones who turned out to be correct.

Similarly, in Britain, we have had a Third Way government in operation since 1997. The Labour government thought the party would last forever: it gave the Bank of England operational independence, and spent more. Gordon Brown went so far as to say that the cycles of “boom and bust” had been abolished; this is a mistaken claim for which he has not yet apologised. The British public should also consider how well this played out: the sceptics, the dour pragmatists, the hairshirt wearers and those who watched the proverbial economic canaries in the mine keeling over proved to be those who understood more about what was going on than the optimists.

Yet after having been so categorically and tragically wrong, we are presented with the likes of Giddens and Hutton telling those who were right, that they are the ones who are wrong and indeed that they need to change their ways. These esteemed gentlemen also tragically underestimate the intelligence and discernment of the public: they simply refuse to believe that an informed electorate is capable of making difficult decisions, rather, like children, they need to be given bright colours and more sugar candy in order to make the bitter pill of greenery that much easier to swallow. This is a “bread and circuses” brand of politics which is the province of the authoritarian regimes, rather than the hallmark of a responsible, representative government.

Let’s be clear: it is time to don the proverbial hairshirt in most respects. We have one planet, with a limited set of resources. Under these circumstances, economic growth has constraints: there are only so many products we can pull out of the ground, whether they are agricultural or industrial. There are only so many people that this world can feed, clothe and allow to breathe. Either we correct the problem through our actions, or nature will correct the problem for us, in ways we would probably rather not contemplate.

The reality of global constraints must be accompanied by a recognition of individual constraints. We have been encouraged to think that our individual sovereignty is linked to unlimited consumption. Through advertising and the present construction of the economic order, we have been led to believe that we are entitled to have whatever we want, whenever we want: we have become autocrats in our own domains. However, this fallacious link should be severed: liberty is not a matter of being free to consume, but being free to think, to act, to question and to be entrusted with responsibility. Is this less “fun” than carefree self-indulgence? Certainly. But at the same time, we’ve seen that the other way is a dead end.

This analysis moves green political thought from a “utopian” project, as both Giddens and Hutton believe, into a project which is actually more realistic than what they propose. Interestingly, it is Giddens and Hutton who are buying into fantasy: as the Slovene philosopher Slavoj Zizek once stated, we labour under a paradox, namely that we have the power to destroy the world, which is true, but that we also are simultaneously powerless to change the present economic order. Giddens and Hutton would rather not work to remedy the conundrum, rather they want to continue to indulge it.

The Economist notes, with some implied sadness, that despite Giddens’ work being “woolly”, that the author’s previous significance will “propel it onto shelves in high places”. This is probably true. With a bit of luck, however, the volume will remain on those shelves, gather dust, and then be quietly forgotten. The era of hard choices is upon us, whether we like it or not. Giddens’ fantasies are not a help, but a hindrance.

Nostalgia for days gone by is nothing new. The statue of Richard the Lionheart in front of the Houses of Parliament is a testament to Victorian aspirations of medieval nobility. I remember back in the early 1990’s that my younger sister developed a penchant for tie dye clothing and Janis Joplin records. “The good old days”, as a cliche, has been used so much that not even advertising executives will touch it any longer.

However, lately I’ve noticed a creeping sentimentality about an era that deserves no such tribute. I’ve seen grown men wearing polyester in broad daylight. Disco music and multiple shades of brown have made an appearance in perfume ads. Even prawn cocktails are being mentioned on cookery programmes. God help us: the Seventies are coming back.

I was born in the early 1970’s, so my awareness of the era is somewhat limited; this is probably for the best. However, older, wiser people than me have summarised the period by using words like “tasteless” and “tacky”.

I got a good dose of what they were talking about in my Elementary German class: one day, I was handed a textbook which was printed in 1975. We were instructed to turn to a page which would give us the vocabulary describing various articles of clothing. When I reached it, I discovered a drawing of a young man in quite possibly the most outrageous flared denim trousers imaginable. This was accompanied by a (presumably polyester) shirt with a very wide collar, and a denim jacket that had flared sleeves. I couldn’t help myself: I burst out laughing. After five minutes, I had to be excused from the room. Just recalling the photo is sufficient to cause mirth to well up within me now.

The same values, or lack thereof, applied to music as well as fashion. While I know some individuals enjoy the sounds of Abba or the Bee Gees, there is a a saccharine odiousness to both in my opinion. Some musicians were even worse: last night, I saw a programme called “Room 101”. The show invites celebrities to put things they despise into an Orwellian torture chamber, presumably never to be allowed out again. Richard E. Grant, sturdy soul that he is, wanted to put in a performance of Tony Orlando singing “Tie a Yellow Ribbon”. The audience was “treated” to an accompanying film clip: in it, Mr. Orlando was wearing a light grey polyester tuxedo with black filigree brocade on the lapels. After the clip ended, Mr. Grant summarised my feelings precisely: he quickly and violently assaulted the presenter.

Still, this misplaced nostalgia seems to be unstoppable. I changed channels and found celebrities willingly hosting “Seventies Revival” evenings for each other. It is unlikely this was being done out of intentional discourtesy. Even the sober-sided Economist recently presented side-by-side reviews of one movie set in the Sixties (“The Boat that Rocked”) and another set in the Seventies (“The Damned United”) and found the latter, though it portrayed a more gritty, nasty and dull era to be a far superior reflection of Britain today.

This all leads us to a question of why: why do people want to remember an era that was lacking in anything worth remembering? Do people really believe the Austin Allegro, lava lamps, platform shoes and pet rocks will be remembered as some pinnacle of cultural expression? Or is this merely tapping into the silliness centre of the brain, which is a form of release given the grim signs of economic decay that we see all around us?

The only real comfort I find in revisiting the Seventies, apart from a few masterpieces like Monty Python’s Flying Circus and Tom Baker in Doctor Who, is the fact that we survived it. Let’s not forget how bad it was back then, particularly in Britain. Rather than adopt a consensus model like Germany or France, Britain chose an adversarial paradigm and thus faced constant strife with the unions; the clashes had become quite ugly by the time the Seventies arrived. Edward Heath’s short-lived “dash for growth” policies proved to be a failure. Higher oil prices and decimalisation kicked off a round of inflation. The full employment that people had become accustomed to in the Fifties and Sixties was fading away. There were even routine blackouts in the United Kingdom, accompanied by enforced shorter working weeks.

Yes, there was progress from an environmental perspective: awareness of man’s impact on nature grew substantially, and the Green movement became a genuine political force for the first time. However, this was also an era in which people ate more chemicals than ever before: prepackaged and frozen foods contained preservatives that would make people now blanch in horror. Organic food was what one grew in the garden.

Diminished prospects, diminished cuisine, diminished culture: all these appeared to be the themes of the era. But somehow we’ve muddled through and survived worse. But to look back on that particular era with any fondness appears to be unduly sentimental at best, and an act of masochism at worst.

But perhaps the most galling feature of this nostalgia is that looking backward may prevent us from looking forward: rather than trying to reconstruct the Seventies, perhaps we ought to attempt constructing a new era about which future generations can be genuinely sentimental. Yes, if one sees films advertised like “Lesbian Vampire Killers” it is tempting to believe that we are in an even worse cultural morass than we were in say, 1978. I cannot confess to being a great fan of some of modern art either: Damien Hirst’s activities with a chainsaw and helpless livestock don’t press my buttons. Nor do the latest dance compilation albums appear to be ready to stand the test of time.

At the same time, for every “Lesbian Vampire Killers” film, we have a “Let the Right One In”. For every Damien Hirst, we have scores of undiscovered young artists who deserve more attention. For every cheap dance compilation album, there is a musician toiling somewhere in a symphony orchestra or an anonymous blues bar who is taking performance, composition or improvisation in a different direction. We have no need of the Seventies, we should recognise the plenty that exists in our midst now. Ours is not a golden age, but it is not one that needs a coating in alabaster or beige either, nor needs the glitter of a disco ball or Beef Wellington on the dinner menu. We can do better, and quite frankly, we should.