Anger and Apathy

So, then, the G20 summit has passed. Maybe it's saved the world, maybe it hasn't. I'm not going to pretend I can make an educated judgement about the likely success or otherwise of the new attempts to restart the global economy when even economists are holding their breaths. I don't know. I just don't know.

The other hot topic is the way police treated the demonstrators. There are questions to be answered about exactly what happened around the death of one man, Ian Tomlinson, especially as it looks like he wasn't even part of the demo, just someone trying to get home. The tactic of 'kettling' is coming under renewed scrutiny, as thousands were kept in one place for hours. And the behaviour of the police towards peaceful protests is causing concern, after allegations that the Climate Camp protest was violently broken up once the TV cameras had gone home.

(You know the police tactics and actions may have gone too far when The Times starts to question them.)

But that's not what I want to talk about today. There are no doubt thousands of shrill voices across the internet making their views felt on these issues, and I won't add my own to them.

No, instead I want to look at another side of it. It happened only slowly, as the news media started to get a little disappointed. Despite their dire predictions of mass riots in the capital, of a re-run of the Poll Tax riots, of the imminent collapse of Western society in an orgy or rage and violence, the protests themselves were rather quiet.

I mean, the police bottled up approximately 4,000 protesters right outside that symbol of the collapse of the banks, and the unrestrained greed that started it, and seems to continue still, RBS. And they broke 3 or 4 windows. A revolution, this was not.

And all told, we're looking at at most 30,000 protesters This was not the population taking to the streets. Now, I have no doubt that part of the reason for this is the dire predictions the media were making - surprisingly, when the media repeatedly refers to possible violent clashes, riots on the street, and such like, a lot of people won't go. The police must have been overjoyed at the scaremongering by the media.

But some commentators have been proudly claiming this shows that there just isn't that much anger out there, that we know it's tough for the government, but have faith they will do everything they can to get us out of this mess.

Part of me would really like to believe this.

But this doesn't match with what I'm coming across out there. I'm not seeing burning rage, certainly, but I am seeing a sullen resentment. I'm meeting people who are confused as to why we can't spend billions to fix the pensions hole in the Post Office, when we've spent far more than that on bailing out banks. They don't see why we're closing libraries when we're creating money to pour into the financial system. They don't understand why the same MPs demanding new financial prudence from banks are also claiming thousands for second homes.

They don't see why they are suffering when those at the top seem to be carrying on as usual.

And it doesn't take much to trigger them from resentment to anger. Just ask them about Labour - suddenly the rage is evident. Maybe it's worse because Labour is supposed to be the party that protects them. Maybe. Maybe it would be just as intense whoever was in power. Maybe.

Regardless, they're not going to vote Labour. All this talk about the polls turning round if we start to see signs of recovery, how the support for Cameron and the Tories is soft, how we can still make it, sounds more and more like wishful thinking.

And the reason is simple: I don't think the people I'm talking to actually think the Tories will do better. They don't think they'll do worse. They don't really think about that at all. No, the reason they will vote for the Tories is to punish Labour. And I don't think that desire to punish them will go away even if Gordon Brown does magically bring us to a land of milk and honey within a year.

Because, and this is where it links in with why people haven't been protesting, I think far, far too many people just think they can't have an effect. Nothing will change. As the old saying goes, it doesn't matter who you vote for, the government always gets in.

I think the perception, true or otherwise, that the three main parties are essentially saying the same thing with slightly different spins hasn't helped. People are beginning to think that voting doesn't really make a difference. So we have falling turnouts, attempts to shore up turnouts with postal voting (because we can't convince people to walk a few hundred yards down the street to vote), and the rise of smaller, more extreme parties - ones that at least offer something different.

But if you didn't think voting made a difference, there was always protest.

I remember, way back when, marching against going to war in Iraq. Maybe it's because I was young and idealistic, but I really thought we could make a difference. I looked around at the sea of people I was part of, stretching across Hyde Park, and I thought "Surely this means something? Surely no politician can just ignore this?".

Like I said, I was young and idealistic.

It wasn't just me. No matter whose particular estimate of numbers you want to go with, the two marches against the war that took place in London attracted huge numbers of people, a vast amount who believed that they really could make a difference, that they could make their voice heard, that their protest would have an effect in a democratic society.

But we all know how that story ended.

Now, I'm not saying that this means the UK isn't democratic - ultimately, MPs voted to go to war. It was a democratic decision, regardless of whether it was right or wrong.

But I am saying that decision had an effect on democracy. The marches were an incredible occurrence. A vast coalition of people from all walks of life came together to be heard. News reports described it as historic. Everyone seemed amazed at the size of these events.

And they failed. That's the important point - despite mobilising more people than anyone possibly imagined, they failed. Regardless of the rights and wrongs, regardless of whether it was democratic or not, millions of people were able to see on TV that protests didn't work.

So, when people think the parties are all the same, that protests are useless, what do you get? Apathy. Or at least it looks like apathy - people simply stop taking part. They make what seems a rational decision not to waste their time on something that will make no difference.

And that apparent apathy is what I think is the real threat, the real way that society can break down. People really are angry. Yes, they're keeping a lid on it (heavens, we are British, after all). But that doesn't change the fact that it is there.

Along with that anger, they feel powerless. They feel as if the people at the top will just keep on doing whatever they want, regardless of what everyone else wants them to do. They feel that voting makes no difference, that protesting makes no difference.

They feel they are ignored.

That's a dangerous combination. Anger, and powerlessness. Because as that anger grows - and it will, as the recession continues - as it grows, it has no way of being let out, no safety valve. Which means it builds up, until finally something, some spark, some event, something we can't predict, something happens that causes it to burst free.

What I worry about, what I'm scared of, is that we're not seeing a population happy to give the government the benefit of the doubt, but that instead, we're just seeing the calm before the storm.

That's what I'm scared of. I'm almost certain it won't happen. But that 'almost' is still scary.

Worrying about liberties

It's tough worrying about civil liberties in the UK.

Obviously it's a lot harder in other countries. I mean, worrying about civil liberties in Russia, where journalists are being murdered to shut them up, is a lot tougher, to say the least. Or in China, where those who complain are whisked away and imprisoned, never to be seen again.

Granted, it's not that tough. But it is kind of tough - because no-one needs to put pressure on you to be quiet. You feel it all on your own. You bite your own tongue. Or at least I do.

I mean, let's look at this sensibly. I see a report of behaviour by the state that seems to infringe civil liberties, such as the police surveilling political protesters and journalists, and I think to myself "This is terrible! They are treating people going about lawful activities, such as political protest, or reporting upon it, as potential criminals. Worse, they are being overt and aggressive in their filming, which surely can only be to try to intimidate the public."

Well, generally I don't think in quite such clearly defined sentence structure, but you get my point. On the whole, I think This Is A Bad Thing, and that Something Should Be Done.

But then some other thought processes kick in. Thought processes that are part of me because I am a polite, middle-class Englishman. Those thought processes which instinctively try to damp down rebellious instincts.

For example, I think to myself "Well, these police officers are just doing their jobs. They don't get to choose whether they follow their superior's instructions or not." And I think "After all, they're not doing anything illegal - I mean, taking photographs in a public place is perfectly allowed, and something I should be glad about." And I think "Surely they wouldn't be doing this if they didn't have a good reason? Maybe there really are ne'er-do-wells in these groups, people we should be keeping an eye on."

And by these steps, I start to dampen down my initial outrage, blanketing it in a cloak of possible justifications, or polite evasions of the unpleasant reality. All I am left with is a sense of disquiet at the events, a slight sense of disappointment in myself, and a rather bitter taste in the back of my mouth.

But, of course, that sense of disquiet never quite goes away. It lingers.

Which means that when I hear of another event, such as the police using 'psychological operations' against protesters it becomes that little bit harder to deaden the outrage. The disquiet grows that little bit greater.

This is all very odd for me. Because, well, how can I really worry about civil liberties in the UK? It's far too embarrassing. I mean, this is England, for heaven's sake. We have a long tradition of enlightenment about rights. Don't we? Surely I'm being foolish for worrying.

And I desperately want to believe that. I want to believe that the good old fashioned sense of British fair play will stop all these attacks on liberty. I want to believe that there is no chance a government could get in which would use all these new laws brought in to 'fight terror' to fight whoever opposes them.

I want to believe it, but I'd be foolish indeed to do so.

The UK isn't somehow immune from oppression. Bad people have used bad laws to silence their critics before. Hell, good people who passionately believed something we now think is abhorrent used bad laws to silence their critics. Unions were put down. Workers were abused. Millions were denied the vote, and threatened with violence for demanding it.

My golden vision of a UK filled with fair play is concocted from films and books that ignore those who weren't the right sort. I think of good, upright English chaps, doing the right thing because it is the right thing. But this sort of cosy image was pushed by an Establishment already fighting a losing battle - so they project an image of their sort as the right sort, who can always be trusted to act in the best interests of all of us.

Because that's the thing - I don't think Labour are really trying to put in place all the tools an oppressive government would need. I don't even think the Tories would do much different. They're just politicians, making the best decisions they can, given the information and guidance they are offered.

And the guidance they are offered comes from a group who are part of what we nebulously call the Establishment. High up civil servants, advisers, career politicians, they all end up working to maintain their control over the country, over society. Oh, not because they're a comic book evil villain, scheming to subjugate us all. No, because they really believe they know best how to run the country, how to make sure we all benefit in some way.

But this is where they're wrong. We live in a democracy - imperfect and flawed in many ways, yes, but one in which each of us has at least some say in the way our country is run. And over the years, we have become more sophisticated, more knowledgeable, we have learned more. We have earned the right to be trusted to make decisions for ourselves.

Which means that, actually, they don't have the right to keep tabs on us for our political activity. They don't get to tell us inquests can be held in secret, because a minister or a judge says so. They don't get to tell us we have to tell them before we travel abroad. They don't get to tell us we have to give them all the information on us they want, forever, and to buy a card confirming it. They don't get to decide what is best for us.

There never was a golden age of liberty in the UK. Things have often been worse than now, but it wasn't that long ago that they were better, either. So let's work to try and make some more progress, let's work to keep traveling along the road towards greater freedom, greater liberty. Let's stop trying to justify the actions of the state for them, imagine ways in which what they are doing could be right.

In my case, let's stop being quite so... British about it.